Husky Dusks

The last time Meira got wet in the rain, purposefully, was when she was a student at college, behaving as excited as by the visit of an old friend. Ever since it was always getting wet by the way, never deliberated by a chance or an occasion. Never for the joy of it, the joy came from a distance. The rains were romance, and there was no two way about it. She calculated the deadline for the submission, went out and opened her arms in the common terrace garden.

Her lime green t-shirt soon became a body fit from a comfort one, and the pajamas were clinging to her as dearly as her hair, in a wet conspiracy. But best of all was her sight, rainwater ladled. Her specks were a part of her, since the time anyone could remember. She disapproved of lenses even though they brought to notice the brownness of her brown eyes, and the evening became a Renoir. Love found her one such evening. Left her too.

She came in to a long, relaxed bath, freshly invoking memories of rain splashes. As she dried herself, the bell rang. The maid came in and uttered nonsenses of authority over Meira, that she should not have got wet, that the AC would work adverse and that she should take more care of herself. Slowly, she lost touch with the voice and made her way back to the couch. The dusk was falling slowly, like a painting. Nikhil never mattered on such evenings, they were so complete. Ounces of sadness made those dusks husky. 

Meira became no one but the person she is, to herself.