She stood up first, then he. You might have thought they had telepathy. But they had something more than that – they had history. They looked at each other for just a moment – that was all it took, that was all they could bear – then they walked off to the corner.
They sat down, next to, but also facing, one another, knees huddled close to their chests.
He was the guy. And he was also the wrongdoer. So he knew he had to speak first. And he tried. But his tears came. And then hers did too.
And for minutes that lasted forever and an instant, they cried together. No one really knows what flowed in those tears – anguish, healing, regret, bitterness, pain, joy. Perhaps it was none of these; perhaps it was all of these. One wonders if they themselves knew. Regardless of what it was, it was a moment that they shared.
That moment is long past and gone. And time and tenacity has healed some wounds. Not all of course. He is not that naive; she is not that cold. And scars will always remain. But at least, the kind of conversations that they used to have happens not too rarely nowadays.
He has always maintained that they could be as good friends as they once were before all this happened. Perhaps, he can truly start to believe it now.