The Bench Between Them

Every evening, for nearly twelve years, Mr. Raman and Mrs. D'Souza sat on the same park bench.

They arrived from opposite directions.

They nodded.

They watched pigeons conduct what appeared to be very serious meetings.

Then they went home.

The entire park assumed they were close friends.

In fact, each believed the other preferred silence.

One spring evening, a soccer ball rolled into Mrs. D'Souza's shoe.

She stopped it expertly.

Mr. Raman blinked. "You played football?"

"A little," she said.

"A little?"

She shrugged. "Only for eighteen years."

For the first time in twelve years, they spoke for more than seven seconds.

The next evening, he brought tea.

The evening after that, she brought biscuits.

A week later, they discovered they had both spent years wanting to talk.

"You always looked busy," said Mr. Raman.

"You always looked thoughtful," said Mrs. D'Souza.

"I didn't want to interrupt."

"I didn't want to disturb."

They sat quietly for a moment. Then both started laughing.

For twelve years, each had carefully protected the other from a conversation neither objected to having.

After that, they talked often. Sometimes about football. Sometimes about books. Sometimes about pigeons. The pigeons, unfortunately, never explained what their meetings were about.

Years later, when people passed the bench and saw them talking, they assumed a friendship had grown there.

The friendship smiled at this idea. It had been sitting on that bench all along, patiently waiting for someone to say hello.