A piece of fiction long in the pipeline, inspired by Chinese food and great company.
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She stood there just a moment
longer, letting the wind flirt with her hair, breathing in the fresh breeze
that wafted through the trees. Her stomach was threatening to burst with an
overdose of good food, the result of an impromptu Chinese meal with a friend.
Just as they climbed onto the bus, the winds kicked in, throwing up swirls of
dust and sand into the air. As people rushed for cover, protecting their eyes
and face from the onslaught, she stood. Still. Silent.
She missed moments like these,
when all that mattered was that one moment; not the next, not the one past but
instead, just that fragment of time when all that was true was the now. She had
earphones plugged in, strains of instrumental harmony flooding her body. Her
fingers were unconsciously snapping to the rhythm, her lips humming the tune
that had kept her company through many lonely hours. The trees rustled, swayed,
bent scarily close to the ground. The metal sheets cordoning off a construction
zone clanged with the winds, threatening to fall inches away from where she
stood that very minute. She kept a watchful eye open, just because that is what
grandmother’s tales would advice but none of it mattered just then.
She stared up into the skies, unmindful
of the dust in her tangled hair, and marvelled at the patterns the clouds were
colliding to form. She swirled slowly once, breathing in every little detail –
the sounds of the monkeys as they hurried to the security of dry land and
shelter, the voices of irritated students complaining about plans foiled and
inconveniences caused, the concerned call of the guard asking the girls to stay
safe, take care and be careful.
In that one moment, she felt like
the world had frozen around her, like she had encapsulated time. Somewhere
between the frantic jugglery of meetings, appointments and deadlines, she had found
that sweet spot. As the winds howled with newfound rage and the fat drops of
the first rainfall began to hit the ground, she sighed.
The moment had passed. There were
things to do and people to meet, questions to ask and reports to write. She had
to leave, drag herself into the confines of four walls and grapple with slow
internet connections and incomprehensible jargon.
The moment had passed. As the
rain fell and the winds blew, she looked out of the window. She was meant to
think about the joys of getting wet yet, she found herself worrying about
navigating muddy roads and stagnated water.
The moment had passed. She smiled
at the recollection, promising to write about it soon and went on to do what
had to be done.
