She hates smoking. He loves cigarettes. But he loves her too. And she hates smoking.
He knows that she knows he loves her. Or may be she does not. But he is sure, about himself.
And one day he quits smoking per se. She thinks so, but it was for her.
And then one day again. He came to knew that its over. He will have to lead his life without her.
And he lighted a cigarette. She didn’t knew. She was still not sure, “I thought you had quit smoking and said that now you are serious about your life.”
“I did”, he said before a brief pause as if he is taking time to recall the awesomeness of getting burnt and the things he used to feel when inhaling that tobacco dipped smoke.
He finished without speaking anything. The brief pause has got stretched. The pause. She was still looking at him, awaiting something to come out of his mouth apart from the smoke. An answer. An answer she is expecting. An answer to a question, she never asked.
He spoke finally, “I did! But whats the use of this life anyways, without you”.
And he took out one more. The burning continues, both, the visible and the invisible. Some smoke was seen, some not.