Will Be Yours Ch. 05

"Every couple fights," I said, pushing my spectacles up my nose. I couldn't back out of the conversation. You asked for it, remember?

"Yes," he sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. "But that's all we do."

"You don't look like someone who fights," I observed. He was a quiet person who loved to read and work. I wondered how he looked when he was angry. Did he shout? Did he slam doors or break things?

"She thinks- and she's pretty vocal about it- that I don't give her enough time," he said sadly, "I spent a hell lot of time finishing my education. She always found it a waste of time. She thinks I'm doing nothing worthwhile as a professor."

"She doesn't like a teaching job?"

"She wanted something more... lucrative." He leaned back in the chair. "I could've got a consultancy or investment banking job right after my post-graduation. But I love to teach. That's what I always wanted to do. Well, at least since I was 13 or 14."

"And before that?" I smiled a little.

"I wanted to paint posters on the street," he laughed softly. "I'm glad I allowed my parents to talk me out of it."

He looked at me and laughed again, this time louder. I smiled, finally taking a swig of my coffee.

"How long have you been married?" I forced myself to ask. It didn't hurt all that much anymore. Okay, he was married. What was wrong with that?

"Seven years," he leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. "I wouldn't have married that young, but I didn't want my wife to think that I wasn't serious about the relationship."

"So you married her because she wanted it?" I raised the coffee mug to my lips. Sam looked uncomfortable for a slight second and I knew I had hit the nail on the head.

"Sort of." He avoided my gaze as he took another long sip of the drink. "I was completing my PhD that year and it would be a few more months before I could land a job. We lived solely off her earnings during that time."

"She didn't like that?"

"No. She'd thought it would be easy. But it wasn't. I mean, I understand what it is like when you're running the family and your husband has his head buried in books. She never liked it. She always found it pointless to keep studying when you can be making money."

"But she knew that before she married you, right?"

"Yeah." He sighed, looking pensive for a few seconds. "I guess I'm easy to bully. Any other man would have left her by now."

"So can you."

"No, I can't."

"Why not?"

He breathed, looked up, and met my eyes. "Because I'll lose my son if I leave her," he said. "And I cannot bear that."

It hurt again. He had a kid? Which made him a very married man irrespective of the love-hate relationship he claimed to share with his wife. I now realised why he hadn't wanted to talk about this. It would affect me. And it had.

I was on a date with a married man, who also happened to be a professor at my college. Alright, it wasn't technically a date. But then, what was it?

"I know what you're thinking," he smiled at me. I tucked my hair behind my ear and shook my head.

"No, that's not what I'm thinking," I lied. "I'm just sorry you don't have a happy marriage." I licked chocolate from the edge of the mug. "Not many people do these days."

"Oh, I know. Marriage is such a gamble. In my case, I know part of the answer lies in that I'm a passive person, and also tend to be a people pleaser, so I don't always put my own thoughts and feelings ahead of others. I don't ask the difficult questions. I avoid conflict. I just go with the flow, coast along, thinking I'm an easy going guy. I didn't think deeper about what exactly I was doing, and am now paying for it. I know it's my fault for not being more thoughtful."

In that hurried, fretful instant, I reached out to place my hand upon his. He looked like he needed comfort, that poor man. I knew the misery an unhappy marriage brought. I had seen my mother go through it. I had a fair idea what Sam experienced on a daily basis.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," I said gently, stroking the top of his hand with my thumb. "It wasn't your fault. You just aren't compatible. That doesn't make either of you a bad person."

"I'm still in this for my son alone," he said, not attempting to withdraw his hand. "Maybe once he's old enough, I can call it quits. But until then..."

He put his hand on mine and softly squeezed it. "I'm sorry I told you all this," he shook his head. "This isn't why I had wanted to meet you."

"It's okay. I asked for it." I drew my hand away when he removed his palm. "I appreciate the love you have for your son. Not many parents these days are willing to sacrifice for their children."

"As unhappy as this makes me, I still tolerate my wife because I think my child needs both of us. The worst that can happen to a child is a broken home."

Tell me about it. "So where is your wife at the moment?" I asked. I didn't know why I still wanted to talk about it. I was probably becoming a masochist.

"In London," he replied. "She works there and our kid has just started school this year, so it may not be too feasible for them to move so soon."

"But you must be travelling to London often, since you teach there?"

"Yes, about thrice a month."

"Do you have a house there?"

"Yes. It's on lease."

"And where do you live here?"

"I've rented an apartment. I won't know if it's too small until my family moves in. If it is indeed small, we will have to find a bigger place."

He drank the dregs of the coffee and wiped his mouth. "So tell me about work," he said with a smile. "Do people take you seriously there?"

I scowled. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he tried to hide a smile. "You look so achingly delicate. You hardly appear to be a budding corporate professional."

"Looks are deceptive," I snapped. "And for your information, I'm an important part of the product development team. I'm taken very seriously."

He laughed, amusement clear on his face. He obviously enjoyed making me nervous. Now he also loved annoying me.

And yet, I couldn't seem to control my growing feelings for him.

Girl, you have lost it.

"I always knew you'd do well," he smiled, "You show such promise. It's like you've always wanted to be here, doing this."

"Not really," I smiled. "I wanted to own a flower shop when I was a little girl. My mother made me dream bigger."

"A flower shop?" He leaned closer to me. "Now that's interesting. So you love flowers?"

"Love would be an understatement. I'm sold on them. My home is a little nursery."

"A corporate professional with green fingers, huh?" he smirked, "That's a first. What flowers do you grow?"

"My mom's into roses. Various kinds of roses. I personally prefer lilies and dahlias. I learned flower grafting from mom. If you come to my house someday, you'll even find two or three colour roses. I love grafting flowers. It takes a long time but the end result is mind-blowing."

"I've heard a lot about grafting," he said, "But I really don't know anything about flowers."

"I could teach you," I grinned cheekily.

"Uh-huh. Begin by telling me how grafting is done."

I cleared my throat. "For a rose plant, the ideal time to begin grafting is when the petals begin to droop and the blooms are fading, but the buds are not fully swelled. First, we need to hold a bit of the rose plant we wish to bloom, making sure it has at least two rose buds and cut the bottom edge into a V-shape. This part is called the scion. Then this graft piece is placed on a clean surface and we need to mist it with water to prevent it from drying up. Next, we have to cut a smooth small notch in the stem of the rose plant to which the graft piece is to be attached, at an angle to receive the scion. This part is called the stock. The scion is to be slid on the cut in the stock so it fits snugly. This point where the two are joined is known as the 'union'. Then a layer of grafting tape or wax is put over the union and then we need to mist the plant with water."

I finished speaking to find him staring intently at me, his chin propped on his clasped hands. I straightened my spectacles, smoothed my hair, and gulped uneasily. I both loved and hated when he looked at me like that. It seemed as though he could see into my soul.

"Wow," he said, but I knew he hadn't been listening. A business professor would never want to know about grafting roses. He asked only because he wanted to ogle me. "You really are great at many things at such a young age," he said, his eyes never leaving my face, "Do you sell flowers too?"

"No. We bloom the flowers with a lot of love. We can never cut or sell them."

"Your mom's into flowers?"

"You mean for a living? No, she's a loan officer with the government."

He laughed softly. "Don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't expect a loan officer to bloom flowers either. I assume, you're quite like your mother?"

"Yes, you could say that. Mom taught me many things, from gardening to baking. The only thing I never managed to learn is to cook."

The waiter returned to take our empty cups and asked if we wanted to have anything else.

"No, I'm good," I smiled, "This place anyway closes at six."

"Well, then, let's see where we can go." Sam paid the bill and tipped the waiter. "I can't thank you enough for bearing with me."

"Come on, stop saying that," I laughed, "This is no trouble at all."

"I forgot to tell you how pretty you look," he smiled, as we left our seats and proceeded to walk out. "I've noticed you're not into loud clothes or makeup. Is it something conscious or is that how you are?"

"I guess it's how I am." He held the door for me as I walked out. "I like nice clothes but they have to be simple. I can't tolerate flashy stuff."

"I like it," he said as we walked side by side down the sparsely crowded street that evening. "I wish all women felt that way." He looked down at me. "Your hair is amazing. Has it always been so long?"

I hadn't tied my hair that day. I usually kept my hair loose outside college. That day, I thought the open hair looked good with my long sleeve tunic.

"Yes," I nodded. "I've always been envied for my hair."

I looked up at him. His countenance was so warm and gentle, it made my heart soar. "Why did you want to meet me?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing much. Just two friends meeting over coffee and having a good time." He smiled softly. "But I guess I didn't give you such a good time with my soppy life story."

"No, I like talking to you."

"This isn't something I normally discuss. I don't know what compelled me to talk to you about it."

"I'm honoured that you trusted me."

"And I'm surprised that you understand." He held my hand suddenly, pulling me close to him. My body stiffened. We were on the street, anybody could see us.

"Sam... please..." I breathed, trying to pull away, but his hold on my arms was firm.

"You're still afraid, aren't you?" he asked, studying my face. I squirmed, his touch burning my skin through the fabric of my tunic. "I'm sorry I never asked earlier... Are you single? Is that why you were hesitating?"

"I wasn't afraid," I said. "I was hesitating because this might be improper. Your job may be in trouble if they know..."

"They won't know," his voice was firm. "So you're single?"

I nodded, looking up to meet his gaze. Something seemed to work on me like magic. Maybe it was his fluid movements, or his big, intense eyes and the way they looked into mine, or maybe his mind, his attitude. It didn't matter if he was married. He was a friend. And I liked him.

"Would you mind driving us somewhere?" I asked, still looking into his eyes.

"Anywhere."

"To the Lickey Hills Country Park. I want to watch the sunset."

He finally let me go and checked the time. "I'd love that," he smiled. "Let's go."

We reached the park in less than twenty minutes and for the next hour or so, we walked through the tree-lined, uneven valleys and avenues, enjoying each other's company. Dry leaves had covered the ground in myriad hues of green and yellow, making soft rustling sounds as we walked upon them. The last rays of the sun filtered in through the leaves of the trees, shimmering as they played hide and seek with the swaying leaves. We talked about random things; his past postings, his long association with chess and how he had wanted to become a pro, but his parents wanted him to have a more stable career, his love for jazz, my love for pop and country, and our shared passion for books. I also enlightened him on some lesser known things about Birmingham, since I knew the place like the back of my hand. When we had walked to the deep interior of the park, we sat down on a small hillock and watched the sun going down. No one spoke for long minutes. And then I felt his hand on mine, his touch gentle, warm.

Despite myself, I felt my skin breaking into goosebumps.

I wasn't the praying type. But at that moment, I prayed for strength. Because I had all chances of falling for this man. And I needed every ounce of strength to prevent that from happening.

--

"I wonder how you manage to wake up early despite staying up till late," mom said to me the next morning, while we worked on a rose bush that we had grafted a few months ago. "Julie would never be up before nine."

Mom's words vaguely reached my ears. Sam's thoughts and memories from the last evening crowded my mind. We had been together till late evening, had another round of coffee, and chatted until we lost track of time. He was such a dream to talk to, witty, insightful, sometimes funny. He really knew how to hold a conversation. When he dropped me home, he kissed me on the cheek, and the lingering scent of his perfume stayed with me through the night.

I had difficulty falling asleep for the first time that night. I hadn't gone out with a guy in more than a year, least of all with someone who I could talk to for hours. Even when he spoke about his wife and their not-so-perfect relationship, he wasn't looking for sympathy or comfort. He was simply being honest. I loved that about him. I loved everything about him, his eyes, his body, and even his fat lips.

I bet he'd make beautiful, intelligent babies.

The stray thought left me flustered. Since when did I fantasise about babies? And since when did I fantasise about him?!

"Ouch." I winced when a thorn poked into my thumb. Mom looked up from the other side of the bush.

"Are you okay, honey?" she asked, craning her neck to see what had happened. I surreptitiously sucked the drop of blood from my thumb and put my mind to work.

"You are absent-minded today," she smiled, "Anything you want to tell me?"

No. I obviously couldn't tell her that I was still hot and bothered after my fantasies about Sam last night.

"I will be gone for a week," she said, putting a bit of fertilizer in the soil, "I'll keep the food in the fridge. Don't eat outside too much."

"Mum," I sighed, "I'll get tired of having the same food every day. I'll buy food the time you're gone."

Mom was going for the Church's annual retreat. She was an important part of the committee and led all the activities of the ministry. I wondered how she squeezed in everything in her schedule. Work, gardening, cooking, church programmes, and other various activities. I was yet to see a day when she'd be sitting around, doing nothing.

"Alright," she laughed, reaching for the small watering can sitting on the lawn. "But avoid too much of junk. You will fall ill."

"I won't, mum." I lived on junk food, with a love for fried food in particular. Sausages, eggs, bacon, chips, chops, cutlets. There was nothing quite like a good fry. And I had never taken ill after eating any of those. But mom never failed to remind me nevertheless.

"You look different today," she said, rising from the ground. I looked up from the rose bush, realizing that I had been smiling like a fool all this time.

"D-Different?" I asked, wiping my hands on my apron. "What do you mean?"

I heard mom laughing from behind the lily plants. "I'm your mother, sweetheart," she said, "I know when there's something on your mind."

"I'm fine, mum," I tried to sound as convincing as possible. "I guess I'm just a little preoccupied with the project I'm working on."

"That's all, huh?"

"Yes."

I turned around to look at her. And I glared. "Mom!"

She laughed louder this time, taking off her apron as she walked inside the house. "I'm making breakfast. Go, clean up."

I slowly got up from the lawn and took one last look at the rose plants. They had been grafted well and were coming up the way we wanted them to. I couldn't wait to see the flowers and the look on our neighbours' faces when they saw the amazing colours.

In my room, I took off the apron and checked my phone for calls or messages. It was a Saturday, classes were off, and I'd spend the rest of the day at home, obviously alone once mom left that evening. Maybe I'd watch a movie or catch up on the shows I downloaded the other day. I fiddled with the phone in my hands. For some reason, I couldn't get Sam out of my head. And it wasn't just romantic thoughts. It was concern.

I hated to see him low. Was he alright after the spat with his wife yesterday? I wondered what he was doing that morning. Sleeping till late? Getting ready for class? Burying himself in work?

Despite myself, I reached for my bag, from where I fished out his business card. After a moment of hesitation, I dialled his number. My heart throbbed as I counted the rings. One, two, three, four. On the fifth ring, he picked up.

"Hallo?"

His voice was still sleepy. I wished I could see his morning face. Puffy eyes, bed hair...

"Hallo?" he sounded again.

"Hi, it's me." I paused. "Cynthia."

"Hey!" he sounded delighted. "What a surprise. How're you this morning?"

What did he expect?

"I'm doing good," I said, hesitantly, feeling the shyness return. "I just wanted to check on you."

"Check on me? Why?" I heard the sound of running water, and I had a feeling he was shaving.

"You were upset yesterday," I said. "I wanted to check if you're better."

"After the lovely evening with you, how can I be upset?" I sensed his smile. "I had a great time. Ever since I met you for the first time, I knew you'd be my kind of woman."

His kind of woman?!

"So who is your kind of woman exactly?" I took off my glasses and lay down on the bed, staring at the beige ceiling of my room. As nervous as I felt, I still decided to play along.

"A woman with a sexy mind. Someone who reads, thinks, has her own opinions, makes her own decisions. Someone who's smart, intelligent, creative, accomplished, sharp and strong. Someone who's beautiful and sensuous. Someone I can have great conversations with, laugh with, revel in our successes with."

I listened as he spoke, his voice rising and falling like gentle waves. I heard some rustling sounds on the other end, followed by a pause. And then his voice came again. "Just give me a moment to get dressed, please."

I closed my eyes, the image already too vivid in my mind. How would he look naked?

No. Wait. Where had that come from?!

"Do you have class?" I asked, trying my best to get the images out of my head.

"No, a staff meeting. And then I'll drop into the library." A slight pause again. "Are you going to be there by any chance?"

"No. I-"

"Listen, I have a plan. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, for lunch?"

"Umm... nothing."

"No, you're meeting me."

Another date?

"Meeting you for lunch?" I said, "Are you sure?"

"About lunch?"

"No. About... this... Us..."