The Summer He Never Spoke About - The Place I Never Expected - Part 7
“Not where you expected?” the boy asked, eyes wide again.
“Then where?”
Grandpa smiled faintly, as if even now, the memory surprised him.
“At the well,” he said.
“The well?” the boy frowned.
“What well?”
“The village well,” Grandpa explained.
“Everyone used to go there… mornings, evenings… to fetch water.”
The boy nodded. “Okay… but what were you doing there?”
Grandpa gave him a look.
“Trying to drink water,” he said dryly.
The boy laughed. “Convenient again.”
“It was evening,” Grandpa continued.
“Not too late… just when the sky starts turning orange.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything. I had already convinced myself… that chapter was over.”
“And then?” the boy asked.
Grandpa’s voice softened.
“And then… I heard her voice.”
The boy froze.
“You heard her before you saw her?”
Grandpa nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“What was she saying?” the boy asked eagerly.
Grandpa shook his head slightly.
“I don’t remember the words,” he admitted.
“But I remember the feeling.”
“What feeling?”
“That sudden… stillness,” Grandpa said.
“As if everything inside me stopped… just to listen.”
The boy leaned in closer.
“Then you saw her?”
Grandpa nodded.
“She was standing near the well… talking to another girl.”
“Laughing… a little.”
The boy smiled. “So she does smile properly.”
Grandpa smiled too.
“Yes,” he said.
“She does.”
“Did she see you?” the boy asked.
Grandpa’s expression shifted slightly.
“Yes.”
“Same look again?” the boy asked.
Grandpa shook his head.
“No.”
“Then?”
“This time… it was quicker,” he said.
“Not like before… not slow, not hesitant.”
“She saw me… and looked away.”
The boy frowned.
“That’s not good, right?”
Grandpa didn’t answer immediately.
“It wasn’t bad,” he said slowly.
“But it wasn’t the same.”
“Why?” the boy asked.
Grandpa leaned back.
“Because this time… she wasn’t alone.”
The boy thought about that.
“Oh… so maybe she didn’t want others to notice?”
Grandpa gave a small nod.
“Maybe.”
“So what did you do?” the boy asked.
Grandpa let out a quiet breath.
“I stayed there.”
The boy laughed. “Of course you did.”
“I pretended to draw water,” Grandpa continued.
“But my attention was somewhere else.”
“On her,” the boy said.
Grandpa didn’t deny it.
“There were moments,” he said,
“when I felt she was aware of me again.”
“How?”
“She would stop talking for a second…
or adjust her position slightly…”
“Small things,” Grandpa said.
“But when you’re watching closely…
they don’t feel small.”
The boy nodded slowly.
“So now what? Did you talk to her this time?”
Grandpa looked at him.
There was a pause.
“I tried.”
The boy’s eyes lit up instantly.
“FINALLY!”
“But…” Grandpa added.
The boy dropped his shoulders.
“Why is there always a ‘but’ in your story?”
Grandpa smiled faintly.
“Because real stories don’t move straight,” he said.
“What happened?” the boy asked, now fully invested.
Grandpa looked back into the distance.
“I took a step forward…”
He paused.
“…and someone called her name.”
The boy blinked.
“What name?”
Grandpa’s expression changed slightly.
Something deeper.
Something more personal.
“That,” he said quietly,
“…was the first time I heard it.”
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