The universe’s game

Nea Maryn
Nea Maryn
Nov 3 · 3 min read

The outside was wet and noisy with downpour — making it chilly to the skins inside. But nevermind, their body heats warmed each other’s skins under the comforter anyway. Sometimes thunder stroke, it wasn’t scary but it did make them jolt for a second every now and then. And with each and every strike, in between the raindrops that were racing to meet the ground, their embrace got tighter and tighter.

There was no other noise but the rain, the wind, the thunder. Or sometimes the sound of the sheets being rubbed against the bed from the movement of their bodies. When the pour got friendlier and the wind wasn’t as angry she held her breath and tried to find his heartbeat. Dub. Dub. Dub. Slow and steady. Rhythmic as he was when he sang. She went and looked into her own and wondered if their beats matched.

Too noisy, too noisy, she thought, she couldn’t tell.

The rain slowed down, the wind rested, there were no more thunders. She suddenly caught the clock ticking subtly. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Oh, how she hated it. Stop, clock. Stop. Don’t tick.

She drowned her face to his chest. He stirred, moved around slightly and held her waist even tighter. When she looked up his eyes were still closed. His lips opened slightly. Like he was refusing to wake up and face reality. When their faces touched she flinched a little bit, a feeling she will be missing soon. His stubbles poked against her cheek, her hair tickled his nose.

In normal circumstances, she would push his face away and scold him into shaving. He would cheekily pretend to be sneezing erratically. But this time they just stayed there and inhaled each other.

The rain started falling again, hard. Their windows vibrated a little bit, the wind knocking on them, like begging to be let in.

When nature got loud again, she whispered against his mint-colored sweater, “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” he could hear her amidst the noise. How could he not?

“But I must.”

“But you must.”

“What do I do if — when I’m missing you?”

“I don’t know what I’d do when I’m missing you either.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry…” he said, she could feel his Adam’s apple moving, his throat vibrates. Other things she would be missing. “Let’s just stay this way for a while.”

She nodded. They both tried to shut out the downpour outside. At one point they succeeded, but the silence was too deafening; to only hear their own breath was too painful, and the sound of the clock ticking, that somehow went along with the beats of their hearts, was too sickening. So they gave in to rain, to the puddles formed on the potholes, to the tree leaves rubbing against each other.

They gave in to the universe. The universe, who was kind enough to let them meet and grow on each other, but like the rain it liked to play, to see if these two people would survive until the end of the game.

Nea Maryn

Nea Maryn

A writer, not writing.

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