I finally got back down to the river after an entire night and half a day of traveling into the forestlands over to the slopes of the mountain up to the foot of it. And in the strike of the afternoon, I saw the girl, sitting beside the river, reading the envelope the poet had given to her, then I remembered what the poet said to her: one must open the poem if they feel in direst of situations, when one is about to go insane.
And so I quickly dropped my bag and dashed off to her, leaping into the air–running towards her. There, in front of my eyes, is the girl reading from the page on which the poet had given up on her, and I remained there, mesmerized, staring at her as her tears streamed down her cheeks like a cloudburst.
"Are you alright?" I said.
I knelt as I approached her, crying quietly while holding the paper.
Despite the girl trying to communicate with me, she could do nothing as if she was choked by the tears and the relentless breakdown–as she tried to catch her breath.
As I approached her, I sat down next to her; normally, when someone is sobbing, I give them the space they need to recover with themselves, but I was stunned when the girl immediately placed her arms around my neck, and I couldn't do anything except remain still.
I still do not know the reason she cried herself onto; maybe the fact I've left her waiting for days? Perhaps she already knew what was to come...
YOU ARE READING
Under the Moonlight
Short StoryWould you believe me if I said I met a girl in the mountains years ago? As if anyone would! I find it difficult when folks refuse to believe the extraordinary, usually because they are too accustomed to the mundane. But, in any case, I don't seek to...
