Mirror to the Soul
I wonder if she was ever aware.
Aware of how much she was offering to me – silently, unknowingly or perhaps deliberate in a way she didn’t even realize – through her eyes.
I had always scoffed at those lines in cheesy romance novels about how eyes could talk, how two lovers could exchange the deepest promises of their hearts through just their eyes - with a mere blink, through a mere flutter of lashes. Now, however, I’ll be lying if I were to say that I’m not the most devoted of believers of these whimsical notions ever since I put my eyes on hers.
I was late. The college was too big and it was only natural that I got lost. The glare that I received from the professor and the other baleful looks directed sharply in my direction were making me highly uncomfortable as I looked around the big lecture room, almost deciding to leave out of embarrassment but then something flashed – like a beacon – and my gaze narrowed down to those startlingly bright, luminous green eyes.
I, in a blink, felt myself go colour blind with a ridiculously strong bias to green; glinting, emerald green to be precise.
There was something amused about those glimmering eyes, even though there wasn’t any trace of amusement on the rest of that pale, crystal-cut face. They rolled slightly – surely at my tardiness and my sheer inability to do anything besides standing there like an utter fool, wasting the class’ time – then subtly flicked towards the seat next to herself and then casually turned back towards the professor who had started teaching again.
I blinked, as if pulling myself back from a trance, and rushed into the classroom, taking the seat next to her on the front row. The curious and judging looks from the rest of the class burning holes in the back of my head should’ve bothered me but they quickly blurred into oblivion as those eyes turned to look at me again, still with that poker face and gave me one slow blink, like telling me – ‘chill, it’s okay’ – and I, by God, felt like it had never been as okay as it was then.
***
The library was packed. The view of her face was fully blocked by a red head, leaving only her eyes. Since my attention was solely focused on those jade orbs, I couldn’t help but finally admit to myself that they were tremendously pretty. They also looked highly bored and tired though, the usual glittering shine dim, the eyelids heavy and the green dark as it peeped from behind long, bowed, inky lashes. They inevitably fluttered close and I wondered if those sooty lashes would leave equally sooty impressions on that smooth skin of her cheekbones where they rested.
Then, all of a sudden, they snapped open and pierced straight into my eyes. They were sharp and fully awake now and I, for a second, stopped breathing. I should’ve looked away, it’s rude to stare after all, but it was impossible for me to do so as I was pinned to the spot by those calculating eyes.
My own grey ones were wide and alert but I felt my eyes go soft, like molten silver – so people say – for I noticed a slight redness on her cheeks, whatever little of it that was visible to me anyway. The green shone brighter, if that was even possible, and I wished for that inky curtain to hide it away lest the darkness of the world steel the brilliant sheen out of it. No wish of mine had ever been as swiftly granted as this one as that stunning gaze slowly shied away from my positively stunned and admiring one with a demure fall of dark lashes.
It was as if, from then on, another course had been added to my curriculum – Gazology, Eyeistry, Irisography, take your pick. The world seemed to blend into black and white every time my eyes found those green ones. How they would soften with warmth like a sea of liquid emerald. How they would narrow in annoyance, flash in anger, making the green look like jagged, broken shards of the church frescoes. How they would squint and glitter with life as she laughed, the little flecks of blue and amber twined in threads of jade like stars; threads that would pull me in, into the deep forests of enigmatic twilight. For enigmatic they were because I could never get enough of them even if I spent hours after hours studying them and nights after nights dreaming of them.
Now, as I dive into these jewelesque eyes again and swirl through the maze of luscious greens and dense blacks and a scatter of gold and a touch of cyan and gently, like a feather, stroke those long lined lashes on her half-lidded eyes. Her pupils blown wide - intense and deep and all consuming in its need and bold passion; making me wonder, yet again – if she’s aware.
Aware of what she’s offered to me and I, despite all the generous offerings, have so utterly failed in the Honours of her eyes.