"Why so late, Solitary Lass?"

It is not the same feeling tonight. No, it is not the same happiness that I feel in my solitude shared with that girl who comes on her terrace for a walk every night. Tonight there is a feeling of eager anticipation; of her arrival. She should be here any moment, and then it would be the same. The same joy that comes from knowing you have a confident who shares the same secret as you. That is how it is every night. She walks up to her terrace – her stage lit by the silver beams. She is always performing.

Sometimes she dances to the mellow tunes of the few songs that she loves to hear. Her movements are not those of a trained dancer. No, she is not a dancer. She just moves to the music, celebrating each tune, each word of the lyrics. There is no lamentation, only celebration in her movements. Sometimes, she just walks to and fro the length of the terrace, deep in thoughts. Those thoughts they reach me in clear words, as if they are directed only towards me. Those juvenile plans of saving the world and making a change, I am sure she believes she can do that. They are never thoughts about people, or events. They are all just plans, which she perhaps would never stick to!

There are times when I can see her perched on a table, holding an animated conversation with people she has allowed permission in her favorite time of the day. Silly girl, she gesticulates and laughs and often blushes, all in a conversation over the phone. If only the person on the other end could see her! But how does it matter to me as long as I can do that!

But tonight she is not here, and all I can see are the dimly lit houses and groups of people sitting together on the roofs of those houses. The night sky, speckled with the multi coloured hues emanated from the innumerable small roof bulbs seems to have a sad quality about it. There are no stars twinkling in the distance. Just the speckled night and here I am, standing above her roof, lighting her stage just the way she would want it!

A young man in the distance is sitting on the edge of the terrace of his house, moaning over a lost love perhaps. The small group chirpy group of men, after a long days work have lit a fire on their roof. While they warm their hands, perched on their knees, the women serve them with hot tea every now and then. The madman on his roof, with the wind brushing against his hair is talking animatedly to his imaginary group of students. The old woman, engrossed in her daily chores has no time to observe the beautiful patterns cast on her terrace by the moonlight. The young couple with their hearts filled with love, care nothing about anyone else but the presence of each other.

It is just a normal day, which perhaps I never observed in the presence of the girl. Oh and here she comes! “Hello, Mr. Moon!” And all I can say is a muted “Why so late, Solitary Lass?”