The Promise of Another Day

By Vanja Malathy

“Today I have to speak.” He said to himself, amidst million thoughts that were revolving around his mind.

“ Does a light blue or green striped shirt look good on me?”

He disproved a dozen shirts which lay collected in a pile on the floor.

‘I shall walk to her place. This part of the day, I am sure she will be available.” he was assuring himself.

In a few moments he stood close to an elegant looking bungalow. It was a single storeyed house with a sloping roof surrounded by a veranda. A beautiful garden seemed to beckon the visitors. His heart was speeding as he stood in front of the room that was facing the backyard. It was the room she spent most of her time in. He would get a glimpse of his sweetheart reading a book on a recliner or embroidering or painting. A slim figure, a sweet smile, the large eyes that droop shyly … had a magical spell on him. Of late she was admiring his writing, his poetry, his stories. She would borrow some of the novels from his collection. He was always more than willing to share. Books became a link between them. Slowly a strong bond was forming. They never talked much to each other. But her slanting looks through the corners of her eyes hinted that she was appreciative of his writing talent. Her shyness was her asset. Her smile talked volumes. When she glanced at him, she sent arrows into his heart. They filled romance in his life. Several months passed in this way. It is very evident now that she is in love with him. Young girls shy away from proclaiming their love. It’s his turn as a man to open his heart.

“Today is the day, I must profess my feelings for her.” he pumped some more courage into himself.

He stood in front of her room, and stepped into a bit timidly. It was a cute little place. Books neatly arranged in the shelves, curios here and there, a half finished painting lay on the table. A number of her paintings adorned the walls. She carried herself with finesse and elegance.

He drew a stool nearby and sat on it. The chair in front waited for its owner. Seconds seemed hours as he waited impatiently for her. He coughed a bit to hint her of his presence. His heart was thumping against his chest box. He lowered his head with eyes glued to the floor, counting tick tock of his heart.

A tinkling sound of anklets tickled him. She seemed to be coming. He held his breath in excitement. He didn’t raise his head. He guessed she sat on the chair. Her big toe was drawing circles on the floor. He mustered his courage to look up. She was looking down. She was fidgeting with the end of her saree tassels. He swallowed hard. “What if she doesn’t reciprocate his love?” He began perspiring at this thought.

He looked up at her. She was now playing with her glass bangles. Her soft, delicate fingers were distracting. He had a strong desire to caress them. She lifted her face and passed a flying glance at him. He felt his heartbeat stop for a moment and race again.

“Don’t throw glances at me. Your eyes are already large and hypnotizing.” he wanted to say, but could not. He swallowed hard again.

Her mind seemed to stop thinking. “Why do I feel numb and dumb in his presence?” In spite of such an awkward feeling, she always longed to be in his presence and felt those moments had lasted longer. There was some unexplainable comfort in liking a person for his intelligence and talents. There was so much to learn from him.
“I suppose it’s your free time and you are not very busy” he mumbled incoherently. “ You said something?” She asked in a feeble tone. Both looked at each other timidly.

He took a deep breath and gently pulled his stool closer to her. He tried hard to look into her eyes. Her reaction was a combination of shyness and an unknown fear, a willingness to stay and a rush of a thought to leave the place.

He was determined now. He must talk his heart out, come what may. He took her soft palms in his hand, and uttered, “I …I…I…” It was as if he was tongue tied. His mouth was dry. She looked at him to listen. “ I …I…” He muttered again. He was trying hard to gather words into his head and route them onto his tongue. Both looked at each other unable to express their feelings. Her palms were warming up in his tight clasp. Time seemed to freeze. Both were eager to open up.

A thud from the window. A furry creature landed on their hands. A shudder ran into their hearts. Their hands released, she stood up to run inside. He cursed at the cat that spoiled his plan. He stood up in desperation. He was feeling stabbed off all his energy.

Walking back to his room, he thought, “Perhaps, I shall try another day.” He pumped in some positivity to his thoughts.
“Did he want to say what I always had on my mind?” she wondered. “Perhaps another day, I shall take an initiative.”

Pangs of first love are both painful and pleasurable.

Vanja Malathy is an educator from India. Settled in the US now, she has taken a passion for writing. Most of her writing is autobiographical. Her poems and prose pieces have appeared in a number of literary journals. 

Every emotion is most powerful in the moment. A triggered sensation is remembered for long if it finds expression through writing. First love is one such unique experience in one’s life.