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I looked up and blinked, as she stood there in front of me with her arms still folded. I went to place the small scrap of paper I'd found on the door to write, but saw that my hands were now visibly shaking, so I quickly pulled them down to my lap, placing the pen and paper on my thigh. I glanced up and nodded, and she gave me a number I could reach her at during the day.So it was settled. I'd call her in the morning to arrange meeting her for lunch. We then parted with a few more quick, uneasy goodbyes, and, as I pulled out, I watched as Gayle slowly trudged back inside, staring down at the sidewalk, her arms folded and wrapped tightly around her chest. And in that instant, I felt sorry for her. I could empathize with her, and it ached my heart that someone like her, so alive and wonderful, would have to return to a darkened, desolate room to be left alone. But what made a tear come to my eye was the knowledge that I was now doing the same thing, what I'd been doing for the last. How I used to see her waist and side of her boobs from the sides whenever she wears a saree.And the next day, I received a message from her. Saying Good morning and I replied her and started a conversation. As time passed, we became close again. The message turned into calls and sometimes video calls. By conversations, I came to know that she is not happy with her family life.She used to share her problems and how her husband beats her. I used to console her. Slowly, she started liking me. We know that we like each other but we are not breaking the ice.I am in a fear that if I take next step, she may stop talking. So, I want her to take a move. So, I cooked up a story of having an affair with another aunty before coming abroad. She started feeling jealous of her which she said. And she used to ask a lot of questions about the relationship and how she looks.I used to tell her some stories. And the chat is continuing but she is not taking any step further. I wanted to know whether she.
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