Late Spring

​“Will you marry me?” asked he.

“Yes!” she replied.

A blissful grin was writ large across his face. A grin which was being mirrored in the face of the lady before him. They continued to relish the newfound excitement, holding each other’s hands when suddenly the lady noticed something.

“Are you crying?”

The gentleman felt his cheeks and to his surprise tears were indeed coursing down them as though a dam had burst. So lost was he in his happiness that he scarcely noticed it.

Wiping away the tears even as the lady looked at him with concern, he gave the characteristic tired smile of every middle-aged person — complete with the wrinkles at the outer angles of the eyes — and said, “May be it is just because … just because I’m so happy.”

The lady responded with her own tired wrinkled smile.

He felt embarrassed at the unwarranted display of emotion. At the age of forty-two, he had become a picture of stoicism. Adulthood had sapped away almost all traces of emotion and all yearnings for clichéd pleasures — carnal and platonic. And yet today as he proposed to the person in whom he saw a companion of a lifetime, was he regretting missing out on those very things? Was he regretting not meeting her sooner?

May be they failed to experience a lot of things; may be there are a lot of things left to be experienced. 

“Well, well … I am not the only one so emotional today,” as he pointed out her welled up eyes. Presumably, for the same reasons.



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