You know how when you are sitting on a terrace, or drinking a cup of tea on your balcony, leaning on the balustrade on one elbow with your back against the wall — and then there is that one moment of silence, when the neighbourhood cats, the slightly speeding cars, and the dozen or more pedestrians on the pavement three storeys below all conspire to stop making their characteristic noises, and in that moment a bird darts across the sky past your apartment and decides to land exactly on the edge of the balustrade, jerking its head side to side as if it needed to size you up, and you hold your breath, you stop moving, just so you can keep the bird there a little longer, before it jumps up and flies away again.
That is how it felt meeting her, in those early days. I would hold my breath and watch her talk to me, everything slowing down. I would give anything to have that as our last memory of each other, instead of the thirteen years we have had together since.
Khadim Zaman's Blog 