Her Morning Elegance
K yeah, inspired by this song: YouTube - Oren Lavie - Her Morning Elegance (HQ) If you watch the music video, you'll sorta get the angle I was going for. Please tell me what you think. I'm rather proud of this one, feel free to crush my feelings for it. xDD This is just a simple one-shot for my OTP AmericaxIndia.
It was cold and raining, that was the simplest way to describe the morning. Though the world outside was gray, there was still a bit of light that seemed to make its way through the windows. The man stuffed his hands into his pockets as he slowly ambled throughout the living room, something he hadn’t exactly paid attention to the night before. As he silently glanced about the room, he couldn’t help but stop in front of the dimly lit fireplace. He spotted a brightly colored lily sitting in an antique vase on the mantel and a lone slipper setting on the floor. He couldn’t help but smile at this single slipper, knowing just how it got there. As he turned to move on, his eyes set upon a Cello lying silently in its case. His smile had shrunk in size but the sincerity seemed to multiply. The night before, he was graced with the privilege of hearing the woman play. It was so strange to him to see the instrument poised in its home, not making a sound, when last night graceful, meaningful, passionate music poured from its strings.
“That was amazing,” he mused, clearly taking note of her blush in the yellow light from the old lamp on the bed stand. “How long did you say you’ve been playing?”
“Since I was about seven.” The woman smiled proudly, pushing her dark hair that had fallen from her ponytail back. She fought to keep her gaze locked on the man but occasionally found herself looking away in embarrassment. Eventually, she just gave in and set herself deep into the gaze that had been looking back at her for some time now.
“Play another one, Mira!” he chirped with sheer enthusiasm. No one had ever been this eager to hear her play, except maybe her mother; it was a real treat.
A few minutes later, she came walking down the stairs. Alfred stood by and watched her, as if the world around him had set itself in slow motion. He observed everything about her and the morning elegance she wore: the way her robe flew behind her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders… everything. He caught himself smiling once more as she looked up to where he was standing as she stepped off the last step.
“Good morning,” she called out. He immediately answered and soon found himself by her side. The two walked into the kitchen where they sat, deep in a silent conversation, where Alfred studied her closely and noticed many things about her. Like how easily the sound of water could send her off into a day dream, how quickly she could snap out of it when a cloud of steam from her cup of tea wafted in front of her face. He slid his hand over her free one that rested out across the table, practically calling out to him, and smiled. He barely knew this woman yet he felt he had known her for so long. He knew she was tough to crack, reclusive to say the least, and she had never risked telling her life story to anyone. But Alfred wasn’t just anybody. His mind slowly began to wander across a time line as he took in her presence.
This was the same woman he had seen on the train countless times. The blank, lonely expression was a familiar one though he always wondered what sort of beautiful creature was hidden under all that misery. He knew he would never find out until he summoned up the nerve to talk to her. Every time he saw her, she seemed to be fighting an endless battle; fighting for her life even. As she slowly walked up to the cash register, with a loaf of bread in hand, she seemed to shoot a small smile at everyone who looked at her but never once looked up at them. Instead, her head hung the entire time until she finally set the bread on the counter. She looked up at the cashier with bright blue, curious eyes and quickly looked away, blinking madly. Alfred’s mouth opened to say something, but she only paid for the bread and left before anything could be exchanged and counted her change her entire way out of the store. ‘Nobody could ever have the privilege of knowing her,’ he said to himself as he watched her walk away. ‘Nobody could possibly know what she’s like… nobody knows.’
Alfred had earned the privilege no one else had, and he wasn’t going to let go of it any time soon. He loved how easily distracted she had become by watching it pour outside her kitchen window and how each time it thundered, a new quizzical look appeared on her face. He could only wonder what was going on inside that magnificent brain of hers. After about the fourth clap of thunder Amira looked back at Alfred and they both simultaneously were lost in each other’s eyes.
Amira looked up from her flower garden as she heard the noise of the gate being messed with. She grinned at the blonde who seemed to be having troubles getting it open. In truth, she had thought he wouldn’t show up but then again, the man had persistence. For weeks, he begged her on the train just to go get a cup of coffee with him. Of course, she was a little reluctant but there was just something about the guy, something… that she just couldn’t let slip by her. Perhaps there was something about this stranger she could love.
That was how the night began. Neither of them expected to fall so quickly for the other, but they did. Alfred left late that evening with promises to return the next day. And before he left, he kissed her, which seemed to make her melt. When he didn’t show up like he said he would, waves of betrayal began to crash over Amira. For hours she hugged her pillow wondering just why he had done this to her. She knew she could never forgive him for this, until she opened the news paper the next morning and found his name in the obituary.
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