The cupids.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Phonecall | Part One

Adam. Adam, Adam, she mumbled.

Adam.


The name of a man who stole her heart popped in her head for the hundredth time today.


It had been awhile. 8 days to be exact. 8 days since they last talked to each other.


The previous conversation was hanging unattended.


Or was it not? Dian reached for her phone to check again.


Goodnight, was her last text to him.


It was not replied. Was it even read? Impossible if he didn't. He was always with his phone, she thought to her self. 


 It was an unusual thing for a strong girl like Dian to feel so shaky when it came to people.

She was a great spokesperson. A confident one at that.


But this call she was about to make sent shivers down her spine.


"Hi," a deep voice greeted her at the other end. She gasped.


That was easy, she tipped on her toes.


She turned around, and gracefully glanced at the mirror and saw herself, a thrilled, petite girl.


"Hi," Dian responded, as feminine as possible.


"What's up Dian? Been missing you!" Adam said excited.


"I'm good! Actually, really great! I received an award for being in the top three in my college earlier today."


"Wow, that's great. You're my girl. Of course you'd be on such spree," Dian heard Adam let out a manly giggle.


"Been missing you Adam. Where have you been?" Dian went straight to the point. And then she wondered, was that really the point?


"Been busy baby. I - Hold on. Someone's on the line. Will call you back okay -"


"Okay - " Dian smiled, while looking at the mirror of course. The reflection of her happy face just made her happier.


"Bye baby."


"Bye Adam. I'll - I guess I'll just wait for -" and the call ended.


Your phone call, she whispered to that silly girl in the mirror.


She raised both her arms and fell on her back against her bed. She felt as if heaven had just bent and reached her hands.




And as she was listening to the ticking clock on her side,  darkness collapsed on her again.


But that dim table light shone on her smile.



P/S:  A dedication to a dear friend, whose heart whispers louder than her words.