Her eyes never leave mine as she descends from stairs. Distant streetlight bounces back from the sheet of her hair.
Oh boy, she looks like a goddess, cursed to endure the trivialities of earthly affairs.
That helplessness in her eyes, even her kohl cannot hide. She looks resigned- so unlike her usual self. I wish she scolds me, accuses me of having messed up.
Anything, anything that could bring that lively flame back in her eyes...
She smiles, a sad smile that is made of everything that is precious and perishable.
Has the world ever made sense?
So I do something I have never done before.
I hug her and sniff her hair.
'As a punishment to you,' she says hoarsely, 'I am going to blow my nose on this favourite shirt of yours.'
We both give a teary chuckle.
The world makes sense for that little time.
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