Meaningless

i.

I remember the sun was starting to paint the sky a deep purple and the sweltering air prickled at my skin. Always, after the rainy season—the heat settled in waves, like it was radiating from the asphalt beneath us.

Her lips were moving, her profile in the dying light, fingers sweeping her long, dark hair behind a small ear.

"You know, everything is meaningless."

We were walking. Sweaty palms, fingers interlocked, a light breeze blowing through our hair. We were the only ones walking back to campus. Passing by old dormitories on our left, we looked out at the full, glowing lake to our right.

Her voice carried over the hum of traffic. She was walking without her usual careful footsteps, lazily bumping into me, arms swinging by her side. I hadn't thought much of it then.

"What do you mean?" I said.

She didn't say anything for a while. We walked as the shadows overtook light. The streetlamps flickered awake like the first fireflies of summer.

"I just wanted to hear how it sounds," she said. "Just once. Hear it from my own mouth. Say it and it becomes reality—keep it in your head and it's only an idea floating in the vacuum of your own conscious."

"Was that a line from some book?" I said.

"Thought it myself."

"I'm surprised."

"Humor me? Just once?"

"I always do!"

She turned and threw a small punch at my arm. I caught it easily and pulled her close, kissing her on the forehead. We met eyes, smiling before pulling away.

By then, she was walking ahead of me.