She hadn't had a date in centuries. Literally. Shreya was more than a thousand years old. She took a husband about every fifty years those first few centuries. But losing them always hurt. It took longer and longer for her to get over losing them, until finally, after about four hundred and fifty years, or so- she stopped marrying mortals. The only problem was, there were no immortal men. Nope. Not one. Or so she was taught.
It took her a while to catch on. She moved about every seventy years, removed the spells that made her look like she was aging, and started over in yet another small village. Sometimes she made herself pretty. Sometimes fat. Sometimes, homely. Sometimes, she made herself petite too. Usually she chose to teach piano, or raise a garden, or she might choose to be a midwife, or librarian. Typical spinster occupations, and no matter what form she took, she refused all advances by the opposite sex (and quite a few from the fairer sex too) she stayed playing the part of a spinster for so long, more than seven centuries, until it had become her default setting.
It took Shreya a while to determine, that the man she had known under several different names, in several different towns- who seemed to find a way to be near her, and make her laugh, was more than two centuries old, at least. His name was Daya. He was always kind, always courteous, always gentle, and made her laugh. Over the centuries, she thought she was just attracted to his type...not him. If he hadn't let it slip one night, over a fresh bottle of Sherry sipped to its bottom- that he liked her real name- Shreya. A name she hadn't used in centuries, nor had she ever told it to anyone. Well, if he hadn't made that one tiny slip, she would have thought she was lucky, at finding yet another man of her type in another new town.
She asked him how old he was? Point Blank. He didn't answer for a bit, but his eyes never wavered, neither did hers. They were locked in a gaze that demanded an answer- and one was given.
"Shreya. I knew your mother, when she was young."
Shreya sucked in her breath. Her Mother? Her mother had lived for more than two thousand years, before making that spell that let her body join the atoms of the cosmos. It was a tearful goodbye between them. A quiet hug until the dust was gone from Shreya's arms; that was more than a thousand years ago.
"Were you her husband? Or , are you my Father?"
Daya smiled softly.
"No. Shreya. I was not, and am not. What I am is old. So old, that I thought I could never love again. Your Mom and I were friends. As were her Mother, and her Mother's mother."
"How old are you?! "
Shreya was in shock, how old is this man, and wait...didn't he say something about thinking he could never love again?
" I don't know. I really don't. I used to count my "birthdays" in thousands of years...after several hundred of those, I stopped. "
Shreya stared. How old was he? Oh, my God.
"What did you mean: "I thought I could never love again?""
He smiled that shy smile. He still held direct eye contact, gentle eye contact now. Eyes that smiled with the relief of eons of loneliness slipping away. She could get lost in those eyes, in fact, she was lost in them. What have they seen, what have they known, where have they been...those thoughts were fleeting across her mind...to be replaced by a simpler line of thought...what nice eyes.
"Shreya. I have watched you grow, love, learn, laugh. I have seen you loose mortal men, men you loved, to the ravages of age. I watched as it hurt you more and more, to loose them to time. Yet, you still made friends. You still gave to the community. You still loved, in general. For loving is something that is part of you. When I watched your mother leave this earth...yes, I was there- I saw part of you wish her peace, even through your pain and loss. That is when I knew I loved you. You love enough, to let go."
Shreya wasn't sure she had breathed during that whole speech. Could it be true? Is he immortal? Does he love me?
She couldn't help herself. She stepped towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck, still looking at his eyes. He smiled that soft smile, and gave that gentle laugh of his. He leaned his head forwards until their foreheads were touching, gently rubbing his nose across hers. It felt better, more innocent, and more loving than a kiss...though she was sure those would follow ...soon.
And so they stood. Together.
****-THE END-***