Everything.

Third matchstick; Two left in the box. It burnt with a buzz. It had been 6 months since they had started smoking, and she still couldn’t light a match stick properly. But she never let him do it. And he never asked to. He would wait till she was done lighting her cigarette, and then he would take hers to light his own. And she would let herself take a moment to take in that scent of the burning match stick. It was liberating.

The crescent moon nights were their favourites. Perfect lighting- the amount was just enough to see each other, not enough to be discovered. The terrace was their secret; it was off-limits, and not easily accessible to anyone but them. Right under the warden’s nose, right over her room. They had been climbing up there for over 6 years now.  6 years, since they’d known each other. They had talked about everything there was to be talked about. And then talked about it again. And again. It wasn’t that the silence was awkward. They craved for each other’s voices. They were friends in the darkness, of the darkness. They’d met one fateful night, sneaking out of their respective rooms to watch the stars, or something like that. Not like they remembered. They’d met every night after that. Things get muddled in your head after a while.

She took a deep drag, and then watched the smoke escape her lips. She stole a glance. He was resting his head against the wall, long hair all over the place, eyes closed, making smoke rings. She loved watching him make those rings; the shape his lips made, the way his Adam’s apple would move, the fact that he would never look whether the rings were formed at all or not. It was like he did that just for her.

“Do you think the sun sets in heaven?” She was concentrating on the smoke rising from her mouth. But he knew she knew just exactly what he was doing. And he didn’t need to steal a glance to predict what she was doing. He did anyway. “I sure hope it does. Heaven wouldn’t be complete without these nights there.” She smiled. Her exact thoughts, in his voice. Typical. She flicked her cigarette stub off the terrace. And watched the trajectory. Then she decided to steal another glance. He had changed his position.

He was watching the stars. She started playing with her hair. “The Sun is us, you know? It is bright and full of fire. It is never at rest, never satisfied, never vanquished, and never lonely.” She rested her head on his lap. “Then the stars are us, too. Darkness is a part of our being. The night is incomplete without stars. The peace, and the calm, the whites, the yellows, and the blues. ” “The water is us too, then. Cool, placid. Turbulent, and devastating.” “As is the Earth. Nurturing, Nourishing. Full of life, full of…” “Us.”

He looked at her face, her eyes were closed. He tucked her hair behind her ear, bent a little, and kissed her. When he lifted his head, he smiled. Her face had gone red, eyes were still closed, and the breath ragged. The sensation of his lips on hers was still there. The tingles and the chills. Even though he was lighter than  snow, even when he was stronger than the wind. She drew in a slow breath. Her heart was finally speeding down. She opened her eyes, and looked at him. His dimpled chin complemented his crooked smile. “The air is us too.” She breathed. “Free. Unearthly”, he said. “And silk.” “Delicate. Soft.” “Monuments?” “Magnificent. Memorable.” “Smiles?” “Unending. Happiness.” “And love?” “Pure.”

“We are everything.”

“Everything is us.”