He smiled at me, long locks cascading down his shoulders. His flute was resting against his arm.
He held it softly like a lover.
Those arms knew how to love, but alas that love was as fickle as the strains of music that played from his flute.
I still remember our first meeting. I was sitting in college ground. I heard a sweet melody, just like an enchanted deer I raised myself and started to look for the source.
After searching for a while I located it, it was under the cluster of some old trees, on the carpet of leaves; a group of seniors were huddled around a boy.
Now I call him boy without hesitation, as my own hair is more white than gray, at that time I blushed at that young guy. Blushed without reason, for his eyes were closed. He was physically there but his heart was elsewhere.
His eyes opened, they fell on mine and I felt something. Something I have never felt before. It was impossible to explain that feeling, that numbness in body, the weightlessness, the absolute disconnection with surrounding. I could feel him touching me softly with his sight.
The spell broke as one of the listeners called out to him, “Hiran, it’s time for RK’s class.”
They got up and left. I sat there watching him strolling across the ground, then right before entering the building he turned and looked straight at me. Everything changed.
He came and went like the melodies he played. His love was full of extremes- he knew how to plunge into deepest and rise to the highest; pulling me with him.
Then the disharmony crept in, the tunes became monotonous.
I remember our last meeting too; he was sitting on floor, his head on my lap, my dress wet with his tears.
“Set me free! Or else I will choke to death.” He begged.
I softly untied the chain that was tying that beautiful bird to my window and watched him fly; I often hear his melodies in television and radio.
None of us married.