They lay holding hands, even death couldn't do them apart.
"You spilled ketchup on my shirt!?" " Because you slapped me.!" "That's because you untied my hair on the day of the class photograph!?!?"
They kept recounting innumerable incidents of fighting, making up and yet being in love all along, while their children giggled at what Ma and Pa looked like when they were 8.
He was a shrinking violet. A book of well guarded secrets. She was a chatterbox. An unsettling nervousness about her.
Both had failed in love.
When they met, which was just once, everything made perfect sense. It felt like they knew each other since always. Late night chats became a custom. She cured him of pain, he wiped off her tears.
Then one day, fate played a rude game. He fell for her, didn't know how. She couldn't fall for him, didn't know why. And they went back to being strangers, a part of an incomplete love story.