Unforgettable

Incandescent.

That’s the only word I could possibly use to describe her.

Women look gorgeous. They look sexy, rapturous.

She glowed.

That yellow sari. Her hair let loose, falling to just beneath her shoulders. The bronze lipstick. That smile. Mimicking mine.

Oh God, I thought, and what did I do to deserve her.

What did I do to have this creature of unparalleled grace and beauty deem me worthy of her affections.

Did I save a life you cherish more than most?

Did I say a prayer you liked more than the others?

What did I do?

Why is this goddess standing in my room, her usual clothes strewn across my bed, smiling at me as if every single fiber of her magnificent being is devoted only to me.

“How do I look?” she asked, smiling ear to ear, those perfect pearly whites shining more brilliantly than any moon ever has.

Oh god! I thought. How do I tell her how she looks?

How do I tell her that if I were to even begin to form any words right now I could only possibly muster a deep sigh of such grand exhilaration that it may as well be my last breath?

How do I tell her that the answer to her question is so far beyond my ability to appreciate beauty that even if I were to recite the most splendid poem it would be no where near judicious enough admiration for how beautiful she looks.

I tried to move, but my feet refused outright to even bother to acquiesce to my mind’s command.

I tried to blink, but my eyes simply wouldn’t dare miss even a seconds worth of capturing this most splendid of all sights they had ever seen.

I had seen the sun set at lake Saif-ul-maluk. They say Angels color the skies there, and yet compared to her, they seem corroded, superficial.

This is beauty. My mind quietly whispered to me. This is what proves the existence of a God. Her, this sight. This is what ascertains that there really is a being up there somewhere whose comprehension is so far beyond our ability to even begin to comprehend that he can create such a mind numbing sight for you to behold.

Bow now. You witness a miracle.

I wanted to lie prostrate at her feet and beg her to tell me why was I chosen for this greatest of all gifts. Why was I the one she chose to look this stupefying for.

I staggered over to her, placed my hand beneath her chin. It seemed almost a sin to even touch the flesh of this divine apparition. But I did. And as if such a thing as being more perfect than perfect could possibly exist, she lowered her eyes and began to blush.

OH MY GOD. The little voice inside my head exclaimed. You shy away? You a goddess of everything that could possibly be conceived as beautiful? You shy away at my touch. MY touch? Imperfect me? Ugly Me? Undeserving me?

I could feel the tears rise up to my eyes. And I assure you; I have never felt such tears before or since. I imagine, these are the tears that come when you see god. When all you have believed to be the perfect fantasy stands before you and says, lo and behold! I am yours.

My hand shaking, my eyes glistening, my spirit trembling, I bent my head down towards her to try and meet her gaze.

She looked into my eyes for half a second of absolute and utter exhilaration and then surrendered herself to my arms. As I stroked her perfectly combed hair with one hand, tracing her spine with the other, my heart began to beat faster. Everything that had happened in the last few moments had been received with such disbelief by me that reverence was all I could possibly feel. But now as I held her in my arms, the realty of it all began to cascade through my soul. She was perfect. And perfectly mine. In my arms, perfectly snuggled up to the contours of my body. Affixed along my sinews as if she had been crafted as the rest of my being.

If she had stood back just then, she would’ve seen the tear run down my face. She would’ve known then how beautiful I thought she looked. Enough to make me weep. Enough to wrench my heart and claim it as hers for all of eternity.

But she didn’t, and I could feel her flesh getting warmer. With what passion, I do not know. I could barely even imagine that such a woman could feel the slightest of emotional unrest towards me. Let alone having her entire constitution shift just by being in my arms.

Slowly, I slid my hands along her arms to her shoulders, and pressed her away from me.

She looked up into my eyes, to see the moist reminders of swallowed tears. To see the stupid smile of not knowing fate’s reasoning for such kindness on my lips.

She closed her eyes

I closed mine

As if by divine guidance, my face began to bow towards her. Until my lips were against hers.

I don’t even remember how long that kiss lasted. It was by far the longest any kiss ever has. For after having granted myself the celestial luxury of tasting her flesh, I simply couldn’t have had enough. So we continued to gently sink deeper into each other’s breath, moving from affection, to passion. Never frenzied, never hurried. The kiss that was inherently chaste, lingered on. Tongues entwined, as moans erupted. And soon enough we fell into the rhythm that our bodies dictated.

If it hadn’t been for the festivities planned for the evening, I’m certain we would’ve stood that kiss through the night.

But eventually, her name was heard echoed against the walls, followed by mine. And the reverie of reality had to be abandoned.

Yet the vision that my eyes witnessed that day is as vivid to me today as this computer screen before me. The taste of her lips is still just a lick away from my tongue; the fragrance of her skin drenched in Tommy Girl is just as real to me as that of the candle burning by my side.

Some things just imprint their existence into our memories. They refuse to be erased. Her in that yellow sari is such a vision. That night, that kiss, that hug, that plethora of feelings shared and reciprocated, all are so close to my conscience that I have to try hard not to remember them.

That sight, that night will forever remain.