To Laughter

His words are drowned in the racket caused by the teenage-wannabes at the next table. Her words...her words are absent for the time being, she's absorbed in the food before her. With every bite, she can't help but wonder how he manages to do just the right thing to thrill her each time. Be it getting her to this fancy restaurant or taking her to the beach to watch the sunrise- all the things she's wanted to do in this place but somehow or the other never managed.

"Don't overeat. I know you can finish it, but don't stuff yourself."
Harrummpph! Just when she was going to pronounce him her angel. Guardian angel to be precise. That's in her head. Aloud it is 'papa' accompanied by a teasing smile and if not for the fancy restaurant, a show of the tongue. Her eyes, the ones he says are too big and too expressive, fill with laughter and gloss over the comical expression on his face, his apparent discomfort at wearing a crumpled shirt, the trousers he looks exceedingly handsome in but which are a complete mismatch for the shirt, his glasses, his floaters, how his hair looks brown in this light...sigh! she realises she can go on and on.

Two walks and an auto ride later, they've resumed similar positions in the air-conditioned ambience of the coffee shop. A few minutes into it and she's started sneezing. His immediate concern at maybe having gotten her to the wrong place- in her head, as ridiculously sweet as the hand-holding whenever they cross the road. The sneezing notwithstanding, she wants to prolong time as much as possible what with the fork in the road looming near.

They exchange goodbyes and she quickly climbs up the short flight of stairs to her room. She prances in front of the mirror, recollects her need to look 'dazzling' every time and her dislike each time she hears 'fine' instead, her tantrum a few hours back - quite the spoilt child she was and he indulged her every little bit. The prancing stops as she wonders what will remain of the last few months. The images which are so ingrained in her mind- will they stay forever? The memories which form so intricate a patchwork- will they all come undone? Oh why did he have to bring that up during dinner, she never thought so far ahead. Promises apart, parting and lives apart, distinct memories and exact images apart, he'll always be laughter. No, no, I didn't make a mistake - he will BE laughter, more than remembered as, associated with and all such. He'll like that. She's sure he'll like to be that. Tears fall thick and fast only for the situation to strike her as ironic. She can't help but smile through the tears. Yeah, he has to be laughter. Amen.