“Why are we here?”
He looked up from his work, startled at the sudden question. She did not
face him but continued to gaze past the window – possibly at the clouds, if he
knew any better – arms crossed, her expression impassive if not slightly
wistful. Unable to discern the context of her words, he simply asked,
“Elaborate, if you can?”
“I won’t. The question is self-explanatory. Oh and if you can answer
this as well – who exactly are you?”
The words escaped him even before he could get up to face her (and
perhaps check for fever first, before trying to knock sense in her). “What is
wrong with you today?”
“Answer me!”
“But in what context?”
“You know which.”
“I do not. Unless you seem to have to forgotten how you willingly chose
to kill time while I finished my assignments – there, the answer to your first
question.”
“Incorrect. Also, I still don’t know who you are.”
“Oh, for the love of God! How can you not recognize me?”
“I don’t recognize myself.”
“Shall I bring a mirror?”
“Irrelevant.”
“How about a blow to your head?”
“How about I offer you a knife instead?”
He finally walked up to her, stopping by the other end of the window,
keeping the little distance to avoid overwhelming her. She held his gaze
coldly, standing as if in defiance of everything around her. He couldn't help
but chuckle. “Does it matter?”
“Unless it matters to you, no.”
“Why?”
“If you’re asking that, then it does
matter to you.”
He looked away, glancing at the view before them; a moment of quiet
reflection spent in taking in nothing more than myriad hues of white
that played across a canvas of infinite blue, before turning to look at her, a
slight smile as the only affirmation of their mutual understanding, to be met
by a solemn nod in return.
