Idling, Waiting for the West Wind

The first time they met was beside a little stream in the garden. He held a book and recited poetry, shaking his head as he read, when a little girl with mud all over her face suddenly popped out. While he stood there stunned, she held up a long, black earthworm and scared him away. Seven years later, they met again, and their lives became entwined once more. In a damp, stinking dungeon, she leaned against the wall in bloodstained clothes. He said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here!” She had only meant to tug at the corners of her mouth and smile to show him she was all right, but tears kept streaming down her face. Holding her icy body in his arms, he stammered through trembling lips and teeth, “Simu, I’m scared.” Yes, she had taught him fear, made him afraid of losing her. When had the seed been planted? When had it sprouted? He only remembered how dazed she looked when she lifted her head from her book, and how he had unconsciously ruffled her hair. He only remembered how he found himself smiling whenever he saw her laughing sweetly. “Eighteen, I like you. Will you be my wife?”