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Part Two: The Boundaries
Her name was Evelyn. She was 45, a literature professor, and a woman with a past I couldn’t yet see. But what I did see was the way she made the world feel bigger, deeper, like a painting I had only seen in glimpses before.
She started coming to the bookstore more often. Sometimes she’d buy books, sometimes she’d just linger, tracing the spines with delicate fingers as if memorizing each title. And sometimes, she’d talk to me.
“You remind me of someone I used to know,” she said one evening, her voice barely above a whisper.
I wanted to ask who, but something in her eyes stopped me. Instead, I said, “Maybe it’s because you’re seeing me now.”
She blinked, then smiled like I had surprised her. “Maybe.”
Boundaries existed. Unspoken, yet sharp-edged. I knew the world wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t approve. But how could something that felt so effortless be wrong?
RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI , ASSAM , INDIA
22/02/2025
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