Logic

He knew he would have to let go. Circumstances were proving to be too dangerous for her to stay by his side. Not to mention hat her mere presence was distracting him from his work. And nothing distracted him from his work. Nobody. She had to go.

He began by methodically searching for a method to remove her from him and him from her. The process had to be non-invasisve and had to create minimum damage for both individuals involved. He would tell her that he needed to leave for a mission of great importance and then would never return. He would perhaps fake his own death and she would be better off for it. She would move on and find happiness again. With another. But even the thought of her being someone else caused his stomach to tighten. However, he knew his work was far more important than any one woman. He needed to look at the greater good; he remembered why he had joined the force in the first place-to serve humanity,to save humanity, to protect humanity. From its own stupidity.

Humans tended to be overly optimistic and often ignored logic while making important decisions. Logic to him was everything. It had been logic which had prevailed in preventing mass terrorist attacks, protecting the lives of heads of state and in averting major missile crisis.
But in his refuge to logic, he had lost in touch with the human inside of him, the part in him which could love, which could give, which could feel without reasoning or questioning. He had become a machine, following orders, executing missions, killing the undesirables so that they could save the millions of others, because it made logical sense-one man's life over a thousand others. He knew it was logical to stay calm in a tense situation because the brain functioned better, he knew it was logical not to get too attached to people because it trained one to be independent, he knew it was logical to be prepared for all eventualities because the laws of probability dictated so.

However so, he could never have trained himself enough for her. Initially he told himself that she was a mere asset, she helped him when he needed it but why had he risked his own life to save hers? That had made no logical sense to him initially but he eventually explained it as his duty to repay the favour she had done him once. Then over the next few months, he justified her presence as a friend whom he could talk to and who could take care of him, giving him more time to focus on his work as his mundane tasks were taken care of.

But when those two men had attacked them, he had felt an innate desire to protect her, which he could no longer explain. He had wanted to kill the bastards who laid even a finger on her, for the first time he had valued someone's safety above his own without being duty-bound to do so. And that had to stop. Now. 

Blood

Blood. She could see blood everywhere. The blood of those two men as they lay on the cold street. The blood from the wounded man she saved in Paris and who had now become her lover. The blood of her own guilt. Blood was the reason she now saved lives; blood was why she had become a surgeon.

It was a cold and dismal day in far away England and a little girl lay on her bed watching the rain patter on her windowsill. She loved the sound of raindrops on her window pane-it was like the rain was whispering its secrets to her.
'My little dove, my child, come out-we are going to your favourite pizza place, ' her mother called.

Little Mila threw back the covers and started to get dressed-she put on her favourite red frock and her red rain boots with her matching red umbrella and ran pell mell down the stairs.

Thunder and a sudden downpour greeted the family as they bundled up in their red Chevy quickly and headed out. Like all little girls, she did not like the thunder so to provide a distraction, her father began to sing to the thundering beat of the raindrops. Her mother coaxed her to join in as well and soon the three of them were singing at the top of their voices. The little girl got so excited that she had a sudden urge to dance and all of a sudden, her seat belt came loose and she slipped in the space between the driver's seat and the rear one. Her father immediately turned back to see if she was all right and her mother beckoned him to stop the car. But in the split second, as her father turned to ensure that his little dove was all right, a truck came up out of nowhere and hit their car at full speed. There was a deafening sound as metal hit metal and glass was shattered. The car spun out of control and skidded off the slippery road to collide with the trees on the side. As the car finally came to a halt, a scared yet unhurt little girl peeked out from her spot to see if her mother and father were all right. She just saw two bodies slumped in their seats. She climbed out of the seat and touched her mother's shoulder. 'Mommy, are you ok?' getting no response, she turned to her father, 'daddy, wake up, daddy'. But neither of them ever woke up. Again.

It was nearly an hour before people found the car by the road. A red chevy with two adults and a child inside, hugging her parents and wiping their blood with her tears.They rushed the trio to a hospital nearby but it was already too late for the parents. They managed to save the child though, soaked with the blood of her parents, mingling with her favourite red frock and her red rain boots.

Questions

Questions-racing through her brain even as her heart told her otherwise. Questions about the man standing in front of her, the person she was beginning to discover, man she was beginning to fall in love with. Why did he obstinately refuse to tell her what he did as a living, why did he disappear at odd times of the day, why did he have so much money? And why had he chosen her.

When they were together, he was funny and a patient listener as she told him all about her life. Growing up in England, moving to Paris and staying there for her profession. He listened as she raved and ranted about the hospitals, the doctors, the patients, the sickness and disease. He sometimes even spoke about his own childhood in England, in a quiet countryside where he lived with his grandparents or of chaotic London where he lived as a student. He talked about travelling-about visiting Spain, Italy and Greece. They discussed ideas, life, philosophy and religion. But despite the familiarity, she was always haunted by her unanswered questions. Who was this man?

One thing she knew for sure that despite his qualities, he was no saint. She had seen him kill. They were in a street in Paris one beautiful moonlit night when they were stopped by a man asking for money. She quietly opened her purse to rummage for some change so she never saw the other men converge. But he did and he knew this was no ordinary begger. Within seconds, there was another man with a knife right behind them who asked them to give in all their money and their valuables.She was ready to comply and she begged him to also. Reluctantly he agreed and lay down all their valuables in a pile in front of them as they instructed. The men were almost about to take the loot and take off when one of them had an idea. "Why not take the woman as well? This man will be no match for our knives. " They came back and started making a move towards her and although he understood no french, he knew that they had a different valuable in mind. One that he was not ready to part with. He moved in protectively in front of her as the two men drew their knives and begun to fight. She had never seen him move so fast or fight so ruthlessly. At the end of two minutes, one was already on the floor trying to fight Tom while the other tried to attack him from behind. But she would not be a silent spectator. She grabbed the closest heaviest object she could find and attacked the assailant on his head from behind. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Tom, on the other hand, had managed to wrestle the knife away from his attacker. And within minutes, his attacker lay quiet on the cold hard street. The other man was still alive but Tom was not one to leave unfinished business."Don't kill him, Tom. Please," she begged.
"Look away, Mila if you don't have the stomach for it but I cannot let this man live, " and he plunged the knife in his heart in a brief silent strike.
"We need to leave. Now," he commanded. And she turned away to leave so she never saw him methodically wiping the knife of all fingerprints and throwing it in the gutters. The waters carried away the blood. And the guilt.

Fate

He knew she was trouble when she first walked into his life. In that one night in Paris where he was wounded while carrying out his duties. He still vividly remembered how she helped him selflessly, even when he was nothing but a rude, ungrateful and sullen young man. After taking her leave, he hoped it would be the last time they would be seeing each other. For his sake and hers.

But it was not to be. Business found him again in Paris and a rain drenched one at that, too. He was patiently waiting for the lights to turn green, when he saw her again. Right in front of him. Loose brown hair soaking in the deluge, arms spread out as if to catch every bit of the water that she could and  that wonderful smile that could turn hearts and heads. But why could she not hear or see the car coming straight at her? He knew he had to act and  with a reflex sharpened by time, he grabbed her roughly and pulled her towards him to throw her out of harm's way. Unfortunately in doing so, she lost her balance and she fell, head first, to the pavement. It was a hard fall and he noticed, with horror, the blood seeping out from under her head, becoming one with the rain and the mud. Immediately, he lifted her and bundled her into a taxi, hoping they would get to a hospital in time. His clothes were soaked with her blood as he tried to stop her head from bleeding. He would not let her die.

Once at the hospital, he entrusted her to the care of doctor. As he sat in the waiting room, he found himself remembering the few days that he had spent in her home. He remembered her soft and gentle touch as she undressed and dressed his bandages. He remembered the probing eyes which seemed to look straight through him. He remembered how she sang effortlessly while cooking his meals, how she coaxed him to eat, how she pulled the blanket over him at night. He pretended to sleep whenever she got up at night to check on him. He pretended to not notice how beautiful she was as she bent over him to inspect his injuries. He pretended to be unmoved by her kindness, patience and tolerance.

She regained consciousness after two whole days-two days of agony and torture being ridden with guilt as he was. Guilt which stemmed from him being unable to thank her for saving his life and being helpless and unable to save hers. He wanted to go see her but knew that she would be too fragile to see him right after she woke up and he had put himself at enough risk as it is by staying at the hospital. But he knew that this time, he wanted to say everything he had not said the last time. So instead of meeting her the minute she regained consciousness, he checked himself and went back to his hotel. He waited two more days until she was discharged and was fit enough to go back home. The night she returned, he lounged in the street as her friends came and left. He then went straight up to her apartment and knocked. After getting no response, he let himself in quietly. And found her sleeping on the couch-just like he once lay with her by his side. He pulled up a chair beside her and waited for her to wake up.

As he saw her sleeping peaceful form, he sighed and muttered, "Fate has a cruel way of bringing us together again."

Rain

Rain. The inevitable, inescapable rain. She laughed hysterically as rivulets of water ran down her-her hair, her neck,her shoulders, her entire dress till the tips of her toes were soaking wet. Who knew that Paris could be so rainy all of a sudden? Definitely not the weather 'experts' by whose predictions she had long ago stopped living, Well they were right for a change-they predicted a storm and here it was. And she was in the middle of it.
She watched the others scurrying for cover, watched how they opened their umbrellas to battle against the wind, watched them lose the war with the weather and watched them retire to their fate. She was not one to succumb to hers-she was going to enjoy this rain. She spread her arms and turned her mouth towards the heavens and smiled as the rain washed her. In her delight and bliss, she never realized that she had stepped off the pavement and onto the road. It was only when someone screamed that she saw the car coming towards her. But before she could react, she was flung away on the pavement and she saw the world go dark. The last thing she remembered was the taste of rain in her mouth-oh the sweet rain.

She awoke to the sounds of machines around her and as she slowly opened her eyes, the room swam into focus. White, sterile and clean. She tried moving her hands and realized there were needles attached to them, feeding her IV no doubt. A nurse came in with a big smile. She could only smile weakly in return. The friendly nurse soon checked her vital signs and went to call the doctor. He came in minutes later with an even bigger smile and asked her how she was feeling.

"Weak and dizzy, doctor." she replied in a raspy voice.
"Well you are lucky to be alive, madame."
"What happened doctor? I think I remember a car."
"Why don't you rest now and I shall tell you the details later. We are glad that you have gained consciousness.Try get some sleep now. "
She was too weak to protest so she took his advice and slept.
When she awoke next, she saw the nurse by her side who coaxed her to get up and eat some food. After the meal, she asked for the doctor who came in a few minutes later.
"Good evening Madame. Good to see a little colour coming back to your face.How do you feel now?"
"Hello Doctor. I feel much better now. I think I am now strong enough to hear what happened to me."
"Well, Madame, you were on the road and a car was coming straight at you. And at the very last minute, a stranger pushed you out of the way. But in the process, your head hit the pavement and you lost consciousness. A very close shave, indeed but you escaped with nothing but a slight head injury."
"A stranger saved my life? Who?"
"Well he just gave in his first name. One Tom."
"That's curious, I know no one by that name.Anyway bless his soul."
"Indeed Madame. You will be discharged in a few days. The nurse will take care of the formalities."
"Thank you, Doctor."
When he had gone, she asked the kind and chatty nurse to see if she could give a description of the man who had saved her from the clutches of death.
"Well all I can tell you was that he was tall and handsome. A most striking aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Quite like a prince charming, Madame. But I only saw him for a few minutes sadly" she giggled
Mila frowned and tried to remember if she knew anyone of that description but nothing came to her mind.

A few days later, she was discharged and sent back home. Her friends who had come to pick her up settled her in her apartment and left reluctantly after she persuaded them she could manage alone. She lay down on her couch and for the first time realized that she was glad to be alive. And that she should find the stranger who had helped her. She drifted off to sleep. She awoke to the sign of the pattering rain drops on her windowsill. And to a stranger sleeping on a chair next to her-an incredibly handsome man, with an aquiline nose and those high cheekbones. And she smiled knowing that the handsome stranger had crossed her path again.

Memories

Back in the dimly lit room, the man lit up a cigarette. He had finally succeeded in comforting her and putting her back to sleep. The bastards had been rough on her; and all for the sake of protecting themselves when all she had done all her life was protect them. And their secret. His secret.  As he turned to look at her, his gaze softened and he found himself going back in time to the place where they had first met.

It was Paris, the nuit Blanche, and was full of tourists thronging to see sights opened for only a brief window of time. She was one of them, struggling to get a foothold, when he stumbled upon her, clutching his bloody side. She saw that the stranger who had just jostled her was tightly clutching his side and his pallor was unhealthy. It was only as she caught his arm as he stumbled that she noticed the blood seeping down his shirt. She grabbed him and whispered in his ear as she steadied him, ‘lean on me.’

“No, no I will be fine,” said the stranger.

“I am a doctor; I know you are anything but fine, “she said firmly.

He ceded, knowing she was right and let himself be guided in a less crowded corner. Under a street-lamp, she made him remove his hand and inspected the wound. The loss of blood indicated a deep wound and she saw he needed immediate medical attention if he was to stay conscious. She pressed her scarf to stop the bleeding and said, ‘I am taking you to a hospital nearby. You have lost too much blood.’

“No, no hospital, “said he in a raspy voice. “I don’t have medical insurance. But you are a doctor, surely...” and then he winced in pain.

She would have to take him back she realized and quickly hailed a taxi. It was a brief drive but by the time they reached, he was on the brisk of losing consciousness and her scarf had turned a deep shade of red.  They somehow managed to reach her apartment and she quickly put him on the couch. Removing his shirt, she cleaned the wound and bandaged it. She gave him medicines to alleviate the pain and put him to sleep. He had lost quite a lot of blood but would live to tell his tale. She went to bed, keeping her door open to keep an eye on the stranger in the couch. When she woke the next morning, she checked in on her patient- he was still sleeping. As he slept, she realized how good looking he was, black hair, aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Despite the bandages, it was clear how well built he was. She almost touched his brow to brush back the hair from his eyes when all of a sudden he opened his eyes and caught her hand.

‘It’s just me, relax.’ He let go off her hand but his gaze still remained as fierce. “Water, “he said softly. She brought him a glass and helped him up to drink it. ‘I will make breakfast for you, you just try resting.’  He nodded weakly and went back to sleep. It was only while eating when she let her curiosity get the better of her and finally asked him, “What is your name?”

“Tom”, he replied, not looking up from his plate of bacon and eggs.

“I am Mila. How are you feeling today? Better than last night? “

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You were in quite a state yesterday. The wound was really deep. You should have really gone to the hospital.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Really? Care to tell me what happened? “she insisted, pressing further.

He didn’t answer but instead finished his breakfast. Then tried to get up from the couch and swayed. She quickly steadied him and helped him lie down again.

“How long before I can move from this couch?” he said breathing heavily from the effort.

She narrowed her eyes and said to herself that two could play the game at not giving direct replies. “Time to change your bandages.”

He tensed as she touched his wound but relaxed as her expert hands undid and redid the bandage.

“Try resting”, she said curtly. And he did as he was told.

The next few days the same routine continued. She never asked him again why and how he got the wound and he never cared to explain. Then one day when she got up, she found him gone. There was a note however on the space he had occupied. She opened to read it. It said that he was eternally grateful for everything she did for him and that he would repay her someday.

“Well at least he knows his manners, “she said loudly, knowing that the handsome stranger would never cross her path again.

Today

It was a sunny morning like no other; the brilliant blue sky untarnished by clouds, all in all a perfect day for people to throng the streets. But there was no one to be seen, not even a whimper of as much as a footstep. It struck her as rather odd that this small picturesque town would be as quiet. However she could feel eyes watching her behind the windows and behind the doors, as she crossed the empty street. She took her time to find the house; those cobbled streets were all the same and those unwelcome houses all the same. At last, she came to it, and she hesitatingly knocked on the brass knocker, awaiting a response. When none came, she looked around and thought she saw a curtain flutter on the 1st floor window-she knew instantly that they were watching what she would do. She emboldened herself and went around to the back and to her surprise, found the back door ajar. She peeped in and seeing no signs of the inhabitants, pushed it open. It made no sound and she entered to stand in the spotless kitchen, closing the door behind her.  She paused for a minute before opening the other door opposite the one she had just come through, unsure, afraid.  And as she opened the door, things started happening too fast, someone pushed something in her face and she fell to the floor. The last thing she remembered was the sweet sickly smell which rushed up her nose.

When she woke up next, she was lying on a bed in a dimly lit space. The nondescript room, as it whirred to focus, was tiny; with a chest and drawer on the left and two doors, one opposite the bed, one on the right. She could make out a window too over the table beside the chest. They hadn’t tied her, she noticed, but somehow she could not get up so she waited a little to regain her strength. A few minutes later, the door opened and a man stood in the doorway, framed by the light of the corridor outside. She could not see his face clearly but from his shoulders and hands and from the way he stood, she knew it was him. He drew a chair from the corner and came to sit by her. And then she saw it clearly, the tiny scar above the right cheek-bone which never failed to remind her of her guilt. She cringed a little as he touched her neck to check her pulse. Satisfied that it was healthy, he motioned for her to sit up. She did as she was told, albeit slowly and with great effort. He made no motion to help her, watching with hands folded across his chest. When she was sitting facing him, he looked at her with his piercing black eyes, full of questions. She could not help but staring at him for she had no answer to them.  They stared at each other for some time, lost in the memories which flooded back, until they turned painful and she could look no more. He sought her hand and held it. She looked at him with an anguished gaze and eyes glazed with tears and said-“I can’t run anymore.” He nodded, he knew already. He pulled her closer as she wept.