The Ocean from Here

The Ocean from Here

She wasn’t there, in her cubicle, when I arrived.

It was empty, that part of the faculty area apart from the tables, the afternoon light passing through the window and the ravines dividing the place. Her spot was full of dust, past dated old calendars and dreams of its former occupant who was eaten by the ocean and drowned.

Well, at least the rumor claimed.

I don’t know if it’s true, but everyone knows what the former occupant did last summer. It was about two weeks before her wedding when she ran away with her student. Both of them just disappeared from the circulation one day.

During the early part of their absence, the staff and classmates assumed that the reason might have been just trivial, like a mere cough or a fever.

But time and weeks dragged on and both of them were gone. Nowhere to be found. No words were left. No notice either. Nothing. They simply disappeared, just like that. Like one day, they have decided not to exist in this conventional world anymore.

Like a bubble ceasing to float, developing contempt against the bubble populace.

They stayed in an island, it was said. Packed their bags with clothes, flash lights, canned goods – everything they could carry at a dead run. Then they hired a boat which carried them to their destination, but no one found out the existence of the boat. There was no trace. Not even a slight.

The island was remote, detached and unoccupied. People say they built a settlement somewhere in the area, made of woods, twigs, leaves and perhaps, love. But some says they have their tent, and it was where they dreamed their elusive dreams.

But a storm broke in the dead hour of the night, shaking their sleep. All the trees and vegetation swayed to and fro, trying to catch the unfamiliar song of the wind while avoiding the occasional bouts of the lightings.

It must have been beautiful, the entire universe in sheer panic, in the middle of the night, embracing you home.

Before they knew it the tide rose and the world quivered and the waves grew massive and rolled and crashed in that part of the island and that edge.

She wasn’t there, in her cubicle, when I arrived.

Nor did the island in its former spot. It was vacated, that part of the faculty area apart from the afternoon light passing through the window which overlooks the contour of the overlapping mountains.

I placed my bag on the table, took a pen and scribbled a note saying that I’d be back some other time. She must have been in her class but I cannot be sure.

I cannot see the ocean from here.


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