Wooden boxes

That was the only picture she had of her. She stared at it, night and day,tracing the two-dimensional contours of her face,looking deep into her eyes. Over and over, she looked in the mirror, to smile that smile. On breezy afternoons, she would bend over the balcony, at the exact same angle, to feel how the very same wind must have stroked those cheeks, played with those locks, while those eyes played mischief with those hearts on the street. When she closed her eyes, she could always create the scene after the picture.

She must have laughed... How she laughed! Then looked to her side to see him take the picture, told him to stop...and turned around to finish the dialogue with the smitten stranger, hair still slightly wet...the scent of sandal...Then she turned to him, giving the same i-know-you're-jealous smile. He would deny, inspite of the fire in his eyes. She would have laughed again...and gone in, to wear her bangles..but before she came out, he stopped her..

He caught her hand and He stopped her, her bangles tinkling gently with the shock... He must have seen her, for a long time, as she tried to escape, loosely tied moist hair, moist lips, eyes dark with kohl, and a single strand of wet hair lazily lying on her neck.He could not move...but before he knew, he held held her, and it drove him crazy. He felt her heartbeat vibrate every single part of her being. She looked at him, wide-eyed,waiting and not-waiting, feeling held and feeling free, like a part and yet whole....

She did not see people smile at her from the streets. She wasn't smiling at them. Just wanted to know how that smile must have felt on those lips.