She sat on the leather couch in darkness and silence. She felt the stickiness of her perspiration on her skin in the musky, stagnant air. She felt the murky dry wetness of her lashes.

The day had ended in a surreal terrible way. It had started in the train ride home.

She just wanted him to hold her. She sat in her seat and wondered why he would not sit up straighter so she could rest her head on his shoulder. She looked at him, and he looked back tiredly. He remained in his position. She was tired. Put her head away from him. She leaned away. She pretended to fall deep into sleep. She felt him drift into ponderous slumber beside her, felt his thighs pressed against hers. She moved them away. She crossed her arms across her breasts. She curled her body away from him. It was the classic stature of a woman gathering her defenses, who wanted and did not want to be touched.

But he remained clueless. They always do.

The day had ended in a surreal terrible way. He did not know when it started, or how. But somehow along the way, she stopped talking to him altogether.

He just wanted to sit down and hold her hand. But she had laced her fingers together and was looking away from him. He wondered what she was thinking. He remembered a message he had to send out, and started to type it out. Beside him, he felt his girl drop off to sleep. He was getting a terrible headache. He didn’t know what brought on the sudden drowiness but it was getting to him. The lure of sleep. He finished sending the message. He put his hand on her thigh. Dear, why aren’t you sleeping on my shoulder tonight? She did not respond to his touch. He tried to brush her hands lightly, but they were crossed tightly. He took his hand back, and drifted off to sleep.

She felt him remove his hand. She thought she heard a sigh of resignation, and guilt rushed at her. She desperately wanted to lace her arms through his and sleep comfortably in the crook of his shoulder. But she didn’t.

The door opened. He woke up. He prodded her gently. She awoke groggily. They sat in their seats till the very last moment before the door closed, and hurried out of the train. He proceeded towards the escalator. She went to the benches.

You can take the next train home, and sat down firmly on the marble.
It’s ok, I’ll send you back.
Don’t need, you can continue the train home.
Come, it’s ok, and sat down.

She stared blankly at nothing. She knew he was tired. She thought he would really rather be on the train home. But she just wanted him to walk her home. She wanted him to hug her, and hold her, and kiss her on her ear. She felt bloated and unattractive. She felt fat and flabby. She was so disgusted with herself. She didn’t want to spend another moment under his loving scrutiny. Just go home. I don’t want to hug you when I’m fat with a bloated tummy. She felt him sat down beside her. Just hold me. Please. Just hold me. Just grab me and say ‘let’s go, I’m sending you home’. But he was silent. And unmoving.

He wondered what the hell was wrong with her. He wanted badly to send her back. It has been ages since he last held her. He wanted to walk her back and put his arm around her waist and hug her and kiss her just before she went upstairs. He felt absurd. What the hell is wrong with her. She’s just sitting there, waiting for the next train, when they both know they should be walking her journey home. He sat down beside her. He put his arms around her waist, and felt her stiffen. He moved his arms around her shoulders, and she remained immobile. He felt sick. He felt emptied out. He dropped his arms and want and did not want to touch her again. Not this again. Not after such a wonderful night. He was disgusted. He was tired.

The train came.
I’ll take the next one.
…Just go.
It’s ok. It’s still early. I’ll take the next one.
…ok.
And left.

Come on, I’ll send you back. He stood up. Come. He tugged at her.
Never mind… She stared into nothingness.
He sighed. What’s wrong?
Nothin. (I don’t know…)

The next train came.
Your train’s here…
Mmm…
It stopped.
Go on. Bye…
Call me later?
…
Call me ok?
The doors opened.
Hey…
Quick, go! Go on!
The doors start closing.
The doors are closing! Quick!
The doors closed.
The train moves off.
She stared at him unblinkingly. Why didn’t you get in!?
He grinned at the trail of the train. The train left… It left without me…
You didn’t get in!
The train left without me… It didn’t wait for me…
She pushed him. Why didn’t you get in!?
There’ll be a next one…

I don’t want to move… (I don’t want to leave you. Let me send you home. I just want to send you home. Please…)
You’re taking the next train.
There’ll be a next one… and a next one…
I’m not gonna wait with you.
They sat together in silence. She got up. She went to the schedule.
He looked at her. He saw her staring at the switchboard. Don’t, don’t make me go. Why are you doing this? What’s wrong? I don’t understand…
She came back. You wait alone ok.
He didn’t look at her. He stared into the distance. Why. Why are you doing this.
Ok.
She shuffled around. She stretched her neck. Bye.
He slumped. Bye…

She walked off. Towards the escalator. She felt him watching her leave. Felt him watching her rub her tired neck muscles. Felt him watching her drag her feet. She got on the escalator. She imagined him getting up. She imagined him following her despite everything. She slowed her pace, because she was tired, because she wanted him to catch up. She slowed to the gates. She fished for her wallet. She punched in the card. She went through the gates. She imagined him behind her. Trudging slowly behind her. She took out her cellphone. Sorry.

He slumped. He felt life drained out of him. He watched her footsteps disappear in front of him. He felt her leave. Felt her walking towards the escalator. Felt her dragging her feet. Felt her tired neck muscles. He slumped and let his shoulders drop. He hung his head and dangled his arms between his legs. Why. Why did you make it all end this way again. A message went to his unused cellphone. The headlights of the train came. It churned slowly to a stop. The doors opened with a deadly crunch, like the sound of leaden doors being dragged opened on their ballbearings. He gathered his leaden feet. He got into the train.

There was no reply. She sent the message to his other cellphone. She stopped at the taxi-waiting bay. She willed him to appear behind her. She willed him to reply. A train groaned above her head. Ponderous heartbeats later, she got the reply. Above her, the train wailed away into the night like a banshee singing her last song.

Gone. Gone. He was gone. She tried to stop the floodgate of pain and sadness inside her. She walked drunkenly. Along the pavement. Along the sidewalk. Her heart skipped every time a shadow passed her by. But the shirts were all in white and black and red and blue. Their heads were shaved or bald or white or long with untrimmed hair. Her weak heart stopped beating at the traffic junction and she thought that she might faint. Turn back, she willed him. He did not get on the train. He will be right behind her. She crossed the roads half-consciously. She wondered if she was crossing at the correct traffic cue. Her knees felt weak. She collapsed onto a stone-lined bench and willed for a yellow-shirt-shadow to stop in front of her.

The air felt cold and chilled him to the bones. He was dimly aware. His open eyes saw and did not see. He looked at the message and wondered what kind of response he should give. He knew that she was upset. He knew that she was all at fault. But he wanted more than anything to soothe her. The train pulled off and headed steadily to its next destination. And its next destination. And its next destination. He wondered how to reply, and called to say he was on his way home.

It’s ok, there’s always a next time to make things right.
She stared at the message in horror. No, there’s no next time. Some things will never have a next time. Some things must have a happy ending there and then, if not nothing will be rectified. Turn back. It’ll only be right if tonight ended with a hug.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry things always end like this. It’s all my fault. And it’s too late for you to turn back now.
He stared at her typical reply. He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He took a deep breath. He decided to lighten the mood.
Well, I guess you havta give me a kiss online later, or send me a new slew of cute photos? Haha.
She stared at his reply.
No.
No? Well how about the photo of “Queen of Mount Kiwi”?
I’m still outside. And I’m sure you know I’m crying. So no. no kisses. No photos. I don’t think I’ll call you tonight. I’m sorry.
He started. Crying? No. please. Please don’t let her be crying. He calls her.
She cancels on the first ring.
He tries again. Maybe she pressed the wrong button.
She let it ring. She watched the blinking LCD with teary eyes. She cancels the call.
Damn! …You better pick up the call. I’m turning back…
DAMN! NO! Anything but That! Don’t be stupid. I’m going home. Don’t turn back!
He was not actually going to really turn back. I’ll keep heading there till you tell me you’ve reached home.
I’m home and she stopped. No. he would know she’s lying. And what’s the point. She decided to wait a few minutes before she sent the message.
And call me from your house line so I know you’re home.
Damn. She smiled despite everything. There’s just something about knowing each other so well. It’s disgusting. And then she started crying all over again.
CAN YOU PLEASE JUST GO HOME GO HOME GO HOME GO HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU! Please….. just go home…. Don’t make me feel worse than I already am…please…
He looked at her message. He gave up. He sighed. Everything went out of him and suddenly he didn’t really care anymore.
ok…I’m heading home.

She let the breeze dry her tears. She tied her unruly hair up in a deceiving ponytail. A group of rowdy gangsters eyed her up and down. She stood up. She left. She headed home.

He alighted the train. He trudged to the gates. He went down the escalator. He scratched his trim short hair, the way he does when he’s exasperated. He trudged to the junction. He sent her a message. She called to ask if he was near home. She hung up. He grasped the cellphone. He tried to suppress the overwhelming surge of emotions in him. He headed home.

She sat on the leather couch in darkness and silence. She felt the murky dry wetness of her lashes. She felt the stickiness of her perspiration on her skin in the musky, stagnant air.

He put his bag down. He sank onto the side of his bed. He felt the pounding of his head.

In two different parts of the country, their eyes grew damp, they hugged themselves. Their hearts were dull and weary. All was silent save for the incessant mantra chanting in their heads: what happened? what happened? what happened? And the silence beckons the only fitful reply: I don't know..I don't know..I don't know...