Four Years

Drops of dew sparkled in her hair. They glinted in the sunlight, white light scattering into winking rainbows, catching his eye, several feet below, as he gazed up at her. She had her chin up, her hair in one swirl over her shoulder, pristine womanhood in virgin white, a few minutes after her bath, hair dripping wet, loose ends knotted with a flimsy towel.


He stretched his hand out to catch the scattered droplets of water that she tried so hard to shake off. Unaware he stood to catch them five floors below.


Anita.


She didn't know his name. Her name was the first thought he had when he woke up each day in his empty bed and home. Few people knew her. His friends most obviously did not. There were fairer maidens to notice in the town.


Anita was not beautiful. At least, not beautiful in the way most men expected. She was too frail. Dark. Her hair was plain and long and straight. Her eyes jet black. Her clothes mostly white. her voice husky.


Nobody noticed the sway in her hips, the rise of her bosom. Nobody saw the frailty in her gait. The flush in her cheeks. The tremble in her hands. The deep lashes that sheltered her deep, dark eyes. The fullness of her lips. The serene simplicity of the virgin whites she was always clad in.


Four years he spent, walking by her house, catching drops of water from her hair, her hands. Four years he spent, seeing her walk by the river in the evening, sit on the rocky ledge and watch the sun set. Four years, hearing her sing in the temple every Saturday, quietly in her own corner, the plate full of jasmines and hibiscus balanced in one hand, her delicate, transparent shawl held in another.


Four years he spent, looking at her retrace her steps to the temple courtyard, her face to the idol inside, refusing to show her back to the god who alone knew her longings. Four years he spent seeing her hang her head in anger and humiliation as all prospective bridegrooms rejected her.


To tall. Too dark. Her voice too husky. Awakening the lust that no man wished to acknowledge.


Until she called his name one day after she had left the temple courtyard. How she knew, he knew not. But he knew she did and that was enough. Enough it was that she had noticed, she had accepted this subtle intrusion, his observance.


He followed.


She led the way, walking all the way to the river, the sway of her waist sending his heart leaping into his mouth, suddenly awakening his desire in ways it hadn't been beckoned before. at the bank, she swirled around to face him.


What do you want, she snapped.


He withdrew in shock. For he saw in her eyes the rage he did not know existed. Raw, red anger, its flames reaching into her pupils.


You, he whispered.


Four years, she retorted sharply. What were you busy doing for four years, she snapped.


What were you doing when I was undergoing all the humiliation at the hands of men that did not deserve to even see me? What were you doing for four years when I went walking down this lonely river every day in the vain hope that you would take me? What were you doing when I stood on my terrace every morning, to catch one glimpse of you waiting to trap drops of water that had touched with my skin? What were you doing when I retraced my steps from the temple in my hope to not lose sight of you? What were you doing all those afternoons when I feel asleep wanting you inside the warmth of my sheets?


What were you doing when I pleasured myself to sleep every night, imagining your manhood deep inside me? What were you doing when I wanted you to take the only few treasures that I bear before any other man set his intention on it? What were you doing on all those mornings when I woke up, wet with exhaustion from wanting your hands to mold me into the woman I could have become?


He stared at her, shock registering on his face. She stopped to catch her breath, shallow and ragged. He took a step towards her.


No, she hissed. Don't come near me. Don't look at me anymore either. I have been seen by a man today. I am to marry him. And I am to not look at any other man. Not anymore. He came this morning. He saw me. He is my father's age. And I am to marry him. He saw me, she repeated, her eyes welling up.


Is something wrong, he asked, sudden bile rising in his stomach.


He saw me...he saw me how I have always wanted you to see me, she said. But it gave me no happiness. I was so disgusted, I wanted to drown. And I will. I just had to tell you that it is not this man who is the cause for my death.


It is you. And the people who need to know this, have been told. You will pay for the woman that I could have been but am not. You will pay, she said, her eyes flaming again.


He wanted to stop her. He was late only four years.


He knew he would pay for it with his own life.