Lights

                                It was winter. Twilight began to fall and there was no trace of wind. He was sitting at his usual spot in the park; it was a few minutes away from his house. Usually he would take a book along with him to read or he would listen to music. While reading, he would shift his attention for a brief moment to observe the people around him. And then again he would become completely oblivious as he would resume reading. He believed that the purpose of fiction was to combat loneliness which gave an assuring sense of belonging. He enjoyed solitude. He felt that it was perfectly alright to spend time alone and not be defined in the presence of  the company of others'. But today wasn't one of those days. The grey clouds had cast a penumbral shadow on him. He felt sucker punched and miserable. He had built those walls around him as a line of defense. He wanted someone to get those walls down. Tears had stained his cheeks. His eyes were still hazy. He dabbed them with the sleeves of his black cardigan. He wiped his spectacles and put them on. He gazed at the swarm of moths which were lingering around the street light. He quite liked the design of this street light because it had an ancient and rustic charm to it. But the same street light which had a charm that he liked made him sad today.  The swarm of moths made him sad. People around him made him feel sad.

                                She came and sat next to him, keeping her bag next to her but not between them. They didn't talk. Not a single exchange of words. He felt comforted in her presence. She knew exactly what he was feeling. She knew how unhappy and broken he was. She began to search something in her bag. Her movements were very calm and she was composed. She drew out a candle followed by a matchbox. She lit the candle, picked up her bag, hung it on her right shoulder and stood up. He looked at the flame of the candle. He loved candles.  Then he looked at her face which was illuminated by the candle. She turned and began to walk. He too got up and followed her. The flame of the candle flickered as she walked ahead. He still walked behind her hoping that the candle shouldn't go out. People looked at them. They didn't really care. They reached the apartment. She opened the door carefully as she had still held the candle in her hand. A few drops of wax had fallen on her hand. She didn't wince or anything of that sort.

                                She entered his bedroom. He was still behind her. She mounted the candle on an ornate candle stand that lay on his desk which was surrounded by many books.  The candle filled the entire room with an aura of positivity. She hugged him and left. He sat on his bed and found a folded sheet of paper torn from a spirally bound notebook with rounded corners that lay on his pillow. He unfolded the paper and read the words which were written with a fountain pen of blue ink. Those words written in her cursive handwriting made him feel wanted and loved. He then looked at the flame of the candle and began to cry silently, tears streaming down his face. This time he was happy and was engulfed with a sense of euphoria. The words on the sheet of paper read –

“Lights will guide you home.

And ignite your bones.

And I will try to fix you.”