I was consoling myself for having to be alone on a Valentine’s Day. I boarded the train with a weighty feeling, having walked past numerous flower shops and countless lovers cherishing the day. You can say I was envious. Had it not been for my flat mate, I wouldn’t have stepped outside my room.
As I watched out the window of the train, cursing the operator for being unusually slow on this particular day, a young couple stood across, bidding farewell to each-other. Oh, the day meant so much for them. I could sense it. No exaggeration but I could even feel the warmth of their affection.
As the announcement was made to shut the door, the lovers parted. Interestingly, the girl took the seat in front of me. She clutched the bunch of red rose close to her. The boy bent against the window and waved goodbye until the train moved. It couldn’t get more romantic. I was glaring at the entire act, without a tinge of guilt.
I was about to go back to my self-sympathy thoughts when I noticed something that sent shivers down my spine. The girl was crying! She gripped the roses even closer to her and shed tears on it. For all the reason in the world, I knew it was “love”. It does exist. How fortunate the girl was to be in love. To feel its beautiful pain. To be so sentimental about someone that it was intolerable to part from him. Love actually happened.
That night I went to bed with an overwhelming sensation. So what if I didn’t have a Valentine. This time it happened to someone else, some other time it will be me. Some other time I will get to feel it. And I closed my eyes to dream on…
(NOTE: I wrote the article two days later but felt hesitant to post it. Maybe it will just be a dream. But again, who can stop me from dreaming…)
