All of Our Hellos

“Tell me, how did we meet?”

It was a game of sorts. She would ask and he’d answer. Each time a different story. They lived a hundred lives, chased a hundred dreams, and they’re still here, in this derelict house they call a home, held together by memories that have long since faded and faces in photos that they don’t remember.

“The king sent me on a quest to save his princess, rumored to be blessed with unearthly beauty, from the vile demon. I was promised her hand in marriage so I went searching for the vile demon. But when I found it, I realized that it wasn't foul, or vile, or ugly, she was the most beautiful being I had ever seen. So what if she was ten feet tall, or had breath that smelled like rotten eggs, or could kill me in a hundred different ways? I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. I walked up to her, my sword lay on the ground forgotten, and asked for her hand in marriage. She laughed, a sound so melodious it left me breathless. I promised myself at that moment that I would much rather die than part ways with her again.”

The old woman nudged him gently with her shoulder in jest. Even after six decades of being married to each other, he remained baffled at the thought that the woman by his side was his wife, that this goddess amongst humans regularly called him her husband. He was hers, she was his, and it is still just as surprising now as it was back then.

“And the princess, what happened to her?” she asked, her eyes shining with mirth.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know, I forgot about her the moment I laid my eyes on the demon.”

***

“Tell me the story of how we met”, she asked, voice scratchy from disuse. 

The hospital room smelled like disease and disinfectant, death and life. It was less than four hours ago that the doctors told him that she could die, but his lovely wife, his warrior, lay on the hospital bed, with the monitor beeping steadily in the background and a handful of wires going in and out of her body. She was a fighter, always has been. 

“I woke up from my sleep one night from the sound of a crash. A strange streak of light shone across the sky, pointing down to a location near me. When I went to investigate, I saw a woman so beautiful she put the moon to shame, lying on the ground in pain, faintly glowing. She was warm to the touch and when she spoke, her voice sounded like wind chimes in the morning. She looked me in the eyes then, and I found the universe in them. I realized then that she was my star, my very own guardian angel sent to protect me, look after me.”

She smiled, a tired sort, where her smile doesn’t really meet her eyes but they still held humor in them. “Yeah, flattery won’t excuse you from having to fix the toaster again, old man,” she whispered. 

He would fix a thousand toasters for her, he thinks. He doesn’t even like toast. 

***

“Tell me one last time the story of how we met.”

The old couple sat huddled in front of the fireplace, the light from the fire casting long shadows across their faces. He took a moment to look at her, with her white hair thin and receding and wrinkles from old age showing on her face. She still looked unreal, gorgeous, like she was more of a figment of his imagination than a real human being. 

“I used to watch you walk to work from outside my window every morning at 8 AM like clockwork. Every morning I woke myself up just to have a look at you before you left. I was starstruck, I was willing to sacrifice myself just to look at you for a minute longer. 

Her laughter was gentle like the first rain falling from the sky. 

“We could be lifetimes apart and we would still find each other,” he said. “You could be a troll under a bridge, or a siren beneath a thousand feet of water, or a god in the skies high up, and I would still love you.”

They lived a long life, barely remembering the time without each other in it. In the six decades of togetherness, not once have they regretted each other. They could not remember anything else but the clarity that they were destined to be together for the rest of their lives and even after that. In a world where thousands and millions die with empty hearts, they struck diamonds and rubies and everything precious. 

And thus, on a nameless night of a nameless winter, they slept wrapped in each other, never to wake up again. They passed away with love in their eyes and smiles on their lips as their bodies rotted and turned to dust. Their devotion was a kind that was found so rarely, not one to be etched on stone or recited as a bedtime story. It was pure, meant to be forgotten, meant to wither away.