I was a perfect teenager then. More into junk foods, and less of fresh air. I was done with my first-ever relationship and first-ever break-up. Drying away tears, toddling over the flirty game seemed amusing. We met then. We spoke, we talked. He went weak. Me too. Actually I pretended. Yes, that weird yet common way of toughening up, greasing the heart of the other. We met once. We kissed. He inquired if I've reached home safely. He started dreaming. And then I left.
Years later. Me, pursuing my higher education. He, working. Someway unexpectedly, we started talking again. Like a few heard notions of his adoring nature, he showered his sugar-coated words. Strangely, a sense of guilt evoked within. More strangely, I felt a li'l weak this time. He asked to meet. I readily agreed. And we met for the second time. As we walked and talked, I realized. Yes indeed a long walk it was. He seemed to be a busy man this time; not just at the table, but on beds too. I don't know how to term his frankness about himself, honesty or desperateness. He tried kissing me many a times. I went reluctant against every attempt made. He never rang up after that. I never tried to figure out his reasons. His revenge or my reluctance? That late subtle weakness was for a heart that once seemed to exist, not a man of rush.
We haven't meet yet again. He's sailing well I believe. And me? Well, what happened between these two meetings, states what I'm and what I always wished to be. :')
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