And, thus we went out. We talked. Briefly. Intensely. Being as open as we could. Judging as little as possible. For an hour or less. Every day or every alternate day. Over the last month or so. We talked till we parted. Initially, we found our time too short and childishly expressed that we would look forward to our next chat. Then we saw the value of speaking face-to-face, in a city that hardly spoke. We cherished our little time. Our conversations grew deeper. We set them free. And returning home felt less shackling. We shared nothing more. An accidental touch of fingers, or a wrist held while crossing the road, or an arm around the shoulder, rather barely above it, scraping the thin air. But we didn’t hold hands. We didn’t hug. We hadn’t so far. Though we both wanted it. So badly.
Ruhi blushed. She had a peculiar way of being embarrassed. She would restrain a smile and look at my wrist, or my ring, or my sleeves, or my shirt collar - just about any place that would keep her gaze away from my eyes.