 She sat up with a start, hand to her heart. Her other hand propped her up on the downy bed, mountains of white pillows, and comforter around her like a soft barricade. Her breathing was deep, eyes wide and anxious, lips lightly trembling, her face dewy with the fear of the dream she woke up from. Pushing away the pillows in her way, she shakily stepped out of her bed, sliding her feet into slippers, and closing her eyes for a moment to breathe in a sense of calm. She considered and then discarded the notion of going back to sleep. It would take her a little while to become drowsy again.
With a wry
smile, she walked towards the bathroom, and turned the faucet. Water
flowed out, loud and fast, splashing onto her hands. Cupping pools of
water in her palms, she brought them to her face, gently sighing and
shivering as the cold water touched her skin, the color of burnished
russet. Walking back towards the bedroom, she kept going until she
reached her balcony, twisting her hair back, and letting the water on
her face run in little rivulets, down to her chin and drip onto her
comfortable flannel pajamas.
For a
moment, she just stood there, listening to the silence of the night.
Somewhere in the distance she heard a train, and was oddly comforted.
The breeze gently embraced her, the water on her face drying, and
leaving her face refreshed and more awake. Hugging herself, she sat
down on the large wicker chair, settling against the cushions. Her lips
parted and a song escaped, her voice perfuming the air with a long lost
melody. She sang as if her heart was breaking, all the time with a
smile playing on her lips, eyes filling with a melancholy she didn’t
feel, glistening with the emotion in the song. It ended and bereft of
the music, she rubbed her feet against each other, as if to replace the
warmth that had left her with the song.
The sounds of the night were permeated then with a deep voice,
inherently male, vibrating through the air, startling her. “Beautiful”,
said the voice. Clutching the arms of the wicker chair, she let out an
incoherent murmur. After a moment’s pause, the voice spoke again, “Did
I frighten you? I didn’t mean to. Your voice is enough to arouse
emotion in the most cold, unfeeling soul. Who are you?” Seeing the
humor in the situation, she let out a low, husky laugh, and said with a
great deal of mirth, “Shouldn’t you tell me who you are first? Or, oh,
don’t you think it would be dreadfully romantic if we remain strangers
and indulge in conversation?”
At that, the author of the voice lifted his arms and rested them
behind his head, amusement filtering through him as he replied, “So
you’re a romantic then. Fascinating.” Her lips curved, “Of course. Is
there another way for me to be?” The voice sat there in his blue shirt
and track pants, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, piercing eyes looking
out into the darkness behind glasses, and smiled at the thought of her
as his eyes grew imperceptibly sharper in faint recognition. Did he
know her? Who was she? His need to know was eclipsed by his
incomprehensible want to give her the romance she entreated him for. So
he merely said, “Tell me your dreams Bella.” Laughing and shaking her
head at the incongruous name and question, she thought for a second:
“How do I encompass them in words? How am I to paint my dreams so you
can see them when the palette of colors pales in comparison to my
dreams themselves?”
He was silent; he knew she’d find a way to brighten the colors
for his eyes alone. Tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear,
she started playing with a cushion, and started again “I dream of
poetry wrought for me, I dream of a harmony that can hold within it all
the love I am capable of, I dream of my mother’s hands and her
immeasurable courage, I dream of burying my face in a dog’s fur and
feel the unquestioning trust, I dream of someone capturing all of my
dreams in one picture…I dream of being on a boat surrounded by
glaciers, blue everywhere I see, I dream of birds and animals….I dream
of rainy days and dark clouds, writing my aspirations in their gray ink
across the sky, of sleeping in black satin, I dream of someday holding
my own baby in these hands, of never losing anyone I love, of a man who
will know my thoughts and dreams before I think and dream them….”
She kept talking unconsciously, unhindered, and to the man
listening to her, she was unbearably irresistible. Her hair loosened
and fell in waves around her, and as the breeze intensified, he thought
he could smell the fresh rain in her hair, the sweet smell of monsoon,
the gentle essence of a tree covered with night blooming Frangipanis.
He listened, almost helpless. When she stopped speaking, almost as
suddenly as she’d begun, the air was pregnant with purpose. He wanted
to say more…but didn’t know what to say. He was taken aback at the
realization that he had known her thoughts and dreams before she had
thought and dreamt them, and certainly before she had revealed them to
him.
The sky lit up then, the sun orange with promise, the landscape
being unveiled as a beautiful bride. They sat in silence, each knowing
the other was still sitting, waiting for something. And knowing it was
to end soon. With the night, the romance, the dreams, the words all
floated away into nothingness, to the practicality of the day. With an
unsure smile, she spoke again, “I’ve never shared my dreams before…I
have to go now, and prepare for my day.” Standing up, she turned
towards her bedroom, and softly said, “Thank you”. The voice came back,
not as deep as it had been, as if the sun had infused it with its light
and warmth, “Never thank me Bella. This will stay with me always—the
night when a woman made me forget myself in the beauty of her dreams. I
will be craving your voice every moment…and Bella? The romance has only
begun.” She smiled. It was, as he’d said, only the beginning.
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