It was their last evening together. Their short but wonderful trip was coming to an end the next morning.
11pm. They decided to walk along the Tagus River. She was wearing the same elegant dress that she wore when he first saw her. The sound of the waves hitting the riverbank, the moist cold breeze across their face, the statue of Christ-the-king looking at them from distance with his stretched arms – it was all spell-binding. They didn’t speak.
They sat adjacent to each other looking at the ships leisurely playing on Tagus. He held her hand. Firmly. He turned to her. She was still looking ahead into the shores unknown to existence. He tightened his grip, almost imploring her to look at him. She didn’t turn her face toward him. Maybe she was consciously trying to avoid eye contact. She looked from the corner of her eye to check if he was still looking. He was. She shed a tear that fell in her wine bottle. That made the white wine more pure. He looked away. They didn’t speak.
He wondered what if she had known him before he’d begun to grow so fond of her. She’d realize how much delight she has filled his heart with. That made him smile. But his eyes were moist. Just like the water in the river was trying to break the rocks but couldn’t, his tears couldn’t break the dam of his eyelids. He looked toward her again with a pained smile. This time she was looking at him. But they didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. Their eyes have had their own conversation.
Whatever be the past and whatever may the future hold, they knew, that nobody and nothing would be able to take THIS MOMENT away from them.