The wind blew hard along with its close friend, dust.It had been almost two hours waiting at the junction. Sunday afternoon ensure the absence of crowd on these roads.He re-read the letters with a vague hope that some hidden code or password lay somewhere but the words hadn't changed, they never did. No matter how many times he read the letter the stood intact, after all they were the sole guardians of the letters intent. If only they knew what difference they made to the poor boys life, the beauty they were capable of bringing to him, they might have relented.
He suddenly heard the noise of an upcoming vehicle. Stooping from his position he peered through the corner of the shop to view the vehicle on which rode his love. At that instant he realized,he had no idea of what he would speak to the angel. He felt dazed. Trying desperately to think of a line worthy of the beauty, the charm was an arduous task & the blazing afternoon sun was no help either. He staggered for a while.Then another thought crept into his mind, what if he became speechless as he had on previous occasions? The mere presence of such a probability gave him shivers in the sweltering heat. 'What would she be dressed like? A million possibilities roamed freely in his head, fighting for attention when their owner had none. The coach was fast approaching. This had to be her. To pass by at this time in this place. He thought he detected the sweet smell of her perfume blowing in the wind. All thoughts vanished from his mind and a picture reigned supreme.
The letter in which he proposed this meeting had been a difficult one to write. Written late at night, when the town slept and the wine house woke up, written under a tree in the backyard of his house with the moon for his only companion. It looked upon as the little boy undertook a perilous journey across the 40 pages he tore before he finalized a small and concise letter, not lacking the intent but devoid of profuse poetry. The coach had almost arrived He straightened his bow tie, brushed off dust from his coat, tried to undo the blemishes of the 2 hour vigil. The coach arrived in front of him. He stepped forward, was at a hands distance from the coach when he realized the coach hadn't stopped. He stepped back waiting for the coach driver to stop the vehicle. All he wanted at this moment was to be worthy of the love that waited inside this magnificent vehicle.Not wanting to rush into the matters, a trait he inherited from his father along with the coat, he waited. The coach kept moving. 'Stupid, coach driver couldn't he stop at this spot itself.' Now he would have to walk to the coach. But the coach did not falter in it's path & kept marching ahead. 'Of course, the coach driver must be taking her to the next junction.' He thought of running along with it but did not do so. Remembering a short-cut to the junction , he ran as fast as he could. Almost out of breath as he reached the new destination, he stooped with his hands on his thighs, his hair falling all over his face. A vehicle had just passed the road, it wasn't the coach he was sure. The road was dusty, the wind seemed to be a futile sweeper destined to clean the roads all it's life. The sun was setting, spreading the paleness of a summer dusk all around.A young boy sat near the road, waiting. Childish passions, alas, know no limits. That night the moon sighed, wished it could speak and not just be spectator to these spectacles, for few kilometres away a girl lay sick on her bed, begging to her parents to let her go out. Strange are the ways of life and the pawns don't decide the moves.
