He stood at the counter, motionless, holding the drink he had just bought, the drink that was meant for her. From afar, he could see the two of them talking away, smiles and glances stealing away. They were animated, and she had a twinkle in her eye that shone against the sunlight. A spark, a fire that he recognised immediately as attraction. A fire that he had never owned.
He took slow steps towards the two, contemplating whether to barge in their conversation. They were surrounded by so many others, in a world he knew he did not belong to. Her world. He
turned back and decided to gulp down the drink that was meant for her. Root beer. He had picked that drink because that was the drink that he had seen her buy three times already. He had observed every detail of her. The way her soft fingers twirled around the sweating can, the almost tomboyish manner in which she carried herself, the slight skip in the way she walked. All these, he had remembered, because every little detail was a part of her, a part that he loved.
He thought about the last boyfriend she had, and winced at the memories. It was painful for him because it had been painful for her. When she had talked to him on the phone that night, he had already sensed something wrong. She denied it all the same. And then she broke down in tears. Those moments, was when he had felt a terrible, soul ripping agony in his heart, not because of jealousy, but because all he wanted her was to be happy, and that happiness was being
destroyed.
All he wanted her was to be happy. And taking a last, long look at the girl who was the centre of his life, he wished her to be happy with whoever she wanted to be with. He had never expected anything to come out of his affection anyway. It didn't matter. Or so he told himself.
He picked up his heavy bag, which seemed even heavier and walked. He walked the same steps that he had taken with her, sending her out every opportunity he got. Except now, he walked the path alone. "As long as she's happy ...."
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