It was love
along the way.
I was sure.
But I did not want to tell you so.
Because
when love admits itself. It dies. Or so I felt.
We drove
together. Mountains and hedgerows.
We chatted
endless. Cafes and roadside dhabas.
Your
laughter challenged me. I almost kissed you once.
Ruffling
your hair, I controlled.
Destination
was close. I knew we would not meet again.
Flights
would criss-cross our fate.
And we will
become sweet memories to each other.
A ping. A
mail. An occasional call, maybe. Or am I thinking too much?
I refuse to
let you pay for the cola. You smirk.
Keeping the
bill, I started. Souvenirs were never so important.
So, there
we are. About to say good-bye.
The lump in
my throat tells me it is not a crush.
It is love
along the way. I know that.
Did your
eyes show signs of moistening? Or so I’d like to believe?
The hug
lasted more than friendship. A little more than travel-buddies.
You left. I
left too.
But
something felt right within. And it is the feeling inside.
