Before Dark

It was getting dark. I had fifteen minutes or less. She had not sounded too keen when I called this morning and requested for a meeting. But when we met, it was like always, like we had never separated, really glad to be together. We have been in touch for more than forty years, nearly all our life. I had seen her last twenty years back. Then, we separated. I went abroad to the west. She went back east to her country. She married, had three kids. We exchanged e-mails every few years, just one per person each time. We never talked about meeting. I never asked about her husband or her kids. This morning, I landed in her city, checked into a hotel and called her hospital number at the Neurology department where she works. I told her that I am in her city for a day and that I wanted to meet her, just for half an hour or so. Casual conversation lasted five minutes. We sipped Chinese tea and laughed over some old joke. I gave her my medical report. I studied her graying hair, her eyes and shamelessly let my eyes take in the rest of her. I was glad that I had not forgotten all that. When she raised her head, I was staring straight at her lovely eyes. I will try to forget the tears. It will not be difficult, I guess. But will I remember her smiling eyes then? I told her that I might forget her soon. I told her that I have always loved her. I tried to make it sound trivial and joked that I might forget that soon. She did not say anything. Or maybe she did. The darkness is creeping in and the shadows are lengthening.