Understanding
"You didn't call me for a whole year." The distant, faintly seductive voice rang in a mixture of smoothness and creaminess. Despite this layer of fine words, a sliver of the bitterness and sadness stowed away in her heart was released.
A shade of pink and a wave of guilt spread slowly across his sorrowful face for a moment. He let out a deep sigh and looked at her with weary eyes. His conscience was aching – hurting him so much that he felt as if sharp, jagged scimitars were plunging into the very depths of his heart, which itself alone was a mystery too complex to be solved.
He glanced shiftily into the shiny eyes of the mysterious beauty – looking very much like a silent, very, very, small fairy – standing, no, floating next to him. Her dreamy, dream-boat eyes seemed somewhere else far away – perhaps in heaven – with traces of the brightly twinkling gazillions of stars overhead in them.
"Sorry." His rustling whisper was nearly inaudible; cleverly disguised as the whistling wind. The word itself was just a word, with nothing beneath it. Just the tip of the iceberg, but beneath it, nothing.
"It was deliberate, was it not?" she asked as quiet as night. Her eyes, glistening with a layer of transparent crystal, seemed to be begging, no, beseeching him to prove her wrong.
He gave a tired sigh as deep as the rumbling of thunder in the distance and looked at her in resignation. How was he to reply? Was he to lie, again, with lips stained permanently with lying? Was he to tell the truth? What was the truth, anyway?
"I don't know," he mouthed softly. That was the truth, he didn't know. His emotions, his feelings were all a haywire of tangles kept in a chamber of his heart for as long as he lived.
"Tell me," she implored with a hurt, tortured expression on her fragile face, which was stained with two, shining, clear, transparent streaks glinting in the moonlight.
"May, I don't love you." That was the very truth, coming to light after two years, after two years of being kept in the dark, after two years of ignorant bliss.
"I understand," she whispered. The words felt unfamiliar to her lips as if she was speaking in a language not known to mankind. More torrents of tears gushed down her pale white cheeks as she willed her weak legs to walk away from him, the diabolitical devil, who hurt her so badly after two years of joy.
She didn't understand. She didn't understand why it had to be her.
He destroyed my heart. Now, I'm just a lost, wandering, emotionless soul.
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Ok. Maybe I can't write this type of stories. But who cares? Just go and review.