Love, life.

It was raining inconsolably. She lit a couple of candles on the table and he brought out the whiskey glasses. The electricity had gone out, but there was still some ice left in the freezer waiting to melt. The candlelight made her look mesmerising. She caught him staring and smiled at him slightly.

He poured her a drink, now on autopilot. The first time she mixed orange juice with rum, he wanted to gag. He had always been a beer man, and she hated beer. It was quite strange that two strikingly different individuals could get along so well. On their first date, he told her she looked like a goat, to which she laughed and retorted instantly, saying, “Well at-least I don’t have a beard!” He knew in his gut right then that she was the one. On the completion of their first ‘dating’ year, they met late afternoon and flew kites from the balcony of the pathetic excuse of an apartment he lived in. She was magic. He never felt good enough for her. But he loved her. She loved travelling and he preferred not moving off the sofa. He wanted to live in a high-rise apartment; she wanted to live in a shack by the sea. He had planned his life year to year, sure he would retire at 40 with a heavy bank balance. She wanted to be a waitress in France for a year, and an English teacher in Haiti the next. They knew this had to end. A decision had been made anonymously. Dreams one has in life are too dear to compromise on, even for someone you love. They were both free souls, their love would let neither trap the other. It had to end.

But that could wait. Right now, she looked beautiful. And he was about to ask her for a dance.