When Absence Became Madness - A Habit Called Seeing Him - Part 2

 

The next morning, she reached the gate before everyone else.

Her hair was still wet from a hurried bath, her breakfast untouched, her books carried only for appearance. She stood near the iron railing pretending to read a notebook whose pages she never turned.

Nine-o-five.

Nine-ten.

Nine-twelve.

He came.

The relief that rushed through her body was so sudden it made her weak.

There he was—same measured steps, same distant eyes, same silence around him like an invisible wall. He walked past, unaware that someone’s entire night had depended on his arrival.

She smiled without meaning to.

And the world became bearable again.

From then on, mornings gained a single purpose.

She no longer woke for classes.

She woke for him.

She began memorizing everything. The exact minute he arrived. The colour of his shirts. Whether he carried books or files. Whether he looked tired or restless. Whether he crossed from the left side of the road or right.

If he looked serious, her mood darkened.

If he looked calm, she floated through the day.

If he was absent, nothing could save her temper.

Her friends noticed first.

“You’ve become strange lately,” one said.

“You keep staring at the road.”

“Are you hiding something?”

She laughed it away.

How could she explain something she herself did not understand?

She had never spoken to him.

Never heard his voice.

Never knew his name.

Yet she could sense when he was near before seeing him. Some madness inside her recognized his presence like birds recognize rain.

One afternoon, classes ended early.

She should have gone home.

Instead, she waited near the tea stall across the road.

Perhaps he would return.

Perhaps she would see him twice in one day.

The thought itself filled her with joy.

Hours passed under the hot sun. Students disappeared. Shops half-closed. The tea seller looked at her curiously.

Then he came.

Walking from the opposite side, sleeves rolled up, speaking briefly to another man.

She had never heard his voice before.

Even from a distance, those few careless words felt precious.

She stepped forward unconsciously.

He moved past her.

The wind from his passing touched her face.

That was enough to make her heart race all evening.

At home, she stood before the mirror and smiled at nothing.

Then laughed at herself.

Then suddenly began crying.

Why?

She did not know.

Only one truth was growing clearer each day—

Her happiness was no longer hers.

It belonged to a stranger.

And strangers can be cruel without knowing it.

That night, rain began outside her window.

She whispered into the darkness, though no one could hear:

“Come tomorrow.”