February, the month of love, spring, colors, dreams. February was the most special month for me for several years. Not only because it is dedicated especially to love but also because it is the birthday month of my childhood sweetheart. It’s been long, February had stopped being special to me. Wrecking the past memories in the sands of time, I have moved on. At least I believe so. I have never been in love since then and February had been just like any other month in the calendar.

I was sitting by the sea shore. The dusky sky was clinging the sun to herself while the sun-rays condensed beautifully into the waves. The seagulls were flying into the sea, sometimes flattering and gliding into the smooth horizon of the sky. I preferred this side of the coast because of its solitude. No animation, no clumsy bathing items, or screams. This part of the day, the twilight, I liked keeping to myself. Joining my knees, resting my chin on my crossed arms and looking as far as the vision carried, soothes me more than a bunch of bikini girls playing beach volley.  A tired man with a cart of green coconuts, was the only man in sight.

I had not heard any footsteps, but envisaged a shadow walking past me and sitting on the shore few feets away. A lady. She wore a beautiful red dress, her hair cut to shoulder. Her face was fighting her age. Her forehead had started wrinkling but her eyes were really pretty. Her stature was small, with thin, pale pair of arms. Her hair, graying at the roots was still shiny and well maintained. It was well comprehensible that she had been beautiful but had survived a storm, a storm that perhaps had defeated her. The lady had watery eyes and an expression of disbelief.

I stretched my legs, stretched my finger and was about to stand when-

“Oh sorry! Did I disturb you?” I heard a lovely voice.

“No- not at all. I was just…”

“So you are finished donating your grief to the sea, right?” she said smiling.

“Nothing as such, I mean I was…”

“Then how do you explain that a young man like you, spending the eve of 14th February talking to the sea?” she inquired.

I did not answer. “Sit down?” she offered.

I sat down without a word. Silence prevailed till the time she started speaking.

“I was of your age when my war with the sea began. Now it has been twenty years, and the war is still on.” She said rubbing her left cheek, as tears rolled by.

“What happened, I mean did he…?”

“Left me. He told me, he would come back, but he never did. He was in the navy. Twenty years ago, he gifted me this dress, on the eve of 14th February, the year we were supposed to marry. He went on certain mission and never came back.”

“So what did the administration and authorities say about it?” I asked, curiously.

“Dead, in the sea.”

I could not say a word. We both sat quietly for minutes. Minutes later, I stood up and walked to the coconut seller.

I brought a green coconut with two straws in it. She turned her head and could not help smiling.

“So let’s drink together, shall we?” I offered.

She smiled softy, but I could see her heart screaming in pain. “Yes please, I would love to!”

We sat on the shore together, with sun setting into the sea, while the orange water glared and the waves cleansed our feet and rushed back only to come back again.

“Do you believe he would come back?” I asked.

“Why else do you think I sit here every dusk?” She said with a strange belief in her eyes.

The sun had set. A soft breeze glided past our hair. A few half broken sand castles were holding on to the mighty waves. We walked towards the end of the coast and stopped.

“You must have had way more exciting 14th February’s in your life, but to be honest, for me, this was the best one.” I kissed her forehead.

“Good bye! Will hear your story if we meet again someday.” she bid.

On my way back, I could not help but smile. Not every relationship has a name. Some are just dimensionless, beyond explanation. They do not have to end with kisses and hugs. Some 14th February’s are just meant to be felt, realized, adored and get inspired from.

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From the Origin of time many rise and fall like winter weeds, My identity could not be revealed by anyone, My identity could only be revealed if you know me well. There isn't any great mystery about me. What I do is glamorous and has an awful lot of white-hot attention placed on it. But the actual work requires the same discipline and passion as any job you love doing, be it as a very good pipe fitter or a highly creative artist.