The rain had fallen gently all evening, leaving the ground fragrant and cool. I sat on the terrace with my laptop in front of me, fingers hanging over the keyboard pretending to write. The world below was quiet, just the hum of the streets and the occasional passing car. However my thoughts wandered—lines half-formed, characters stubbornly quiet. The cursor blinked, accusing me of being distracted. I blamed it on the drizzle.
And then I saw him.
A scruffy dog brown-and-white fur walks cautiously along the sidewalk. His coat was dull and patchy, marked by the wear of a hard life on the streets. He sniffed the ground as he walked, but his eyes—those large round eyes—were what drew me in.
At first, I thought he was searching for food. His nose hovered near the ground as he sniffed aimlessly. But it didn't take long before I realized he wasn't scavenging.
As the people around him passed, he raised his head and looked into each face that crossed his way. His stare conveyed a kind of plea. Not for food scraps, but for something deeper.
His large round eyes were looking for love. They were full of hope and longing. They had an almost childlike innocence to them, as if he believed that somewhere, somehow, someone might extend a hand toward him—a gentle touch, a pat on his head, a small sign that he mattered.
I observed him for a moment, feeling the weight of his quiet want. Not a single hand reached out to touch him, and not a single voice called him closer.
Then he gently looked up at me.
For a moment, time seemed to slow down. His eyes focused on mine with an intensity that surprised me. They were full of questions. Why hadn’t I reached out to him? Why was I waiting? His eyes seemed to whisper, Will you love me? Will you care for me?
I felt a pain in my chest, a draw towards him, and a quick surge of emotion. Perhaps I should bring him home, I thought. Maybe I can give him the love he's longing for?
But then uncertainty crept in. What if he's sick? What if I was unable to give the care he deserved? The thoughts slowly accumulated into excuses, and I allowed them to cloud my judgment. I watched as the dog turned aside and walked slowly back into the street, head down and tail tucked between its knees.
That night, I was unable to sleep. I kept seeing his eyes, those eyes full of hope. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had missed something important. That I had made the wrong choice.
The next morning, I rushed outside, hoping against hope that I might find him. My eyes explored every corner and darkness, but he was nowhere to be found. I called out softly but was hopeful, "Where are you, boy?"
Silence.
I walked up and down the street, checking into alleys and asking neighbors if they had seen any stray dogs the night before. Most people shook their heads, uninterested. A couple people stated they saw a dog wandering but couldn't tell where he went.
Panic started to rise within me. What if somebody else had taken him in? Wouldn't that be a relief? But what if something worse had happened? The thought was unbearable.
My search turned up nothing as the day went on. I returned to the balcony in the evening and gazed out at the deserted street where I had first seen him.
All I could do now, though, was pray that, wherever he was, someone else had made the decision that I was unable to.
And in that silent, agonizing moment, I realize some decisions can't wait—hesitation only leaves you with nothing but a heavy shadow of regret. Maybe, in holding back, I lost some of the best moments that could have happened in my life.
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The Love I Left Behind
Ardra Mohan
