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‘I likes you.’

‘Thanks. I like you, too.’

‘Sss.’

‘Ess?’

‘Likes.’

‘What about it?’

‘You likes me.’

‘Wha-?’

‘Just play along, will you?’

‘Uhh…okay. I likes you, too.’ A brief pause then, ‘Is that okay?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Well now that we’ve got that out of the way.’

‘No, not out of the way – just put aside.’

‘Isn’t it the same thing?’

‘No. The one denotes a rush, a hurry to get to the next thing and the second a natural transition to the next.’

‘You’re making things complicated, did you know that?’

‘Not at all – I’m just stating things as they are.’

‘Oh-kaay.’

He smiled at the girl opposite, a smile she had grown accustomed to. Theirs was a curious friendship, that it could never move beyond that point was an unspoken agreement they had made years ago. They were too much friends to be anything else – he knew too much of her to leave anything open for the mysterious realms of romance.

‘Well?’

‘Well…what?’ Caution. One couldn’t always be sure about him.

‘You were going to say something, weren’t you?’

‘Was I?’

‘Yes, before I made the clarification that is.’

‘Oh. Hmm…I can’t remember what it was, now – strange isn’t it?’

‘Not really. You being you – it’s hardly surprising.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I didn’t say anything remotely offending.’

‘Yeah…not to you.’

‘Why would I say something offensive to myself? That makes no sense whatsoever. A statement can only be “offensive” if it’s said to another party. You’re perpetually in limbo as to whether the other side has taken offense.’

‘You and your hoity-toity crap.’

‘Hoity-toity? Crap? No, I’m just being specific.’

‘You’re always being specific, damn it! I don’t want any part of your specifications. At least not today.’ Teeth gnashing against lips – if pressed hard enough, would start to bleed. Silence – almost unbearable, pin-drop in its adjectivity.

‘What’s wrong? What’s bothering you?’

‘Am I that transparent?’

‘I think the “damn it” pretty much clinched matters, so the correct answer to that ought to be: yes.’

‘And what’s your answer?’

‘Mmm…my answer is the answer you don’t want to hear.’

‘Oh really? Why’s that?’

‘I know you too well.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘Like I said – don’t want to hear.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘Really? What is it, then?’

‘It’s you – and the way you say things.’

‘What about the way I say them?’

‘Intimately.’

‘What? What do you mean by the dual syllable approach?’

‘Maybe it’s like you said – you know me too well to guage my mood.’

‘I want to know what you meant.’ It was threatening to turn into persistence, and she knew him too well to know he wouldn’t let go of it, easily. Why had she begun this thread of thought? How could she explain to him that things were going to change?

‘Of course you do. But I’m not in the mood to tell you.’

‘So why bring it up?’

‘Are you going to go all pouty on me, then?’

‘Only if it’s unexpected. But do tell me – what’s the explanation?’

‘There is no explanation.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘Of course you don’t. Can’t we just leave things as they are?’

‘Who says things are changing? Oh! I see. Things are changing – is that it?’

‘Part of it.’

‘What’s the other part?’
‘I won’t be able to come here as much.’

‘Whyever not.’

‘It’s not right.’

‘What do you mean – not right?’

‘Why do you keep asking me for explanations?’

‘Because you keep confounding me with riddles.’

She smiled – a half-hearted, tired smile. He would always think up something, some way to continue the conversation, to keep them talking.

‘I’m still waiting, you know?’

‘Oh, you are? I hardly noticed.’

‘A trace of wit in you, today I see – something drastic must have happened.’

‘My parents – they’re arranging a marriage for me.’

‘You make it sound obscene.’ After a pause, ‘Is it?’

‘I don’t know – I…maybe. I can’t think straight.’

‘So you came here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, let me try to help you out.’

‘Will you?’

‘Of course! What else are friends for?’

‘Hmm.’

‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to think of an answer to the rhetoric?’

‘Of course not – I’m just…’

‘Preoccupied?’

‘Yes. Preoccupied. I’m preoccupied. Isn’t that a lovely word?’

‘Preoccupied?’

‘Yes. It’s pre and then occupied. Pre means before, right?’

‘Ye-es.’

‘So why does the word preoccupy denote thinking about something else?’

‘Correction: it means being occupied with something else – before there was an occupation to be occupied with.’

‘You’re confusing me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Is this a male or a female?’

‘As much as we do live in the upper class structure, I don’t believe they’ve quite welcomed the idea of lesbianism, yet.’

‘Intonating you’re okay with it.’

‘I didn’t say that! You’re twisting my words.’

‘I most certainly am not – I didn’t say you’re okay with being a lesbian – I just said the concept as a whole – you’re okay with it.’

‘Well…maybe. I mean, it’s their decision, right?’

‘Oh but the mullahs would argue it goes against our religion. That an entire population was blown away by the Wrath of God. Or at least, something to that effect.’

‘But who listens to the mullahs, anymore? Besides, many of them have their own sex toys to play with.’

‘Good lord!’

‘What?’

‘I’m wondering what’s inspired this burst of devil-may-careism.’

‘Nothing.’

‘Is there someone else?’

‘What do you mean: “someone else”?’

‘Who’s asking for explanations, now?’

‘I…No, there’s no one else. Besides, I’m hardly approving the decisions my parents have come to.’

‘About this unknown man?’

‘Yes.’

‘How disturbing.’

‘I know. I’m the person getting married, and no one seems to be bothered to ask me.’

‘Liberation in the upper-class societal structure? My foot!’

‘You’re laughing at me.’

‘I’m just trying to tell you, it’s your life – you can tell them whatever’s bothering you. They’re good parents and people, they’ll listen to what you have to say.’

‘And who do I tell them I’ve changed my mind for? They’ll start asking questions about where I go everyday between four and six pm. If they knew I came here to meet you…’

‘Ah! The convenient trailing sentence. They don’t need to know about me – I’m not important.’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘We’ve talked about this. I’m not journey’s end.’

‘But what if you were?’

‘Do you want to imagine it?’

‘Could we?’

‘I think we already have.’ He was right – she knew he was. Their conversations – each of them, till this very moment was the imagining of what life would be like if they were beyond friends – another unspoken agreement. When the time would come to let go, it would be hard but they’d manage it in the end, because they had been letting go a little every day.

‘Go home and tell your parents the decision you think will shape your life.’

‘And you? Where will you be?’

‘I’ll still be here, should you ever wish to come back home.’

‘Home.’

‘Yes.’

Home, she rolled it around on her tongue – had it really been home where she’d come everyday, in the company of a man she had only known for two hours for the last six years?

Should she have said I love you, she wondered on the drive home? Should she have filled those unsaid spaces with words that would mean nothing to either of them, because when spoken, they would lose that elusive charm they held before?

It was hard to understand it was over. It was hard to conceive an ending point to a world that had no beginning. She wished it didn’t have to end, hoped that life wouldn’t have to take over. But it did, to both counts.

She would go home. Not Home, but home and she’d live her life like the six years were a blink. And she would convince herself that they were.

‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that.’