It started as thick as a strand of hair far far away on the horizon. A unique colour of bright gold dipped in the essence of orange. Finally, the stars could see what they were craving to witness all night. Their lovers whom they could never meet. Blades of grass; tiny, little but mighty, stretching themselves up, reaching out to them. The heavy dewdrops tried to bring them down, pulled them. They tried to distract them with their tempting beauty but the resolve of the blades never fluttered.
They were determined to reach out just as a lovestruck is determined to brave anything for another’s heart of promise, of security, of love, of tranquility.
That strand had started to widen at an even pace, pouring a blue-infused-gold all over the soft green field. It was the kind that instilled a comfortable cold silent chill everywhere. Only the music of the nightingale could be heard.
In that perfection, a silhouette could be seen. An outline so attractive it would make somebody’s heart jump with the happiness that excitement brings.
He approached me and sung some words of kindness; whispered a word or two of warmth. The right words, words that sounded like a Welcome song, a melodious invitation to be a part of his unusual life.
The sun had started to shine bright, comforting the both of us.
In that life-changing moment, I knew it was the start of something new, something great, something absolutely wonderful.