Moment

As the evening drew to its close, we found ourselves at the station where we were to part ways. Of the days' activities themselves I do not recall, though I am sure it was full of meandering bliss.

And now, upon our third outing, -though I must admit I was not consciously aware of being courted at this time- he posed to me a simple, weighted question, as we perched on the edge of society passing.

"How hard would you hit me if I were to kiss you right now?"

I had but a moment to capture him in my minds' eye, I gave the moment pause in adequate reflection, for it could only deserve so much; his delicate balance between solemnity and playfulness. He rocked back ever so slightly on his heels as the question went unanswered, arms at a loss. There was a forced cheer in his voice should he have had to display bravado in the face of rejection. I recognised it thusly. A sign of a decision that did not lay in his hands but one that he wanted for himself.

Having considered our potential dalliance, I then pulled the newspaper I'd earlier tucked under my arm and lightly smacked the top of his head in jest.

"Not too hard", I replied "...but you may kiss me."

For he had been a gentleman to ask. A gentle man to take my hand as we crossed the street not a day before, but not so much a gentleman that he would not brazenly take to staring into my eyes and casting a blush upon my cheeks, and a heat that would spread through my being.

Was it not odd then, that for all that I felt and was flattered by, all of the above came as little surprise? Perchance I expected it all along, or perhaps the moment left me startled like a deer in headlights, with my reactions slowed.

With these words, a most chaste kiss did occur, lasting but a fleeting second, if at all. If I had to compare, it would be to a butterfly wing so gently brushed upon my skin. I caught myself hoping briefly for another, though the moment and its terms were spent.

And then he was gone, past the barriers, and I left to walk home in the cool night air. And I had just turned upon a corner to see, through the glass, his little hop and skip of joy, or perhaps, my tainted mind interjected, of conquest; a simple dare completed. I shook my head to clear it of such fears; remnants of my past surfacing when they ought not to have.

I did not mean to eavesdrop on his joy, and felt briefly like an intruder on his raw emotion. It was not of my culture, not when one is brought up to be stoic and reserved in displaying ones' affection, lest it be interpreted as mocking.

Nevertheless, my heart was warmed, though closer to redemption or disaster, I was unsure. I stood for a while after he'd descended into Londons depths, and brought my fingers to my lips. They did not feel differently, yet they were not the same. Perhaps I was no longer the same.

I walked home in contemplative silence, wondering what, if anything, would happen next between two souls in a country that neither could call home.

I felt the cold quite keenly that night.