the
doorbell rang noisily. you know the sound; it is one of those
irritating noise that always seem to wake you up at the wrong time. you
hated that sound so much you could kill whoever invented doorbells. it
is six a.m. on a sunday morning, no one rings a bell on that ungodly
hour! you did not dare open your eyes, hoping that your flatmates would
rush out their rooms and open the door. it did not take another long
“tuuuuuuuuuuttttt” sound before you gave up and sat straight up. they
would not hear it; and you know it is not their fault that they did not
and you did. no one told you to pass out on the sofa and spend the
night there. the bed, your bed, is probably aching for your warmth more
than a sex-maniac is aching for sex; you have not slept on it for quite
a while.

you opened the door and saw him
there. God knows you haven’t seen the man for years. the last time you
saw him was he walking out on you and your boyfriend.

“hi.”

“hi.”

you
stood there, holding the door in midway and stared at him. he stared
back at you and your bedroom-made hair and oily-dried up face. he
looked quickly at your party clothes and it was obvious he wondered if
you just got in.

“i dozed off on the
sofa.” you said unsolicitedly and wished that you did not. you are in
no way obligated to explain to him why you look like that. if someone
has to do some explaining, it wasn’t you definitely.

“i
can see that.” he replied and smiled at you. and in just an instant,
you remember everything that happened five years ago, as if you are
watching the movie in a slow motion-fast forward kind of way.

an
author once told you that that is how the mind works. it just takes one
insignificant detail and it will bring you back to memory lane.

you
wanted to ask him all the why’s you can think of. but you chose to wash
your face and comb your hair and change into a more appropriate
clothing wear. by the time you faced him again, the questions did not
seem attractive anymore.

“i am getting married.”