The Summer He Never Spoke About - The First Words - Part 10
“She spoke first.”
The boy leaned so close he almost slipped off his chair.
“What did she say?!”
Grandpa didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes were distant again… but softer than before.
“I was standing there,” he began slowly,
“trying to gather courage that kept slipping away…”
“I took one step forward…”
“And before I could say anything…”
He paused.
“She looked at me.”
The boy swallowed.
“Not like before,” Grandpa continued.
“This time… it was steady.”
“No hesitation. No quick turning away.”
“And then?” the boy whispered.
Grandpa smiled faintly.
“And then she said…”
He paused again.
“‘You come here often… don’t you?’”
The boy blinked.
“That’s it?”
Grandpa nodded.
“Yes.”
The boy leaned back slightly.
“All this build-up… and she just said that?”
Grandpa chuckled softly.
“To you… it sounds simple.”
“But to me…”
He looked at the boy.
“…it was everything.”
“Why?” the boy asked.
“Because,” Grandpa said quietly,
“she had been noticing me too.”
The boy went silent.
That realization hit differently.
“So what did you say?” he asked after a moment.
Grandpa smiled, almost embarrassed.
“I didn’t answer properly.”
The boy laughed. “Of course you didn’t.”
“I just nodded,” Grandpa admitted.
“You nodded?! That’s it?!”
“I also said…” Grandpa tried to recall,
“…‘sometimes.’”
The boy covered his face.
“Thatha… that’s the worst reply possible.”
Grandpa laughed softly.
“I know.”
“But she didn’t mind,” he continued.
“How do you know?”
“Because she smiled.”
The boy immediately looked up.
“A real smile?”
Grandpa nodded.
“Yes.”
“And not the ‘almost’ one?”
“No,” Grandpa said.
“This one… stayed.”
The night felt warmer somehow.
“What happened next?” the boy asked.
“She asked me something else,” Grandpa said.
“What?”
“‘You’re not from this side of the village, right?’”
The boy nodded. “Okay… that’s normal.”
“I told her no,” Grandpa said.
“I had come to stay with my uncle for the summer.”
“And then?” the boy asked.
Grandpa smiled.
“And then… for a few minutes…”
He paused.
“…we spoke.”
The boy stared at him.
“You actually had a conversation?”
“Yes.”
“What did you talk about?”
Grandpa shook his head slightly.
“I don’t remember the exact words.”
The boy frowned. “How can you not remember?”
Grandpa looked at him.
“Because,” he said gently,
“I was too busy feeling it.”
The boy didn’t argue this time.
“It wasn’t a long conversation,” Grandpa continued.
“Just small things… where I was from… how long I’d stay…”
“And then…”
“She picked up her pot,” he said.
“And started to leave.”
The boy leaned forward again.
“Did you stop her?”
Grandpa shook his head.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Grandpa said softly,
“I didn’t want to rush something that had just begun.”
The boy exhaled slowly.
“But before she left…” Grandpa added.
The boy’s eyes lit up again.
“What?”
Grandpa smiled.
“She said…”
He paused one last time.
“‘I’ll see you… tomorrow.’”
The boy froze.
“She said that?” he whispered.
Grandpa nodded.
“And that,” he said,
“…was the first time I knew…”
He paused, looking at the night sky.
“…that this wasn’t just in my head anymore.”
Comments
Post a Comment