Snatched

He jogged on the pavement. Earphones blasting with some punk music. Sneakers thudding on the wet ground.
As always, he ran.

She looked outside her window. She couldn’t see him yet. She searched frantically amid the crowd on the street below.
Finally spotting his unmistakeable blonde head, she sighed in relief.

He slowed his jog to a walk as he approached the old battered building across the road. Weaving his hand through his hair, he looked up and saw the girl again.
Like every day.

He knew she looked at him, since the very beginning. Once or twice, they had even shared a smile. A smile that seemed to illuminate up her face from inside.

Today, she looked different. Even from down below he could say that confidently. She was pale. Paler than usual. The skin around her eyes was tight. So much so, that he wondered whether it would crack up like a porcelain doll.
And her hair….her beautiful brown mane, which shone at him from the old rat-house, was gone.

His face tightened. She grew conscious. It was silly of her to stand there for him. She didn’t want to worry him. She had no business worrying him.  She had a coughing fit just then. Her body began to tremble. And in chilling moment of clarity, she knew it was over. She would never stand at this window again.
She didn’t want him to see her in her weak state. She willed herself to stop and with her very last strength, drew the curtains to block her view. She felt like a door had been slammed on her face.

______________________________________________________________________

Today again he jogged his way out of the 6 o’clock crowd. Didn’t they know he had to be somewhere? Didn’t they realize his urgency?

When he reached the building, he flinched back instinctively. He suddenly felt hopeless. He felt like someone had gutted him in the stomach and stole his dreams. He felt the bile rising in his food pipe. Thank God, he dint throw up.
The window was shut.

______________________________________________________________________

Sarah Delia was a God-fearing woman. Meaning, she never missed a Sunday prayer. In her 75 years, she has never missed a morning mess. Nor did she forget to pray every night like her nana had taught her. 

She was clean and stopped evil thoughts before they formed. 

Her father, had left her a three-storied house at the corner of Park-Street and she lived off renting rooms to odd kinds of people.

This day, was a Sunday, and so she was getting ready to walk down to the church. Knowing it to be the elderly milkman, late as always, she opened the door.

At Sarah Delia’s door was a ragged, young man who could possibly not be over 30. He wore a day or two old stubble and didn’t look like her managed much sleep either. God-fearing as she was, she was also a kind soul. She immediately took pity on the young man, and asked him in.

______________________________________________________________________

Daniel was hovering outside her room. He couldn’t decide whether he should go in, or just leave. 

He had talked to her doctors. They said that they were sorry, nothing could be done now. 

She was deeply unconscious and her conditions were deteriorating abnormally fast.

Leukaemia, at its last stage.

She was dreaming. In her dream, she was running down the street that the boy used to. She came across the building and looked up. In the window, was his face framed by the rotting woods.
And in that moment, she felt a strange calming bliss. Like she had achieved what was asked of her.

“You should go in. God know, you don’t have much time.”
Daniel looked up to see Sarah, the landlady looking down at him.
“I can’t,” he simply said.
“God knows you can,” she said, “And I do too. It might be your last chance.”
He looked up and in the eyes of the elderly lady, saw a belief that infected him. He got up thinking that maybe he would be the last way out.

Everyone believes in miracles.

He opened the door quietly and looked at her. Even though she was ghostly pale and looked ages older, she radiated warmth through the ghost of smile that played lightly across her face while she slept.

He walked over to her side and sat on the chair.

“Hi,” he managed. He could sense the bile rising in his stomach. He felt sick to his gut with hopelessness. 

“I came to see you,” he gently cradled her hand in his and stroked.

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered and opened. In those he saw his own worried face reflecting back.
She heaved a sigh and widened her smile and slowly shut her eyes.

Finally, she had found her bliss.