Purely Hypothetical

Chapter 1: Cobalt Blue

That night, the universe conspired to make him feel utterly alone.

The April winds wove through the blossoming buds outside gliding and swayed the tinkling wind-chimes hanging from balconies and carrying fragrance and music as souvenirs, but inside, he was suffocated by the din of a bustling restaurant that mocked his solitude.

Daylight was a thing of the past, warm colours tangerine and lilac had been slowly overlain by darker cryptic shades of purple until the sky turned ink-black mixing and swirling with the chaos of freckled constellations.

He wouldn't even have noticed the shades if it wasn't for her.... She had influenced his very way of thinking. It was divine under the lunar calm of a luminous crescent, hanging like a carefully placed showpiece in the distance. The view was gorgeous, albeit few took a moment to appreciate it, most were just too busy and who could blame them really?

Life was too hectic, too busy, too much... but if she was here she would have pulled out her sketch book and drawn the horizon more whimsically than it appeared to his eyes.

As the fragrant air mingled with laughter and clinking cutlery, he was trapped in a world teeming with life while sitting at a table for two, painfully aware of the empty chair across his. The ambience was almost inescapably jolly, it was a Friday night, after all, filled with people excited to start their weekend early.

It was warm, decorated tastefully with diffused golden lamps and a similar shade of fairy lights were hung around for proper illumination and general merriment, creamy wallpaper complimented the dark hardwood flooring while the crystal chandeliers and white tulips in vases on each table added a touch of elegance.

Smooth jazz played in the background while in the far corner a TV was muted on a news channel talking about a recent tennis championship. Chatter and laughter filled the air among clinking cutlery and appetising aromas of the chef's special, occasionally a few yells and hoots here and there would disturb the average decibel but all was white noise for him, it was as if he was unfazed by the bustle around him as he sat there at table for two looking lonely and almost sad.

He was situated next to a large window with a lake view but didn't take advantage of it...instead, his eyes were glued to the door every time it was opened from outside, waiting, expecting, hoping. His elbows rested on the black granite stone of the tabletop, right next to an empty cup and saucer, courtesy to the waitress who asked him if he wanted something to drink at least three times before he relented. And now he was on his second cup of tea, taking it slow, anticipating the wait to be longer, he drummed his fingers against the table-top absently while looking around.

He glanced at his phone again, but it was useless—dead and he was utterly clueless about his next steps. It felt like he was surrounded by a kaleidoscope of bright colours, patterns and movement all around, yet he was the one looking from the outside. What he wouldn't give for a few blessed moments of peace?

It was too loud, both inside his mind and out, an absurd rivalry that prolonged while he was a silent spectator to his own conundrums. It felt no less than a cacophony of aggressive birds, pecking all over his head.

He was being stood up, wasn't he?

This was the first time it had happened to him. It was cataclysmic to his ego and tested every thread of his mental strength. He sighed heavily. He reached for his phone again, but the bell above the door dinged as someone opened it from the outside and he looked up to see a tall man in his seventies with salt and pepper hair walk in with a walking stick, and deflated like a balloon losing air. It was pathetic wasn't it, to get his hopes up every time the door was pushed open? But he couldn't help it, his eyes lit up each time and then died down just as quickly when someone else entered.