But his vision was invaded by another. Rooted to the spot, he watched as the person came to her and tapped her from behind. She turned around the wrong side, eyes darting to her left. The person laughed as he teased her about her stupidity, and her eyes lighted up, they too took striding steps together. The same striding steps he had just taken.
He swung back to the opposite direction, making quick, agitated slides on the slippery porcelain floor towards the office. He continued walking, trudging on through the embattlement of his heart, until he stopped, dead, leaning his head against the pillar. Curious onlookers stared, then scooted off as he glared at them. He did not need the pity of the world right now.
He thought to a time when he told himself he would be happy no matter what happened, and realised how quickly does words dissolved before the pain in his heart. The pain, that poked at him, prodded at him in his sleep, in his walk, in his every waking and sleeping moment. A pain that incited tears but resulted in none. Pain.
Pain. That was what he had been through for four long years, always adamant, always disbelieving. He looked at a tree. On of its leaves, there was a caterpillar, hanging from a loose cocoon thread. It would surely drop if just once the tree was shaken. Perhaps he was like this caterpillar. He was holding on to a hopeless hope, a thin line of belief, that when broken would lead his emotions the way of gravity- down.
And so, he walked along the corridors, dragging his feet along. His feet, like him, were tired. But nevertheless, he kept on moving. Moving towards her. Towards the hopeless hope. He kept on moving ...
