Her lashes swept furiously against the plastic that magnified her vision. Magnified only slightly. But magnified, nevertheless. The lashes were tinged with salty water. Some water had traced itself quietly down her cheeks and into the sides of her mouth.
An eager tongue popped out of mouth to receive the salty droplets. Salty.
The rest of the salty water was retained on the glass. She took them off by the bridge and held it to the boy seated opposite.
“Done already, are we?”, he asked, taking the pair of spectacles.
“It’s the hardest I’ve cried”, she said, rubbing her eyes furiously.
The long lashes were disturbed. A single eyelash swayed dangerously before it fell gently onto her wrist.
“Do you want to make a wish?”, asked the boy, rubbing the spectacles against his blue shirt.
She liked how he dressed. Half-sleeve shirt and full pants. But he would look better in full-sleeve shirts. He would be able to roll the sleeves up and look more manly. He barely had any hair on his face. His voice sounded funny; a petulant squeak escaped his throat sometimes.
He was still a child. The thought of making wishes seemed to him a wonderful and most enjoyable thing, she thought.
Here is the step-by-step recipe for making wishes:
Finding the solitary eyelash, dislocated from the eyelid.
Placing the lash carefully on the tip of the finger.
Closing the eyes and praying as hard as one can for something one sorely wants. Blowing the lash hopefully and enthusiastically, but also gently, to travel far and wide into the cosmos and deliver itself safely to the Maker of Wishes That Come True.
He was still a child, she thought.
“Make a wish? What for? I’m not a child anymore, I’ll be fine without my wishes.”
“You’re just scared the wish won’t come true”, said the boy all-knowingly.
If there was one thing he knew about wishes, it was that they never came true. He never made wishes because he was scared the Gods would carelessly overlook his wish while going through their List of Wishes.
He handed her spectacles back, and she took them. She put them back in place by their rim and crinkled her nose to reposition them, like she always did.
The lash still lay on her wrist. The two of them looked at it for a while, before the boy took her hand and blew the lash away.
“There, it’s gone”, he said, looking at her face.
She was still sniffing, the redness spreading slowly across her cheeks.
“So what were you crying about today?”
He was not met with an immediate reply. A checked handkerchief made an appearance and was subjected to some snot. It remained at her nose even after she was done blowing.
“Today,” she began.
Illustration by Sanjana Acharya
Article 19 