Eighteenth Gesture:
Rinsed
It wasn't long after when the first war ended and the so-thought peaceful era began to ensue. Everything by then had been done in an acceptable manner – democratic, liberal, whatever the term may be.
Holding in her hands the recently-signed treaty, she allowed her fingers to trace its engravings. This was the result of all their efforts – of all the lives sacrificed and all the tears and blood shed.
In her solace, she sensed a familiar scent. Not needing to turn around, she then laid the same on the table, her eyes fixed on the outside. He entered the room without hesitation as he walked straight to where she was, adjacent to the opened window sill.
The pale moonlight shone through the gaps as he leaned further against the frame. Closing her eyes, she allowed moments to pass by. Seconds, minutes – she didn't know how long they had been like that.
He did come back to her, she mused. And now, he stood there, inches away from her reach. But there was something in his eyes that troubled her. She had been thinking recently and her thoughts laid mostly in what they held among themselves. What was it really that made him come back to her? Was it plainly because of the honor he placed in his words...or perchance...perhaps - a small part of her heart tugged - there may be something more.
She couldn't help but wonder of how uncertain their relationship was. After all that happened…she was, at the very least, hoping to see a sign of where exactly she stood in his life - a sign that probably he could generously give.
Yet as she turned to face him, with the way he stared at the wide expanse before his eyes, she felt a bit empty. Resigned, she turned away.
"Ours is an ordinary friendship, isn't it?" her voice echoed clearly across the room.
He stood silent.
It was as though his gaze was fixed far away…it felt as though he was distant. He was there, but he really wasn't.
She sighed.
She knew of the wounds and the scars his heart carried, the burden his shoulders lifted and the pain and misery he kept within. She wanted to help him. In all of her, she wanted to. But she also knew, she could do all these if only he allowed her to.
"Kira, I'm here…always here." Whispering the last line, she turned to look at the side of his face. He remained expressionless, whatever emotion he may have possessed never surfaced.
And as though talking to no one, she then breathed in and straightened her back. Her eyes set forward.
"Good night." Was all she said as she walked towards the door and as silently as he entered, with the same gesture, she left.
- - - - -
She hasn't heard from him since. Occasionally, they would bump into each other. But then, they never really had a serious conversation about each other's lives.
He was still the same - distant.
Days more passed, she moved to the humble cottage where she and the reverend founded a small orphanage. She chose to remain there as it fit everything she stood and fought for. It was in that place where she found peace…where she truly felt the essence of the word. With the young ones' laughter in her ears, she was certain she finally found a new home.
A fresh start...a new beginning.
It was evening then when she was left outside by herself, fixing the blankets that laid idly by the shoreline. They had just concluded a picnic there and everyone had been weary from the day's activities.
She was humming a tune by herself, as what she usually does. Smiling at the simple gifts of nature, she took the folded cloths and rose to her feet, intent on retiring herself from the day.
Then, she turned around.
And there...he stood.
She didn't know what to say as her eyes widened. She wasn't expecting anyone there, most especially him, not at that hour of the night the very least.
"Ouch!" she cried as a jolting pain pierced through her body. Shifting her gaze to her hand, a hue of red welcomed her sight. It turned out she pricked her finger with the very pin she used to hold the cloths together.
As her face carried the pain, he approached her slowly. Standing just in front of her, he took her hand by his and focused on the injured area.
Taking hold of the bottle she carried, he opened the same and cautiously poured its contents to the wound.
It was searing - - the sudden pain upon contact with water.
"Sometimes one can't understand how a wound so small could cause a hole so big." His eyes shifted on hers as she felt his melancholy. As her wound got cleared from the still pouring blood, he then raised her finger and took the same to his lips. She could feel him sucking through it, as gently as he could.
Removing the same from his mouth, he took out his handkerchief and sealed it…applying even pressure to the area.
He took what she held and carried them for her, her hand still on his, as he guided her towards the structure not far.
Looking back at that moment, she then fixed her gaze on both their hands still interlocked. Years by now had passed and they stood on the very same spot that fateful evening when he decided to share his very self – his pain, tears, smiles – with her. That same evening when she saw her sign.
His eyes were clear and his thoughts, she sensed, were no longer as clouded as it was before. But it was the warmth of his hand that touched her more.
As if reminiscing the past, she spoke in a tune, recalling the very night she had her own reverie not long ago.
"Ours is an ordinary friendship..." gazing away, she continued. "...isn't it?"
He was silent. And she smiled inwardly at that. He had always been like this, and he had responded very predictably…but as she was about to take a step further, he held her back.
She turned to look at him, wondering what the matter may have been. Pulling her suddenly towards him, with both his arms wrapped around her, he took her into an embrace, pressing his body against hers.
She never knew, all along.
When she left the room, he turned to look at the then closed door. He knew her question was something that bothered her. But he himself wasn't sure of what their relationship really was or where she stood in his life. He had always wanted to protect her, to be with her for that matter. This was the sole reason why he still can't make up his mind. He knew what she felt for him, or at least he had a glimpse of it, but then, he didn't want to indulge in something he knew would hurt her. If he was to start a new life, he wanted to be sure, to be certain this time. Not only for his sake, but much importantly, for hers.
Closing his eyes, he took in her scent.
He allowed the days to pass as he stood silently from a distance, simply observing her every move. He heard that she had moved there with the reverend and a certain number of orphans. After a long while, he had finally made up his mind. He smiled. If he wanted a place to start to, perhaps, he could do just that…with her.
He then whispered with all that was him…
"It was."
end
A/N: The seventeenth gesture is in the M – rating, which explains the sudden gesture number-skip. Thanks for all who bothered to drop by and read this.