What's that in your hand?

I asked her as I embraced her.

She looked beautiful in her red and black dress, almost seemed to merge with the red evening sky. I thought if I didn't hold her tight enough, she might dissolve into the ether leaving my empty hands stained crimson with her embers and my clothes scented with her light fragrance.

The smile on her dark face was as mysterious as it had been when I had looked at it closely for the first time only weeks ago. Perhaps, it had grown even more mysterious now that I had come to ‘know her’.

She always seemed to be in a hurry. But she never admitted it. In fact, when I once told her so she completely denied it. I couldn’t help doubting my opinion because even in the midst of the most chaotic situations she seemed unfazed by it. Untouched, as if time didn’t exist for her. But I had a suspicion that she was just a good actor, good at hiding her true inner feelings. Maybe she was as scared about the uncertainties surrounding us as I was. If not, then why would she be so concerned about the fact that I never wore a wristwatch? And to think of it, I was the one waiting for her every time we decided to meet. Except for that one time when I got late buying flowers for her. She held that against me forever and at the same time loved me for it.

Her giggle brought my attention back to her.

She hadn’t answered my question yet, I remembered. I squeezed her closer and asked again, “What’s that in your hand, Verna?”

She looked straight into my eyes. As she raised both her eyebrows they met end-to-end somewhere in the middle of her tiny forehead.

And then she said,

“Relax sweetheart. It’s just a time bomb.”