2 years, 2 months and 15 days later, this was going to be the last time we met. Outside a coffee shop, at the dawn of evening, we exchanged greetings. And before the moment could sink in, small talk took precedence. That’s how our conversations began. Almost every time. What started with a walk to sit down under shade, turned into a Linklater’s expression of two people! The by-lanes could sniff old souls amidst their company, they and trees, together played host to conversations about tomorrows. Within the warm embrace of a cold wind, and many such ironies around, we two continued walking. Continued talking. Narrow turns gave light to the sharp alterations required from each. The wide roads spoke about the unexplored future. Dabbling in philosophies and human behavior, we passed a bagel shop. That shop embodied the people we were. And when time was running out, we stood outside the shop, together, unable to enter. We broke into a smile, a knowing one, an old poignant smile. Standing at the back of a car, the conversations were flowing. And those had come around now. From packing condiments to tons of baggage, and everything else that could be packed in a sentence was packed. Five minutes before we left, we revisited a time where implied conversations, undertone messaging and subtle contexts were a way of talking. Within that brief moment, there was a look exchanged. One that brought peace. One that brought pain and a realization that this was it. It was time. “Maybe in two months, when it has sunk in, I’ll return to the zone”. We exchanged a smile and departed. As she said, maybe we’ll meet in 2012. And I’ll wait. To the waving hand, I said goodbye, goodbye Mrs. Jones.