Sauntering back to my house in the frigid London night, the street lights stood in a single file at the right of the snowy road, orchestrated by the starry night and the din of the hubbub, fluctuating my heart in an uncanny manner this Christmas. People were walking in pairs, with their family members, I could not see any solitary in the cheery streets.

Puffed a chilly cloud in the air, averting my eyes from the crowd, focusing on getting back from work to my house, seeking loneliness in the solace of my bed. My sleep had been declining, my mood had not been at the best, I just wanted to recuperate to feel rejuvenated for the year ahead.

Tug. tug. I felt deliberate tugging from behind, I stopped, “Sir.” a little girl was standing singularly in front of me, not taller than my waist, wreathed in thick, thick violet fabrics like a fur-ball, her innocence shone through her baby-skin. It was getting colder. She  outstretched her plump little arms with a present wrapped in candy-cane-coloured wrapping paper not larger than her head. “Here. Sir.” she said in her high-pitched delicate voice.

I did not know how to react, “Thank… you.” I stuttered.

“You are welcome, sir!” she reciprocated in an elated tone, sheepishly escaped my sight as I scrutinised the gift in my hands that was wrapped in a minute manner finished with a red ribbon atop.

I had a hunch to take up my phone to take a picture for the Gram, but I suppressed it almost immediately as a flitting presence coruscated across me. The flow of the crowd did not come to a halt just because I stopped. I skimmed the vicinity for the giver of this present to no avail.

It was a her. I knew it, somehow. Nobody in particular crossed my mind. My curiousity opened the present even before I realised it. I gently pulled open one of the edges of the red ribbon, it intertwined itself into my hands, unraveling a jet black glossy watch that was latched to my hand, beaming rays of light into the dark, dark sky.

Stunned. I stood in awe, watching as the mechanical splendor revealing upon my very eyes. It stopped, a band of polished blackness was strapped at my wrist, it began to warm up that part of my hand as if it was coming back to life.

A line of words pixelated in white: I’m here. 

Catching hold of my breath as I saw her running away from me at the London bridge as the night was still young.

Craving for more? Down below:
A Story Left Untold

“Stand Up. Walk.”
Shaolin Monk
Sailing
Beyond 100
Kill In Peace
Completing A Portrait

 

 

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