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I watch her walk in the rain, the blue umbrella in her hand threatening to fold backward any moment in the wind. She is dressed in an emerald green dress, but it's wet, clinging to her curvaceous body, the shade in the dark looks almost black.
She waits at the bus stop. Whom is she waiting for? A flash of lightening illuminates her face. I'm not sure if it was the rain, but her face is dripping wet. Is she crying? Or is it my mind playing tricks on me like always?
I don't go and talk to her, though that is what I'm dying to do. She is my addiction, an elixir in my otherwise dry life. The fragrance of wet earth and rain surrounds us. The bus stop is deserted. There is no one but me and her. I want to push the wet hair from her face, I want to know what her skin would feel like beneath my fingers. Will her hands be rough from conducting daily chores? Or will they be soft and supple like the jasmine flowers that she sometimes used to adorn her hair?
I watch a car stop not far away and couple of men getting out and approaching her. I'm angry, yet I do nothing but watch them. There seems to be some sort of argument. After a few minutes, she gets into the car with them. She catches my eye before closing the car's door, a wistful look on her face.
What does she see when she looks at me? My torn clothes, the broken umbrella that has failed to keep even a strand of hair on my head dry or my begging bowl? I bid her goodbye silently; I know she will be back tomorrow. Just like yesterday or the day before. Just like how I know she is going to be cursed for the rest of her life. Like me. We would make a great pair. Me and her. Only if she would realize that.
Linking this post to the A to Z Challenge.