6 Minutes

The elevator nudged floor by floor. His heart pounded. He looked down to check what his fingers were doing to ease the tension. The phone was the victim, as it kept turning like one of those fidget spinners sold at traffic junctions. He took control and tapped the mobile screen. There were no notifications. The wallpaper seemed to scream for attention; the picture was of a semi-closed window, the curtains of which were silhouetted by the morning rays of light. It was an ordinary photo, slightly out of focus. But it was her view from the bed, which she clicked and sent to him, years back. It was the first ever photo she had sent him, and his sole wallpaper since that day. The image held a warmth of that room – her room – and it had often comforted him. But not now, as the elevator creaked at Floor ‘4’.

He bit his lip. Although he had set it up, the situation now seemed a tad too much to handle. It felt like the day he had confessed love to her. That hadn’t gone well either… Stepping out, his eyes turned faster than the head, to the right. She was there, leaning onto the wall, facing him. The same pitch-black jacket, hands pocketed, the long hair sandwiched between the jacket and the yellow, printed shirt. The same old sight, minus the smile. Incredibly, he started to beam. An uncontrollable smile surfaced on his face, regardless of the fact that it was a tense, temporary reunion; that the glee may annoy her. With this sudden radiant face, he walked towards the door, and her. Her thick, long eyebrows arched at his smile; He pulled his lips inside, trying to dilute… Dilute what, he wondered!

What magical time did that rickety elevator open to, when the tension was forgotten? Elation! It was elation, he realized then, that had taken the form of this insuppressible glee. The mere delight to have seen her! All the mess was cast away by that sensation. It was incredible. And understood only to him perhaps.

“This could have been avoided.” She exclaimed, her eyes full of intent. “You could’ve couriered everything.” Even her straight face did not help him, as he failed to curtail his smile. Feeling slightly apologetic about it, he looked up for no reason, while his hand rummaged the pocket for keys.

“Yeah, I could have,” he said, smiling at the cobwebs on the ceiling. ’16:06′ the digital clock showed in green, as he entered the apartment. Was that clock part of her belongings, he wondered. He turned as always, to see her enter. But of course, she avoided any eye contact as she passed by. And the glee had disappeared, probably because he was already missing her stare, as she would stagger inside, always carrying too many things in her hands.

She headed straight to the bedroom. “You want coffee?” he asked.

“Shut up!” she shouted. 

“Please.” She added, with unnatural depth in her voice. It was unadulterated anger, familiar to him as she turned and marched into the room. He instinctively walked towards the living room. As he slid onto the couch, his eyes fell on the refrigerator. Its door held innumerable Sticky Notes – her messages over the years. Would she sweep the door clean too? And the letters? He sat and thought, but did not move. A minute later, she marched back into the common room, carrying a carelessly stuffed bag in her hand. The jacket was hanging down from the bag, swaying with her smooth hair, which did not match her animated gestures now. She too caught sight of the metallic door. Her chin – that wonderful arc which eased whenever she smiled – now moved as she muttered to herself. She walked to the refrigerator and started plucking the paper notes with one hand, while the other readjusted her free-falling hair. Unsure if it was the lady or the papers’ fate that was making it an uncontainable sight, he stood up and walked out to the balcony.

Looking out but seeing nothing, he stood silent. His hand reached into the pocket and took out a cigarette. He lit it, quite aware of the presence of the one person who had asked him to quit the habit. Well, words expire too, right? They did not come with an expiry date, of course. But they were merely existing on uncertainties as he took a deep drag. Seconds passed. Her smell – that intoxication of life – beat the cigarette’s, as he sensed it and turned to see her stand besides him.

He looked towards the door, where her bag laid along with a few scrolls of drawing paper and her coloring kit. He then looked at her, the final wisps of smoke from the drag escaping his lips. She stared back, with softened eyes. The cigarette burned, oblivious to all of this. A few seconds later, she said,  “I’ll leave now. I’ve taken. Whatever is-” her voice turned feeble.

 As she looked away from him, the glitter of her tear didn’t go unnoticed. She walked out, picking her stuff at the doorstep. He followed, having stubbed the cigarette on the railing. “We had the time,” he said calmly. She slowed but did not turn. “The decision stayed…” he ended. 

“Hmm.” Came her voice. She was still now, though there was nothing in the room that made her so. He could not bear the sight of her teary eyes, yet he wished she would turn towards him once. She did not.

“I’ll be here,” he said. Silence. “Where will I go? I will be here.” silence prevailed.

“I’ll leave now.” she said coaxing a bit now.

He stood frozen as she walked out. There at the doorstep, adjusting her slippers, she looked at him, one hand holding her belongings, while the other rested on the frame of the door. Nothing was spoken. He recollected the pun he used to make at her, “Why the long face?”, mocking her naturally long features. Funny what thoughts surfaced at moments like these!

He waited until he heard the sound of the elevator closing. Even then, he did not look out. He merely closed the door and turned to face the apartment; which was their's for 4 years!

The green digits of the clock read ’16:12′.