NEVER MEANT TO BE

    

Tapping away at his keyboard, he leaned in close, squinting at the image before him. He was in a plaid shirt and looked like he had been waiting for quite some time. Running a hand across his face, he slumped back into his seat, reclining in the wicker chair. Even sitting, he looked quite tall, his legs crossed at the ankles, and still engaged with his phone. At the chime of the glass crystals at the café front, he turned expectantly, and then slumped back into his seat, his forehead creasing into a frown. Glancing at his watch, he muttered some indistinct words and began fiddling with the frayed ends of the checkered tablecloth.
In about two minutes into the inaudible monologue he was engaged in, he turned at the chime, and formed an inaudible word on his mouth, his eyes wide and bright. Gripping the edge of the table, he stood up unsteadily and walked towards her.

Paul:
I was not surprised that Akua was twenty minutes late. Again. Like she’d been for all our six years of medical school. She’d come into lectures, a stack of notebooks in one hand, a tiger-print laptop bag in the other, and looking like she had been caught up in a whirlwind. And then she would slump down heavily into the seat next to mine – the seat that had been hers for all of five years in med school.
 And that was when I liked to look at her best; the moment between a frown and pout; when she was avidly trying to decipher what topic the lecturer was currently on, and when the tendrils of her hair were plastered to her hairline in curly waves that bespoke of her exhaustion. And then she’d look up, lips turned up in a half-smile, waiting for my routine quirk of brow and barrage of questions.
“Again?”
“What was it this time around?”

Of which she would reply, eyes twinkling mysteriously, their shiny orbs fixated on me,
“Cat ate my lunch”.
That was the usual. There were so many others I have lost count of and can’t even remember. But it never failed. It always cracked me up, earning us several side glances from our classmates, after which I would pass my notes over surreptitiously, eyes on the lecturer who would usually be glancing fleetingly at us whilst he droned on about some medical condition or treatment of sorts.
The chime from the glass crystals on the door had me turning, only to lock gazes with a buff young man who looked like he’d had one too many drinks already at midday. The tightening in my chest relaxed, and I released the breath I’d been holding in in a long swoosh. My palms were so clammy and balled in fists. I swiped at the beads of sweat on my forehead with the cuffs of my plaid shirt.
I didn’t know why I was being so angsty. Ok, maybe I did. It was probably because we hadn’t really talked in a while after that day. Our subsequent conversations were relatively mild and phatic afterwards, with only a few words being exchanged, after which would come a tense silence and the final bidding of goodbye, and then either one of us would press the end button to put an end to our collective misery.

It was wretched not being able to talk to her again. To not spend long nights huddled together, talking endlessly about a good movie or book. It was those nights when I’d see the crack in her smooth and shiny exterior as she snuggled close, her face usually buried on my shoulder as she’d rehash old memories of the dark memories of her mother’s death and her long, winding road of acceptance and grief. In those moments I would just hold her, rubbing gently against her back, and not wanting to look in her eyes and into the raucous sorrow I’d see buried in their depths.
Another chime sounded and even without looking up, I could tell that was Akua. It wasn’t because of a characteristic perfume or tell-tale sign of sorts; it was probably because of the hair-raising niggling feeling that sprung up from my toes till it spanned the entire expanse of my back. My heart rate quickened and I reached for the end of the table.
“Shoot” I muttered wordlessly. She still affected me deeply, even after almost two years of not seeing each other. I was in too deep – way too deep than I wanted. Glancing up,  I stood up and locked gazes with one of the most beautiful ladies I was privileged to know and my knees would have buckled had I not been fastidiously holding on to the wooden diner table. With my eyes still fixed on hers, and praying so hard my unsteady knees wouldn’t give in under me, I walked towards her in giant steps that failed to conceal my turbulent feelings. And then my eyes dipped momentarily and swooped in on the giant size rock on her finger, and my heart broke.


Akua:
“Paul”
I muttered his name wordlessly just as I walked in through the door and caught sight of his tall frame lounged in the wicker chair at the corner of the room. I wiped my damp palm against my yellow taffeta dress and straightened my sleeve nervously in a vain attempt to calm my fast-beating heart.
He hadn’t changed at all.
I don’t know how that thought had occurred to me but as I caught sight of his long legs splayed underneath the table and his furrowed expression that could not conceal an internal struggle, I was suddenly assaulted by a torrent of memories and I reached out unsteadily for the door handle behind me.
His eyes giddy with excitement as he’d tell me about the idea he had for a new story he as working on.
The quirk of his lips as he would futilely try to keep a neutral expression when he was trying so hard not to laugh at something I said.
Paul holding onto me as I cried and wept and just about shared every bit of personal information with him.
I suddenly began questioning my meeting with him. Maybe I could just leave and call him later – or feign illness and forget about the meeting? I glanced back at the door momentarily and steeled myself. I couldn’t go back on my words. Again. I had to do this – it was now or never. With a quick shake of my head to dispel every doubt, I looked up back and met his gaze.
He stared intently at me and even from my position near the door, I saw the tic of his jaw, and he quickly made his way to where I was standing. I mentally kicked myself for just standing there looking like a dolt, unaware of anyone but him. I marched on, intent on meeting him halfway across the room when I saw him pause and take a step back, staggering slightly as he stopped to press his weight against a table.

I looked up to see his gaze on the shiny platinum diamond ring on my finger, and then up again as he found my eyes.
Oh God. What had I done?
I saw his expression falter, and watched as the light left his eyes. I looked on as the light flickered, until it all turned dark like the burning out of a firefly. I caught sight of the sudden strain on his features and the way he balled his fists on the table. His eyes questioned mine, a thousand questions being exchanged between us. His eyes were asking, and then pleading and then finally sliding down, now trained on the Italian tiles that adorned the restaurant floor.
The heavy feeling in my chest suddenly felt ugly, and burdensome and for the umpteenth time I reached for the rock on my finger. I could just pull it off and tell him it was one of my jokes, after which we’d laugh about it and then move on, continuing with our friendship of sorts.
And that was the problem. I never really knew what it was, and there never was any clarification. I always saw the way he stared at me, eyes bright and trained on me like I was all they wanted to see. But he never said anything. And when he’d graze the back of his palm against my cheeks leisurely, always pulling them back into his lap after our eye contact got too tense for comfort.

My deciding moment was that day. The day I had stopped believing that anything could come out of ‘this’. It hurt me a great deal to move past all those unspoken promises of love, and commitment but it had to be done.
The scraping sound of a chair being pulled back pulled me out of my reverie and I made my way towards the chair he had pulled back for me. Sitting down, I fidgeted with my fingers, curling and uncurling them as I waited for Paul to take his seat.
He took a seat from across me and fixed his eyes on mine. Suddenly my collar felt too tight and I reached for the glass of water on the table.
“Ahem”, I cleared my throat, peering at him from under my eyelashes, too tensed to think of how to start the conversation.
“You’re getting married.” He said it as a matter-of-fact, his expression dead-pan.

I looked up sharply, making contact with him. He stared unwaveringly and it seemed like he was unaffected by the news – but that was until his eyes strayed to the ring on my finger and he let slip the veneer. His speedy come-back could still not hide the turmoil in his eyes and he sighed heavily and reached for my balled fists on the table. He held them in his hands and stroked briefly, peering at me questioningly.
Why?
I wished I had the answers to his questions. Pulling his hands back into his lap, he let out another long sigh and ran his hands unsteadily over his face. His eyes fell back to his hands on his lap and I saw him struggle, his chest heaving up and down like he needed to get something off his chest.
“I...I...” He started. He looked back up and his red-rimmed eyes glanced furtively at me.
“I – I can’t say I’m- I’m - happy to hear this” he stammered.
“God I wish I was the lucky man who placed this ring on your finger.” He said, his gaze now fixated on mine.

 “How I wish I’d find him and – and - …” He paused, his fingers now on the bridge of his nose.
“Paul”
He glanced up.
“Please don’t.” I begged, biting on my lower lip. I didn’t know for how long I could withstand this before I finally broke. He seemed to understand as he nodded forlornly.
I reached out for his hand now, and squeezed. Shutting my eyes, I tried futilely to push back the tears that threatened to spill.
In that moment, an understanding passed between the two of us. In that moment, I finally uncovered his feelings for me as he stared at me, eyes bright with tears and hiding nothing.
Ours was a love that couldn’t be explained – couldn’t be contained. I suddenly realized that I might get married and move on, but I would never forget him. I would always pin for our love that was never meant to be. It wasn’t the usual fairy-tale love. It was deeper.


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