Adriana had lighted one more cigarette in the glass holder, softly held between the fingers of her left hand and had it inhaled swiftly. There was no rush to exhale the smoke soon. She looked more red in anxiety. She was restless.
She grabbed the glass of wine in her right hand and walked towards the balcony. She hated to wait anymore minute and looked impatiently towards the big wall clock. The bells of the clock are yet to ring at the stroke of midnight. Bell ringing at the stroke of midnight were the signs of her hope of seeing Gil anytime soon.
She was aware of the fact that the love affair she assumed herself to be into was posthumous. She knew Gil belonged to some other time, some other world in a different era and to a different lady. But you can never logically deprive your heart of the emotions that it sincerely starts to exhibit once it has tasted deep affection and touch of love.
Gil showed up an hour late, neatly drenched. Drops of water sliding through his head till his chin and then bending down to his neck. It rained in Paris tonight. He enjoyed walking into the rain. He always felt that the coziness which the soul of an artist seeks is available in the cold drops of water that falls on to his body when it rains. That chilling touch of rain pierces through the skin of a man and reaches the parched soul. He then feels as if he has been pulled far away from anything that might possibly come between him and his imaginations.
But tonight it was equally disturbing for Gil as well. He, in all his senses, had fallen for a person that died many years before he was born. Time machines can only carry our minds into the past, it can not practically keep our body in the past. Illusions of the mind could be an end to the beautiful reality you have been missing all along.
What writing to an imaginative mind is, that Adriana was to Gil. He could never feel a love as pure and selfless anytime before as he could feel in the company of Adriana. But it had to end. He had to tell her that they are leading a life which is centuries apart. It would ask either of them to give up on their present. A present which has been destructed in the fire of emotions under the presumptions of a much better future would never guarantee a constructive tomorrow.
He now knew what love actually could be. A feeling as true and honest as Adriana had will never let you settle for a life that restricts you from being more independent and informed. He knew he could not stay with her till the end of the time, but he certainly was now aware what he needed in life. He needed Adriana in his own time, own era, own century; most possibly with a different face and a different name.
That night they kissed no good night. They kissed good byes. They did not want to, but they had to. Yellow lights of her room were dimmed to bid goodbye to the most realistic, informing and empowering love story of the fiction.