Echoes of Another Love

She waited in the dark still, silent and watchful. Why was he late? Was he not coming home tonight? He did that sometimes. And he never ever bothered to tell her. But she always knew – for he could never pack without her knowledge. Not much escaped her, she thought with grim pleasure.

So why wasn’t he home yet? One of those late night parties, she supposed. One would think he would know better. What about those dark circles? And when she pointed them out he would get so mad. But that wouldn’t change facts would it?

Like she had accepted that in his line of work as a model, there were others. But it was to her that he always came back, and for her that was enough.

She maintained her calm dignified exterior unruffled by goings on in his life – steadfast and unwavering in her approach. Nobody could tell by looking at her that she was waiting – waiting for his firm tread, the click of the switch, bright lights, the whirr of the fan, the rustle as he changed – perhaps that’s when he would throw her a glance.

Just a look just a glimpse of him was enough to change her entire perspective. In an instant, her empty existence would be filled with his presence. This was what she lived for as she gleamed and shone in the knowledge that he loved her, relied on her like he never did anyone else.

For it was only in front of her that he shed his mask and showed his real face. And she prided herself in showing him the nothing but the truth unmindful of the consequences.

Today she would show him the tiny white patch just under his ear. No one else other than her had ever seen it.

And no one would ever hear of it from her – not even if he smashed her to smithereens.

Written for the Indispire challenge: Write a love story with no human, animal or any living characters in it! #LoveChallenge

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For the readers of Moonshine, here’s Chapter 65 and Calvin :- Hobbes is still winning 😀 Click here for more Short Stories or here for more information About the Blog

Quote of the day: “What does a mirror look at?” ― Frank Herbert, Chapterhouse: Dune

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