The wind blows my tresses into my eyes and blocks my vision for a bit. As I brush the wayward strands aside, I can see the laughing face that has been a source of comfort for me.

I remember the first time I’d heard that laughter; it was a phone call which had quickly turned into a mini-argument over which gate number to meet at. I had jokingly called him dyslexic and he had burst out laughing; it was the most genuine and heart-warming laughter I’d ever heard, the kind of laughter that inadvertently compels one to join in.

As we approached a traffic light, he casually hit the brakes and turned towards me to tell me about that one time he had mistakenly walked into a dance bar in Nepal.

His stories were always captivating; his soul was constantly in search of adventures and life never failed him. His simple attire of the same yellow t-shirt paired with dark blue jeans and worn-out shoes, made him look attractive in the most effortless way; he was never the one to care about vanity anyway.

As he absentmindedly runs his fingers through his messy hair, making it even messier, I lose track of the conversation for a while and he has to tap me on my forehead to bring me back from my dreamland. A blush creeps up on me, making my cheeks warm and my ears hot from embarrassment.

He understands the words that were never spoken. Those are the last thoughts I had before our car is jolted by a beastly truck.