You know what time compression is, dontcha?
When you live hundreds of similar days, buried in routine, the brain stops forming distinct memories. Because everyday is same as the next.
I was, basically, time compressing, for many many years. For my love for sameness. For my fear of changes. I have been running up and down corridors, in and out of elevators, catching rickety autorickshaws, waiting, resenting traffic, gobbling down food, typing away, working away, hiding, mindlessly chomping sit-coms to sleep, and such.
And then you happen.
In some random corner, where two streets meet, we run into each other at the most unexpected of moments. I know, we are too old for this shit, I know. Too old, too tired, too fat, too bereft, too rugged. But we did.
And there is that expression on your face. Shy mischievous smile, embedded in your eyes. Like you would tell me things, if you could. Like you would stand beside me and say things, if it was allowed, if I listened. We would hang around, steady, for a minute or three, at that specific corner and submerge in soft laughs. Those laughs would wash away age, heartbreak, exhaustion and retrieve nice things. Many many nice things. Only you wouldn’t and I wouldn’t. Would we?
For a moment there, my hippocampus would jerk into motion because I shocked her out of time compressing and hurriedly make a memory or two.
Only you wouldn’t and I wouldn’t. Would we?