A week had passed, amidst the morning to evening dredge and within the long hours spent doing unremarkable things, I had been secretly waiting for the Sunday to come. Waiting to find her again, to execute the many search plans I had been contemplating every day.
I woke up refreshed and full of spirit, jumped out of the bed, stretched and walked to the wall size window of my room and moved the curtains with a flourish, somewhere I was hoping for the weather to partake in my enthusiasm and depute the sun to be shining bright. The dark gloomy clouds and the strong breeze that I could see flowing through the trees in my neighbours garden below, instead seemed to signal a dissuasion. Determined to not wait another week, I went about dressing up and having a light breakfast. Spent considerable time setting my hair in a manner that would signal a casual and carefree manner, and then in a similar manner handled my clothes. After an approving glance on the outcome of my efforts, I walked out the door of my warm, small but sufficient apartment, into the biting cold of that autumn morning. I had set out in her search.
Heading straight for our quaint first meeting place, near the rocks of the old decaying cottage, I found the surrounding a little unwelcoming, the overnight dew had left the rocks dripping wet and the wind was especially sharp atop the corner of this small hillock. I could have still braved the conditions but I was convinced that if she did turn up again, from her Sunday morning trek and found me sitting here, the chances of being taken as a glum moron requiring help were too high and not worth the risk. The lack of any basis, for my confidence in her Sunday routines did not bother me at all, though my mind did rationalize that a trekker is likely not to use the same exit every week and hence she might not come down trail behind the old cottage today. Having convinced myself to this line of thought, I immediately proceeded to the trekking trail, that led from behind the cottage and was on my way to meet her by 'chance'.
A couple of hours passed, even in the oppressing cold wind, I had broken into a sweat, I was standing atop the sharply jutting out ridge, the highest point in my little town. I had a few faint memories of having trekked up here many years ago, with a few friends from school. I realized, with a tinge of remorse, how in the moribund life that I had been living all these years, I had never again found the motivation to walk up here. The crisp morning, the slight light headedness from the mountain air and the many tall pine trees, had taken my mind away from all the inanities I chase week on week, I felt liberated and brimming with a feel good hope. Standing there and looking down far away into the valley that spread all around, I was tempted to promise that I would make this a weekly habit, to trek up here- but then I thought the better of it, as even in the optimism of the morning, I didn't see much point in adding another promise on to the overladen table of unmet promises I kept in a corner of my small room.
