You Were the Needle In The Haystack

 

The first time I saw you, you were a shimmer in blue. A blur that sped past me and blended into the throng of people at the procession. I looked for you in the crowd, craning my neck every which way but I couldn’t spot you again. You were the needle in the haystack.

The second time I saw you, the bright orange kanagambaram flower, the firecracker flower as it is also called, woven into your hair called out to me. Adorning your fiery spirit and your boisterous laughter, its name seemed apt. With us in different compartments on the train journey, all I could do was catch glimpses of you through the railings. You were the needle in the haystack.

The third time I saw you, my breath stopped. Our eyes met. And you smiled at me. A smile that spoke of intimacy. An intimacy that comes from knowing someone for years. And yet, this was the first time you had seen me. Before I could smile back at you, you asked to be excused and walked past, getting lost in a sea of yellow 7s at the stadium cheering for their team. You were the needle in the haystack.

The fourth time I saw you, I recognized you by your voice. The heartrending melodies you sang lured me in. You were on the stage, engulfed by seventeen others of the choir. For me, separated by 36 rows of seats and people, you were the needle in the haystack.

The fifth time. Well, 5 is my lucky number. Rather, it used to be. The fifth time I saw you, I was simply 2 feet away. You lay there, clearly visible, unadorned in your simplicity, unmoving. An angelic aura. Covered with a white sheet, in solidarity with 137 other victims of the tsunami, you were no longer a needle in the haystack.

This post is based on a writing prompt by Plottery. Link here