Because the Time is Running Out

I recognize what you are wearing, the green kurta with red dots. You wear it with jeans because it doesn’t have a pocket. I know. But those earrings are new, I think. You have on, your shoes, and one cannot see much of your funny socks. You walk fast, that stride of yours, slightly bent under the weight of your laptop.

Why do you have to struggle with your phone to know the time? Why don’t you just start wearing a watch? 

I keep walking behind you. I don’t mind watching you from a distance. We are going to the same place, anyway. I’d just enter the metro after you, and pretend that I happened to run into you. Your hair is already beginning to get untidy. Its grown long you know, it needs a bigger hair band. Your neck is ever so clean.

Why the hell do you have to take the stairs? Why do you insist on not holding on to the side railings, despite having that weird smelling sanitizer in the side pocket of your bag? You will fall one of these days, I tell you, and break your teeth. Its time you started acting sane. What’s wrong with you? Why are you in such a hurry? There’s still time.

Now you walk even faster. I didn’t know you heeded announcements. I speed up, too. You run, and climb the escalator up. I follow suit. There’s a metro beeping before it shuts its doors. You rush in. But the doors shut on me. You turn. You see me. The metro starts moving.You fix me with your eyes. You are gone.

I was wrong. There wasn't all that much of time, really.