He looked out of the window, his right hand caressing the frame. He had been there all afternoon, a distant look in his eyes, unmindful of the movements and noises that crowded the street. It was difficult to get Nupur out of his thoughts. They had not met for many years, hardly spoke to each other, and yet it seemed as if he knew this woman better than any other woman in his life. Or was this a trick that his mind was playing? Does he really know Nupur or does he know an image of her?
And does it really matter?
Love between them was always unsaid. Like a whisper which never escaped the lips. When she was around, he would become unmindful of the world. Like when he met her at Delhi’s railway station. A crowded, sweaty, cacophonous place. But that he knows from past knowledge. His memory of the meeting held nothing but her image. There are no sounds but those that belong to her. No images beyond her person.
But what about the rendezvous at Barista in Pune? He waited all evening, until his feet could not bear his weight for a moment more, inspite of knowing she will not come. Yet, now the image his mind conjures of that evening includes her. It is frightening how real the dream is.
Yes, that is how it is. She lives in his dreams. And he can continue to love her there.