Remnants of a Temptress

Between her characteristic timed pauses, she would often bring her mother into our conversations. And she would knowingly relapse into those vibrant hues of her childhood, something she thought she never had. Breaking into irrepressible laughter, moments when only she understood what was so funny, were not uncommon either.

Often she would talk about how she looked at life, the way she should, and found that nothing was worth what we deemed its worth to be. I would strive hard to bring her back to our tiny world where in everything was worth much more than what we thought it was worth. Sometimes I was successful, mostly not. All the time, she made me feel like she was caged in my love, in the life we were trying to both create. My love couldn't paralyze her mind, could it? So I just let her be, the person she was.

Thosedays, after she left my room, it would smell of sometime lavender, sometime sandalwood. Of her shampoos and oils. Mostly of her. I couldn't make out what it was distinctly, what made her entice my nostrils and my mind, the way she did. It was like she had one of those smells, very typical to her. Even after long when she left me, those aromas remained in my room. Those are her remnants, I would treasure for the rest of time. Mostly they remained inside my mind. They would very often make me nauseous, that I would long for her, badly.

One morning, after a shower, when she stood before the mirror, gazing at herself, apparently lost, most probably lost, I stood very close to her, intoxicated. Wet ends of her hair, curled, hung loosely, tempted me. To shake her awake, I kissed her neck, placed my head on her shoulder. Our faces side by side, I looked at our image in the mirror, us.

And I asked her what she was thinking.