Broken Glass, Page 2

he thought that for her now, he was exactly that.

  She said she had to go and he felt as if he was being torn apart. He wanted her to stay and wanted to know how she could live without him when he was having trouble breathing without her. But he couldn’t risk having her suspect him.

  He typed in a casual bye and went offline, feeling breathless. The first part was done. Then next thing to do was to find out where exactly she lived in the big city.

  The next few days, he played as cool as possible so as not to arouse her suspicion. Every alternate day he would leave a greeting and then ask her how she was. A week later, they started to converse about other things with topics ranging from movies and books. She loved art and after a careful and extensive research on the Internet, he talked to her about the different art styles and painters like Van Gogh and Da Vinci. She seemed fascinated by Da Vinci- a talented painter and inventor.

  After their late night chats, he would lie down on his bed, with one arm over his head and think about her. When he was with her he hadn't really paid any attention to her interests since he had always been so captivated by her radiance and beauty.

  He would then look out the window at the moon and muse about how they were sharing the same moonlight even though they were miles apart. When he closed his eyes, he would fall into a semi-conscious sleep where he would be thinking of her. She was always laughing and a chatterbox. When they had first gone out, she had talked non-stop about anything and everything. Then something had happened. Something had changed and left her distant and dispirited.

  He would have to find out what had made her this. There had to be a reason why she cheated on him.

  When he woke up the next morning, he ignored his ringing phone and switched on his laptop to see if she was online. She wasn't, but she had been early in the morning and according to her post she had enjoyed a chocolate mocha at the Cafe.

  A smile twisted his lips. He may not know where she lived, but he now knew of the place she visited. He went into his room and took out a handbag. He packed two pairs of jeans, five t-shirts, a cap and his brown overcoat and scarf.

  Putting on his sunglasses, he picked up his wallet, keys and phone and walked out. He wouldn't waste another second to get to her. He got into his car and grumbled when the cell phone on his pocket buzzed. He removed it, saw it was from work and switched off his phone. He was probably fired by now, but he didn't care. All that mattered was her.

  The drive was a long one and he kept wondering why she had wanted to get so far away from him. By his calculations, he would arrive at her City by tomorrow morning. That was actually perfect as he would go straight away and wait at the Cafe to see if she would come get her morning coffee.

  He played all the songs she loved in the car. There was a ballad in there and he would sigh and smile, thinking that the lyrics reminded him of her. The song aptly described the emotions felt when two lovers were far apart. Well they wouldn't be away from each other for too long.

  As the hours passed, he started to get weary and his eyes grew tired of seeing the same empty highway before him. The only thing that got him moving and pay attention was that in a few hours, he would see her. He didn't need much food or water. The half-eaten sandwich lay in the passenger seat and a half full bottle of water gently rolled beside it.

  Finally, when day broke, he had entered her City. Just by being here he could feel her. They were breathing the same air now and seeing the same sunrise. He was sure she was awake and standing by the window, gazing with awe at the sunrise and the beautiful hues of the sky. She would have opened her window and the gentle breeze was probably caressing her face and silky hair.

  A blare of horn roused him from his thoughts and he glared at the driver in the other car, gesturing angrily at him. He had apparently driven into the wrong lane, but that was okay. Nothing would happen to him until he saw her.

  He entered the main city and used the GPS on his phone to find the address to the Cafe. There was still an hour before it would open. But that was okay, he hadn't reached there anyway.

  When he did, he blessed his good fortune to find a good parking spot. It was partially under a tree and gave him a good view of the Cafe.

  He leaned on his steering wheel, watching the people, wondering if any of these knew her. Had they spoken to her?

  He saw a man walk to the Cafe and open it up. His pulse raced. Anytime now. She may not come here, but he chose to rely on his instincts than the annoying logical voice in his head. She was here, somewhere around him. He could feel it in his pulse, in his heart, in his gut.

  More people walked into the Cafe and a few of them were wearing aprons.

  He tapped restlessly on the steering wheel. For an hour, he watched people enter and leave with their morning coffees and muffins.

  Where was she? Where was she?

  He removed the hat he was wearing and tossed it in the backseat. His forehead was matted with his sweaty hair. He opened up his window to let in the gentle breeze.

  Running a hand in his hair, he kept wondering why she wasn't here when every nerve and fibre of his being told him that she would come and that she was nearby. He picked up his phone and was about to open up the app for the social networking site, when he saw her.

  She was walking with a purse in her hands, as if she were carrying a briefcase. Dressed in a white frilly short sleeves blouse and a knee length white floral skirt, she looked like an angel. She made her way to one of the outdoor tables and sat down. The wind played with her hair and she brought it to one side and held it with her hand as she ordered her coffee.

  He got out from his car and locked it. Then returned and unlocked it to grab his hat. After locking it again, he walked briskly across the road towards the cafe. His eyes were only fixed on her. She had changed her hair, he noticed duly.

  It was wavy and a darker shade of brown. There were also blonde highlights on the lower part of her hair. The make up she wore was different too. More mascara and less of everything else. Her lipstick was a pale pink that complimented her full mouth.

  He walked to the other end of the cafe and sat down by the carefully cropped hedges. He took his place on the side so that he could watch her through the vines intertwined through the archway that separated two sides of the cafe.

  She let go of her hair and let it flutter in the wind. She was looking at her phone and then dialing a number.

  He saw the way she talked on the phone. She was happy. Her eyes had a sparkle in them and her cheeks had a natural glow and blush. She was laughing with whoever was on the other line and he felt a sharp stab of pain.

  She was laughing with someone else that wasn't him!

  Her coffee came and the waiter blocked his view for a little while.

  "Your order, sir?"

  There was a waitress standing beside him, but he paid her no heed. He wanted to walk up there, grab her in his arms and kiss her hard. Afterward he would ask her who she was speaking to on the phone.

  "Sir?"

  He hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday and it probably wasn't a good idea to have coffee on an empty stomach, but if he intended to stay and watch her and also get rid of this annoying waitress...

  "Black. Very little sugar." He replied gruffly.

  "Do you mean the Cafe deluxe special or..."

  "Yes, go away." He said, never taking his eyes off her as she sipped her coffee.

  She walked away and he realized that while he was being interrupted by the waitress, she had finished talking on the phone and was now scribbling something on a pad. It took him a few moments to realize she was sketching.

  She looked blissful, as her hands held the pencil lightly and applied gentle strokes on the paper. The coffee beside her was emanating swirly vapors from it, but instead of sipping the hot beverage, she was completely absorbed in her sketching.

  His coffee arrived and he let it sit idly. From the corner of his eye, he saw the waitress lingering for a while and he looked at her.

&n
bsp; She had apparently noticed him staring at her and was watching him suspiciously.

  He removed his sunglasses to glare at her. "Something you want?"

  The waitress frowned and held the round tray to her chest. She seemed to want to say something, instead she slinked away quietly.

  He turned back to look at the one person who meant everything to him and saw that while he was being interrupted by that waitress yet again, she had picked up her mug with her left hand and sipping slowly while still sketching on her pad with her right. He longed to know what she was drawing and if she was passionate about scenery or portraits.

  He looked around him and saw potted flowers and vines. Behind him were residential and commercial buildings. He mused that if he was an artist, he would find nothing inspiring to draw in this cold city. There were barely any open areas and all he had seen while coming in were shops and malls and restaurants.

  And, of course, cafes practically in every block. He looked down at his mug, took a sip, made a face at the bitter taste and set it aside. The coffee was terrible and he couldn’t imagine why she would come here when she made a perfectly good cup of coffee in their home. Their home- the one she had recklessly abandoned, for what exactly? The city? Had she always wanted to live here?

  The waitress came back and set down his bill on the table and walked away without another word. He didn’t even look at it, knowing that the waitress just wanted to get rid of him. Well, he would take his own time doing whatever the hell he wanted.

  He glanced at her and saw a lock of her hair, flutter gently on her face, which she shook aside. And then she was suddenly touched by someone.

  She set down her mug before she spilled it and turned around to the person who had nudged her back. He saw a tall man with neatly combed dark hair, dressed in a blue checkered shirt and washed out jeans. He grinned at her and sat down across from her, slightly blocking his view of her.

  Instead of being angry at being jolted, she was laughing and tapping his hand away playfully. They knew each other. How they did and since when, he couldn’t tell. He appeared to look younger than her and not at all similar in features, meaning that he wasn’t related to her.

  His knuckles turned white and he relaxed his hands, not aware that he had been clenching them tightly. She looked happy and had a glow on her face that he had never before seen. She required no blush on her cheeks, for her laughter brightened up her face.

  The man picked the pad from her fingers and turned it to look at her drawing. She tried to snatch it back, but he held it away from her and dodged her fingers. Throughout this they were laughing. Both of them were laughing and having a good time. She was laughing without him.

  His fingers enclosed around the rim of the mug and clasped it tightly. He wanted to break the mug with his own bare hands, but stopping himself with the thought that the last thing he wanted to do was to draw attention to himself.

  He said something to her and she was nodding. They were discussing her drawings and for the briefest moment the young man held it up and he saw that she had drawn a picture of a woman, sitting on a rock, as if she were deep in thought.

  It was beautiful though the drawing was rough. He handed it back to her and she closed the sketch pad while listening attentively to what he was saying. Then they were getting up and he was paying for her coffee.

  He turned his head away and looked at her in the reflection of the glass of the café. She was slinging the strap of her purse in one hand and tucking the sketch pad under her other arm. They walked out together and he saw the young man, put a hand on the small of her back.

  He could feel his blood boiling and pulsating in his veins. He threw a few notes on the table to pay for his bill and got up, adjusting his hat.

  Following them