Fifteen past Six

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He arrived at exactly fifteen past six in the balcony.
It was a daily exercise gladly done to see the girl whom he secretly loved since he shifted to Mumbai.
The girl, a middle-class working woman with average looks but good enough to make the men in her colony swoon over her, came back from her job everyday at exactly fifteen past six.
Leaning over the edge, dangerously, eager to see her he wished that somehow he could profess his love to her.
Her shoulder length hair, curvy red lips and wrapped in a peacock green saree had transfixed his gaze with wonderment the first day he saw her.
She came today, again, at exactly fifteen past six taking along all his energy, his heart and his will to live as she traversed the path leading to her house while he his eyes devoured her distant feel.

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