Drowning in voices; yes, that’s what it feels like, to sit here in this half filled cafeteria floor. People all around me – though no one is close enough to be annoying – are talking, merrily sharing their moments of the day with their colleagues, friends.
I see a few of them, sitting in solitude. Solitude? Not really, given the magical black mirror in their palms. That thing easily let’s them be closer to their close friends, the magic of video calling displaying its charms.
Then I see this one girl, dressed in a blue leaf patterned dress. She has jet black hair that’s glowing amber in the light of the setting sun. She is carelessly balancing a coffee cup with her left hand, holding it by the handle. Left handed? I don’t think so, because her right hand is just as busy as mine. She is very carefully guiding the tip of a pen on a sheet of paper.
From what I can make from this far, she has a much better pen than mine, her fingers holding it snug but gentle. The tip is being guided deftly on the paper. ‘If only I could know what she’s scribbling about!!’
The shifting glint in her eyes tells me that she’s focused in her thought, but is taking care of every part of the paper in front of her too. I’ve glanced at her face about ten times in the last couple minutes, and each time, I’ve found her looking intently at the tip of her pen. Maybe I’m missing it every time she looks up.
This time I caught her look up and smile. Not at me of course, at her completed composition. How do I know it’s completed? Her smile, the kind that only comes when you’ve achieved something that is close to your soul. It lights up the golden glow on her face. Yes, she has finished her work, and I’m sure she’s going to leave now!
Just when I thought that I’ll have to wrap up my composition with a fiction piece, the sunlight falling on my notebook is blocked by a silhouette. I look up to find her standing before me, with a sketch that looks strikingly similar to myself.
“I’ve always wanted to sketch a writer.” She says with a smile, “what do you think?”
I look from my face in the paper to her smiling face, “I’ve always wanted to write about an artist. What do you think?” I said, pushing my notebook towards her.
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