Snapshots

Just Another Stranger

Two figures stand in a room in the middle of an argument.

"I can't do this anymore." I screamed, rage bubbling within me like a volcano about to erupt.

"I can't do this anymore."

I tentatively looked up from beneath the cloud of hair I was hiding behind.

I repeated the words slowly, calmly as the realisation of what I said washed over both us like an icy wave. I had felt like I was drowning. The world had seemed to fade away, lost in the shouts until I was forced to speak, the words pouring from my mouth without a warning, first in a fit of repressed emotion, and then later with more conviction.

He stood there, mouth agape, with hands that were previously clawing at skin now lying limply by his side. His body hung loose as if, for the first time in his life, he wasn't sure what to do with it. His stunned expression showed a mix of horror and hostility as I reluctantly anticipated his response.

"Fine." He said sadly, as he picked up his coat, mouth straining to keep the emotions inside from pouring out.

"Fine." He practically shouted the last word as he hurried out the door, slamming it hard behind him, making the glass rattle within the windowpanes.

Just like that, it was over. We went back to being nothing more than strangers passing each other on the street. We had been through so much together, the two of us. He had been the only one to see me at my weakest points and I was the only one to have seen the moments where he doubted himself.

It seemed unnatural that, after everything we had been through, we would be forced to live like this. Every time he passed, I was reminded of all the late night chats and all the morning kisses. Our eyes would meet for a moment, mine lingering over his eyes before he dropped them to the floor to continue walking by as of our history didn't exist.

I knew everything about him.

I knew the scar on his left shoulder. I knew the way he smiled whenever he talked to his friends. I knew the way his forehead scrunched up whenever he was concerned. I knew the way his eyebrows knitted together whenever he was concentrating. I knew the way he used to wake me up each morning with a kiss to the cheek. I knew the real him who wasn't afraid to show vulnerability.

I knew everything about him, except the fact that I knew nothing at all.

And here, I was forced to remember that. At first he humoured my gaze with a responding stare but now he purposely avoids my eyes by having his own glued to the floor. Crowds of people filled the space between us until he was blocked from my view. Now, he was just another stranger on the street, just another part of the faceless mass.

Only I knew, his was a face I would never be able to forget.