He sat there, eagerly, waiting for her. Repeatedly he tapping away, balancing himself between where he stood and where she stood. They taunted her; he did not care for them. And not for the taunts either.
Once he fantasized about how he could trust someone more than himself. He almost immediately realized her. They talked about her. He stood behind them. Listening. Learning. What if she hated people who did that? “Hate is too strong for a word.” He thought.
“Someone should test her.” He said to them. In actuality, he knew, no matter how ferociously he screamed at their existences. T hey had missed what she unveiled for them, so they could see for themselves, the ‘truth’ that had carved it’s way to her. “I could test her.” He now reasoned with himself.
Her ability to put out almost anything but herself on the canvas, that followed her where she would escape to, was what bothered him. They met. From there, they both stood at one distinct point. He could only see what she once was. He stood almost too far. From there he could only see the light that escaped the linearly assembled crowd before him. Revealing themselves only when he knew it was time.
“Maybe the light is enough for me to fill the void I brought with myself.” He sensed. A moth flew erratically past him. He saw its flight. Not in a straight line. Not smooth like other things that flew.“It must be the light!” he thought. The moth whirled as a dervish, not knowing the world around him, completely oblivious. It flew and it followed, being intoxicated in between.
He then knew what he had to do. “Yakeen hai?” he asked her, while looking in her immaculately accurate eyes. He waited for the ‘truth’. And that singularity altered the course that followed.
All things converged to one instant. She profoundly said, “Hai.”
He felt as if she could see him. But only from a distant present. He wanted to be seen. But not from a far. He wanted her raw, unaltered, undivided, and complete void. Fragments, he could do without them.
He had fallen, and from there fragments would do just fine. Falling into her already crowded eyes, he wanted to whirl, catching fragmented glimpses of her. He craved it as death craved life. “Forever.” He would think, only if she let him, only him.
She would never let anything go. Always wanting to know what he thought. His thoughts were simple. “I like white. I love white. I would spend my entire life loving white. White is the only color that exists.” His thoughts proclaimed.
She could only offer a mere shadow of white.
He once decided to escape. But his escapist tendencies were of no use amidst this. What fool must the moth have to be in order to fly to his own end?
Intoxicated as ever, he stood gallantingly before rejection, fearing what it had carried along with it. But what did she feel?
Why did she feel it?
Pursuing answers, he fell further.

He felt as if she had invaded him. Someone had thrown him off a plane without a parachute. As she stood in front of him, she knew what she had done. What she had conquered. He had fallen into a realm, without his walls. He liked his walls. She did not.
Every time they talked? They talked. What he liked about her was that she did not ask him why was he silent all the time or why didn’t he smile like other people smiled. She understood why. Even if she did not, she knew the importance of understanding it. Her involuntary spontaneousness was what unsettled him.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“I do”
He answered her what he had felt, not what he had thought of.
“Do you trust me?”
“I’d like to think that I make people think I trust them.” She answered.
She made them believe a lot of things. She made him believe that she denoted commonality. But he knew she wasn’t beyond that what she had portrayed. She hadn’t portrayed anything yet.
He wanted letters of her, written by her, paintings of her, painted by her. He wanted to explore her. Venture where she had allowed no one to venture before.
What she wanted, he did not know. She had what she wanted, she did not have him. Maybe she did not want him. This bothered him. He wanted to be bothered.
“I want to make movies, what do you want to do?” she asked him.
“I want to watch them.” He said.
They both knew then, what was left there to be known. He did not know what to feel or how to feel it. He felt more incomplete than he was going to be in a long time. What he did know, was the place he had been in, and he did not want be anywhere without her.
He, in actuality, had been invaded.

She had always situated herself in the first two rows of what seemed like an artiste’s encore. In a loose elementary sense she had not been inherently robust. What she consistently portrayed was far from what she had imagined herself to be.
Ten years from five years ago, she was sure that she would write whatever needs to be written for any literary agency. What changed? , is in actuality the most fascinating part of her entire voyage through rudimentary beings that enveloped her, in what she had titled as; life.
All her adolescent life she had been mocked for being meek. They undervalued fate. She did not. During those days she prayed for a better past.
“What is selflessness?” he would ask.
“I wouldn’t know.” She would reply.
She had often thought about him, as one thinks of Him. For all she knew it only took a sense of complete and utter ascendance of sorts for her to be metamorphosed into a trance that took her farther from herself every time she experienced it. She craved what needed to be craved; calmness is what stood out before her. The confidence it entailed had been superior to all that she had established previously. The immoral dilemmas that existed within her gradually succumbed to her dependence.
Ergo, the spectator became the artiste and what had enabled her was kept away in a distant dream that she dreamed of whenever she could dream it.