Eyes in the Mirror

 

As the thunder hit the sky, I saw her.

With the dim dust from passing vehicles mixing into the dense winter fog of Delhi, the eyes looking into the mirror were clear, as if they wanted my attention.
Yes, you have my attention — those were the exact thoughts in my head.

She placed a bindi on her forehead, put down the mirror, and closed the window.

A slight pinch in my head pulled me back to reality. I shifted my focus to loading the luggage, but something held me back — pulling me toward the shut window. In a sudden flash, I saw it again. The eyes.
They felt familiar.

Is she the one I think she is? I questioned myself.
“No,” I dismissed the thought.
Why would she be here at this hour? These are just helpless thoughts, I told myself.

“Laptop, trolley, and the duffle — three bags, all here,” I said to myself as I ticked off my checklist.

Now my hunt was for the driver, missing from his seat. My eyes searched through the crowd and between the passing vehicles. Then they paused — not on the driver, but on her.
Yes. It was her. The one I thought it was.

The driver waved at me from a corner tea stall, puffing on a cigarette and sipping tea, fighting the cold. I waved back. He gestured with his fingers — five minutes. I nodded.

I looked at her.

She was in casuals — a red T-shirt, a zipped hoodie, faded blue jeans, and white sneakers. She looked like she was headed for a casual meetup.

Why was she here?
Does she live here or is she visiting someone?
If she’s visiting, where is the other person?
Should I go up and shake hands?
Does she even know me?

Questions without answers crowded my head.

I knew who she was. I also knew she probably didn’t know me. Four years in the same town, and we had spoken only once. I had tried before — but never gathered the courage.

Now I was leaving.
Should I make the effort?

More than the effort, I feared how she would receive it.

I looked around for the driver — hoping he’d return and end these thoughts. He had disappeared. I called him.

“Sir ji, main paas hi hoon. Train ka kaafi time hai. Main aa jaunga, tension mat lijiye. Time se pehle pahunch jaenge.”

I couldn’t tell him, Brother, it’s not the train that worries me — it’s the girl standing across the street.

She was still there. Waiting — for someone or something.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath.
A voice whispered, What do you have to lose?

I told myself, If she’s still there when I open my eyes, I’ll go. If not, I won’t.

I opened my eyes.
She was there.

It was time.

I stepped onto the road — a vehicle passed, pushing me back. Another step — another vehicle. I was moving forward and backward like a dance, the street refusing to let me cross.

It felt like the universe didn’t want us to meet.

I gave up. Sat back in the car.

Through the side mirror, she was still waiting. Still visible.

I opened the door. Closed it. Did that a few times.

No more vehicles. Plenty of time for the train. The driver still away. She still there.

If it was ever going to happen, it was now.

I opened the door, crossed the road, and walked toward her.

“Hey, I am—”
I tried to introduce myself, but she interrupted — introducing herself instead.

She looked excited. Her eyes widened, her smile spread, and she extended her hand. I did the same.

“Hey, I know you…” she said.

Before she could finish, a loud voice broke the moment:
“Sir ji, time ho gaya. Chale?”