The Turbaned Boy…

The turbaned boy was standing sideways, with his right profile being captured by the photograph.

He was wearing knee-length chino shorts, a white furrowed vest and dark brown boat shoes, and he had an enduring smile on his long face. His round beauty mark was situated kindly on the right side of his perfect-sized nose and his muscular arms were placed on either side of a girl’s waist. He had a small brown and black beaded bracelet on his right wrist. I couldn’t see what was on his left wrist because he was holding tightly onto the girl’s slim waist with it.

I couldn’t see the colour of his eyes because his eyes were planted firmly on the girl, but I still knew what colour they were.

His lopsided smile seemed like it was meant just for her, as if there was no one else in the world that he would look at as lovingly as he did her.

She smiled back at him in a way that spoke a thousand words.

The moment was captured perfectly; two young souls in the midst of chaos – a backdrop consisting of a bustling unsheltered cafe, filled with waiters shuffling around, people sitting in large chattering groups and others dancing on the sand. But these two smiling and embracing each other as if there was no one else there, as if there was no one else in the world besides the two of them.

It was just them, and their little bubble.

You couldn’t see it too well in the photo, but I knew that his shoes had white soles, one of which he lost earlier that day, and that the right pocket of his chino shorts was slightly ripped due to a previous fishing accident, but he didn’t care and he wore them anyway because he loved those shorts.

I knew that his white vest would be stained later with red wine, which meant he would go back to the beach house and get changed into an inky black vest. A vest that the girl bought him because she thought that it would make his hazel eyes glow.

And I knew something else that took me back many years, memories that I reminisced every single day.

I knew that he’d spend the rest of his evening in a warm embrace with the girl he was holding onto so firmly. And that girl would also spend her evening engulfing in his sweet scent, hearing the soft beating of his heart, and shuddering as the course stubble of his cheek brushed against her own.

The turbaned boy, I knew, would change her life forever…

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