Unlikely City

There was a slight rustle in the palm tree across the garden abutting the lake and I noticed an old worn-out branch crashing on the manicured lawn below. The city lights reflected in the water and the moon shone bright in a starless sky. I could neither hear the water rippling slowly nor the cars driving by on the other side of the lake made any sound. Just tiny flickers of light following each other, as if in a school parade instructed by a rather stern-looking instructor. I stubbed my cigarette on the rusty balcony railing and waited for the smoke to vanish completely before heading back into the room to plant myself between two bodies and be alone again.
 
I often find myself alone with my thoughts. Sometimes, it seems like a pointless, melancholic and pretentious exercise of talking to myself. Sometimes, I want to write them down that very moment but often don’t for either lack of effort or resources. And sometimes, I go into long winding imaginations of the future, rather of myself in the future, building an idealist image of accomplishments and possibilities.
 
But that night was different.

My heart was throbbing in my chest, and I could not help but write down my thoughts. After having tossed and turned in the bed for what seemed like forever, I found myself hunting for a pen and some paper to scribble on. Fortunately, my bag had both of those. I rushed out as quietly as I could and in the torch light of my phone, I wrote.
 

I guess I’ve been searching for your face all along. In people, in places, in memories, in photographs, in auto rides to and from the metro station. In those furtive glances in train rides, in the eyes of men while passing by them at traffic lights, in the mall when I notice someone looking at me from the corner of their eyes. I’ve been searching for you in some familiar, some unfamiliar, some pleasant, some not-so pleasant touches. When a hand brushes past mine in an over-stuffed e-rickshaw, when I accidentally touch the same thing as someone else at a store, when my fingers graze against another passenger’s hands at the check-in…but I can’t. I can’t replicate that sight or touch anywhere or with anyone. Maybe I don’t know where to look , or maybe I’m too afraid to look at the right place. Maybe I’m too afraid that I’ll find you.

 
The palm tree will probably grow a new, greener branch and the lake will probably find a different person to look at it another day. Maybe another person will write something else on this balcony, or maybe not write at all. But that night was mine. That moment was mine. It meant something to me – something that kept me awake and thinking at 3 am in an unlikely city.