Reading Time: 4 min
We were strangers when we met and we were strangers when you left.
???
It was a long time since he last saw her. That day she just packed everything and left. He knew he had finally broken her. He was broken himself, still, she loved him a lot. She was her biggest supporter; stood by with everything that he was going her. She was the strongest woman he had ever known, and he loved her for that. Unfortunately, the only person he could not love was himself.
How long was she going to love for both? Her love was a lot, but it was never enough, not when he could not love himself. He wished he had known this earlier. Or maybe he knew it and was too scared to admit to himself. When he did and tried to make amends, it was too late. She could not take it. She had already decided to leave. He tried but when a relationship is dead nothing can revive it.
He moved on, as best as he could. If on those rare occasions he missed her, he still came to the bridge. This was here he met her three years ago. Three years ago, today. Time flies indeed.
He was an amateur artist sketching strangers who stared at the castle with dumbstruck eyes. That day he caught sight of a dreamy girl who was more interested in her cold coffee than the giant castle behind her. He started drawing her and never realized that she had popped up behind him. After discovering what he was doing, she made him draw her five times till she was satisfied. When he asked her for some tip, she said she has no money to tip but she will take him out for a coffee if he were interested. It was an amazing first meeting. It was an amazing two years.
He took out his sketchbook and started sketching furiously. He was sketching with a pace; he was afraid if he stopped, he would forget what he was drawing. He drew her exactly as he remembered her. The fall of her hair, the curve of her smile, that innocent yet piercing gaze. But something had changed. She looked like a stranger.
He did not know what was wrong with him, or what mistake he made. He did not recognise this person he saw. His eyes started welling up with emotion. He tore that sheet of paper and threw it in the bin. He smiled back at the site where he had first seen her, picked his stuff up from the ground and walked away.
There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven’t yet met.
William Butler Yeats
I clicked this image on the Charles bridge in Prague. This short story has been lying in my archives for half a year, maybe it is time it sees light. The story was about a realization that the past is familiar by the virtue of it being past. In the present, the past is nothing but a stranger.
Check out rest of my short stories here and follow me on Instagram for more travel photographs.
