She and Her Eyes

The winding stairs of the station had him out of breath. He had just bent down to rub his aching muscles when he saw a familiar silhouette. He looked up. There she was, her eyes closed, her body leaning on to the surprisingly clean station wall—a picture of serenity. She looked at peace with herself. He was glad to see her so unruffled at this hour of the day. Peace came at a price these days; and mental peace was a priceless pearl, which once attained promises never to let its lustre fade away.

He looked at himself and then at her. Seven years had made a visible difference to his visage. They had marked her too, but the markings were more beautiful than his; they had made her attractive in a way she never was at school. He debated whether he should go and break that serenity. Half of him wanted to talk to her—there was so much to catch up on; the other half just didn't have the heart to break her calm—she looked as if she had been painted.

Just then she opened her eyes. Her eyes—how they altered her. Their vacant expression made him nearly cry out. Her person—peaceful once—looked like a withering leaf; a germinated seed which didn't know where to grow and had, thus, become stunted. His mind wandered away, comparing her to the girl she had been seven years ago. He remembered talking to her in school.
“Your eyes have the radiance of life,” he had told her.
“It’s in my genes. My dad had similar eyes.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah. Why do you look so surprised?” Her eyes had been laughing, winking at him from within.
“I don’t know. But your eyes are so feminine.”
“How can eyes be feminine? Maybe you have failed to notice that I’m a girl.” She had smirked.
“You sure know how to talk crap.” He had winced.
“By the way, what’s with my eyes that fascinates you guys so much?” She had asked curiously.
“I don’t know man! They have this radiance, which most of us find attractive.” He had been so embarrassed then, almost wishing he had never broached this topic.
“So, you are attracted to me…” She giggled, her eyes playful.
“Hell! God no! I am not. It was just your eyes.”

He almost smiled at the memory. But even today, he maintained, that he had never been attracted to her; she had never been beautiful, at least to him. But her eyes had always been a subject of fascination, among all the boys. They danced, they sparkled, they had a life of their own—a life which could never have been stunted, could never have been vacant. He wanted to run to her, to comfort her, lend her a shoulder she could cry upon. She was after all his friend—though a friend with whom he had never bothered to be in touch, but had never forgotten. But what had happened?

His brain went into an overdrive. He almost thought he was responsible for her situation. Maybe she loved him and his going away had done this to her. After all, girls can be very stupid. But then, an afterthought hit him. He was being foolish in thinking so much, perhaps, in fact hoping it to be true. That he could have such an effect on a girl. He shook his head tersely to dismiss the thought. That flight of fancy had been too vivid. He focussed on her. She was the one who needed to be thought about. Whatever made him about him and her, and that too together. “Incredible!” he muttered aloud.

He then looked at her, tried taking a step towards her, but then quickly brought it back. What if she didn’t remember him? “So what? She is your friend, isn’t she?” his heart rebuked him. “That she is,” his brain seemed to agree with his heart, a first, he noticed. He took the first step and their eyes met. Her eyes, still haunted, seemed to be recalling his face. He waited for a sign of acknowledgement. It came. A smile broke on to her face. The difference it made to her face wasn't much as the smile never reached her eyes. Nevertheless encouraged, he took another step towards her, determined to talk to her, to know what had happened. And then…the train came.