Saturday, August 22, 2009

And You Can't Fight The Tears That Ain't Coming

The first day of Ramadhan. And it happened to fall on my off day.

It rained cats and dogs outside. From my window I could see the drops of water pouring down all the way down to earth. My roommate was not around, probably was off to his mate's room upstairs where he usually played virtual football game with the others. I was never really into football game, not since a very long time.

The room was dark enough due to the rainy day, adding up into the empty atmosphere. Somehow the rain made me felt rather melancholic inside, like something microscopic trying to trigger the sentimentalist in me. Like something was missing, incomplete, void. I took my acoustic and pulled out some simple tabs I had been playing since back then, just to keep my mind occupied on other things.

It has been two days since I last heard from her.

I wondered what happened to her after that. The message she sent me was still in my inbox, left without a single reply. It was not me at all to leave a message unattended, but this time I had to. Other than still puzzled on how did she get to obtain my phone number, I was very much occupied in doing my own chores since the past days. I literally forgot about it, until just now when I browsed through the inbox from out of the blue.

She didn't send me anymore message after that first and the last. Probably because I gave her no response at all. Was she waiting? Did I hurt her by doing so? Well probably I did. All she said was sorry, and I didn't say anything about it. Somehow I felt guilty for a bit. Well probably she's back with her family at home and felt better about it, since many of us students went back to celebrate the first day.

Well, probably.

Suddenly the phone rang out its usual tone, indicating an incoming message. I stared at the phone which was then peacefully hung from a plug off the wall next to the window. Was it from her?

It's a new number, this one was a Celcom, "Hello sir. I am your Chemistry Lab student. Just wanted to ask about our lab replacement from the canceled one we had two weeks back."

Another one. How the hell did these people got my number? I never gave them out at all, not even to one of them. Or did I? No, I was damn sure about it. My curiosity grew and rose to a point that it started to piss me off. Who could be the culprit?

"We will conduct it at the end of the semester before the exam starts." Send? No wait. I needed to add up some more, "how did you get my number anyway?"


Five minutes went on in silence. I held the phone in my hand, waiting for any reply, but there was none. I had to stand by the window to get phone signal, and that wasn't a pleasant thing to do since my back was already killing me by then. Moments went on and I gave it up, so I tied my phone to the wall plug and slammed my ass back on the seat and started playing the guitar again. As I stroke a G-minor and about to sing, the phone made a sound. The sound I was anxiously waiting for.

I stood up and took the phone. One message received. Reveal this secret to me, for I wanted to know the answer to the mystery of from where you people got my number.

"It was written on the board in the technician room."

Gawd dammit.

* * *

The bazaar was full with hungry men and women.

It's the first day of Ramadhan anyway, so it was all expected. The crowd pushed their way forward despite the rainy weather, battling for foods. In their hands were bags of them already, sometimes unbelievably too much for one's size, but this was when even too much was never enough. Probably it's the craving that mattered.

"What's with the sweater?"

"I am not feeling very well," I said to him.

"Looks weird," he continued.

"Like I care, Afiq," I responded. "It's still a Calvin Klein."

"True, true."

I came to the bazaar with him, a friend I never thought I had until recently. We walked our way through the gushing crowd, now almost double in amount. I did not particularly have anything to buy so all I did was browsing around. There were many couples, like almost half of the crowd were them - holding hands, laughing at each other, exchanging smiles. Some of them I knew, some of them I didn't. The same old story, just different days.

"Hey wait," Afiq signaled me with a hand gesture. "I need that roti John."

"Yeah you go ahead," I said. "I'll be here." I stood by one of the tent pole and kept browsing around.

That was when I saw her.

She was walking towards me when I recognized that face. A blue cardigan covered her soft, cotton yellow shirt. She wore the same jeans she did the last time, and the same Nike snickers. She let her hair off untied, covering her ears but still exposing her soft, tender neck. There were two other females accompanying her, both I never have met before. She looked fine, though.

She stopped a few blocks away from the tent where I was standing, buying something. In between the heavy crowd I tried to eye my way in, in the same time trying hard to cover myself behind the 2-inches diameter pole.

Say, she's a five-feet something, probably a couple of inches off me. Look at those curves on her, she's a beautiful girl indeed. Look at the way she smiled at the lady hawker as she took the tandoori chicken bag and the way she freaked out when some coins fell off her purse when she was paying. Look at the way she brushed her hair as she bent over to pick them damn coins up. Look at the way she laughed at her friends as she rose. The way she looked around and greeted some strangers she met in the way. The way she walked so confidently and in style. And look at the way she looked at me.



Felicia F. Ramzi said...

oh my i missed a lot of your chapters in life. orang baru ke? anyway, happy fasting to you :)

Mohamad Nazmi Zaidi said...

hello you =)

org baru? lalala~

happy fasting too. =D