There was something really strange about the evening he left. We started walking from his house, and it was late evening. The road was particularly empty with just a few cars parked here and there. We were walking towards the bus stand. I wouldn’t say we were in a rush. I remember walking slowly because I wanted more time with him. He was holding a book in his hand and had a rucksack on his back.
I wanted to let him know how upset I was about his departure. But, none of us wanted to initiate a conversation as such. It was breezy, and one could predict the possibility of a drizzle. It was getting darker, the hue of a darker blue. The few vehicles that passed created some lights on the road. My eyes were glued to the lights for some reason.
He looked at me a couple of times like he wanted to say something. But, he didn’t utter a word.
When we finally got closer to the bus stand, his hand touched my hand, gently like the breeze. He stopped and looked at me. “I think we have officially run out of words.” I let out a subtle laugh. “I think we still have a few words left,” he replied. “And what are these words?” I asked.
He held my hand and kissed my forehead. “I’ll let you decide.” We exchanged a poetry without uttering a single word.