Eternal Seconds

Flash fiction

He could watch her for hours, in that very same position. Doing nothing but playing with her hair, flipping through her notebook and drinking coffee. 

“So, what happened? Did she call you back?” She asks him while looking closely at something scribbled. His eyes meditate her lips, the gentle curve of her nose tip and all the way up to her eye lashes, then he replies “No, she never did” 

She remains silent for seconds or maybe hours. He takes a sip from his coffee, and is about to say something but her fingers stop him, her gracefull ivory fingers going through the curls of her hair, stop him. If I can only touch them, beyond the brief handshake, he thinks, Crazy.

After freezing there for a moment, he put his cup down. He hears the clink of his cup hitting the wooden table, the sound of the coffee machine and he wishs, that instead he could hear her whispering something in his ear, he imagines how she would sound like . . . the sound of autumn leaves dancing in the wind. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the silence between them. 

“Nothing really, I’m just going through some notes I’ve taken.” She replies, lifting her cup and still not looking at him. He notices the slight change of color in her lips after being wet with coffee. Now they are more red, and cruel, but not as cruel as herself for not looking at him all that time. “Yes I can see you’re busy.” he says. 

He looks at the glass door of the coffee shop and sees a flare of sunlight making little rainbow colors. Isn’t she just like this colorful sunlight? Someone opens the door and gets in. A breeze enters and brushes his face, he blinks and goes back to her hair curling around her fingers. 

With a slight shake in his right hand, he lifts it deciding to touch her cheek, no, her cheekbone. But he doesnt, and sliently curses his coward heart. He places his hand on his lap stretching his leg and accidently touching her feet. 

“Oh, Sorry” he says, but actually he is not. 

“It’s alright” she says with a light smile, lifting her face to finally look at him for what seemed to be a second, or maybe an eternity. Then he closes his eyes to see . . . a life of loyal nights. He sees the ocean of his imaginary hometown, canyons of passion and innocence where he could travel to find his own self and willingly lose it again.

She firmly closes her notebook and grips her cup close to her. She gives out a strong short sigh, looks at him and asks “ So, what are you going to do? will you call her?” adding that warm friendly smile of hers. He prays for his heart to slow down, and for his trembling lips to stop, to let in some air so that he could say something:

“No, I will not”