Free Once Again

"Why don't you ever wear jeans and a nice top, you know, like that girl over there?" he asked, pointing to a lean girl in a pair of Levi's and a snug, black V-neck tee.

"Well," she shrugged, "I don't know, I'm just more comfortable in this I guess," she muttered and peered at the glass door that carried a sharp reflection of what she thought was a pretty decent outfit : her favourite draw-string pants and an off-shoulder top that highlighted her slender shoulders.

Noticing her sudden slouch, she straightened up and smiled wearily. "He's never satisfied with what I wear or say," she caught herself thinking.

"Well? Would you wear something like that the next time we go out? Please?" he persisted.

She shrugged and left the matter at that.

That was to be one of many such "wardrobe-related requests". The requests were always one way: from him to her, and it never seemed to cross his mind to question why that was the case. She noticed though and it bothered her sometimes, especially since it never mattered to her what colour his shirt was, whether he had worn the same pair of pants two days in a row, or if he had parted his hair differently that day; what mattered to her was the way his lips tilted more towards the left when he smiled, how his hands always found the small of her back and held her there while they danced, the creasing of his forehead when he was deep in thought and the way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was tense. These things mattered to her as much as her dressing bothered him, even the shoes she wore, her hairstyle, the way she walked - he always noticed. And bugged her about them.

"I would have left him in a moment's notice," I always told her, but she always defended him in the gentle and subdued way a girl very much in love would. She loved him she said, for she felt deep down inside, he was a great guy who cared. "I don't know about that!" I always replied.

Even then, they rode through their differences and I respected her decision to stay in the relationship but I don't know if it was more out of an admiration for her quiet tolerance or pity for her obvious folly.

Then, suddenly, it all changed...

It was a beautiful Sunday morning and they had agreed to spend the day together. They had been dating for slightly more than two years then. They started off the day at a fancy boutique. He bought her four beautiful outfits, then brought her to a famous hair salon to get her hair cut and styled to perfection. "Oh, you look beautiful, love!" he kept exclaiming. He then took her perfume-shopping and bought her his favourite ladies' scent and made her promise that she'll always wear it. Just before dinner, he wheezed around a crowded department store, getting her beautiful pairs of shoes, one after the other.

The day's shopping was complete and they decided to go to their favourite restaurant for dinner. He asked if she would change into the red dress and sexy sling-back heels that he'd bought her, and without argument, she relented.

As she exited the ladies' after changing, he let out a low whistle in admiration. "My, how beautiful she looked," he thought to himself, and silently gave himself a pat on the back. "She never would have done this on her own. Now, I can show her off to all my friends without hesitation!" he thought and heaved a sigh of relief.

"How do I look?" she asked, "Good enough for you, honey?" she added, sarcastically.

He was estactic and too much in awe to catch the sarcasm in her question, "More than good enough, you finally look beautiful, so so beautiful!" he replied enthusiastically and like a dizzy fan reached out and hugged her tight.

At the restaurant later, she noticed the waiter flirting with her everytime He wasn't looking. She smiled, and flirted right back. It felt so natural, so free and at that moment, she realised that she hadn't smiled so freely in such a long time. She felt a sudden urge to leave - leave the restaurant, leave him, leave the relationship.

So she did.

With her chin up, back straightened, she got up and walked toward the door. She stopped and turned to take a last look at him. "I'll never forget the look on his face," she thought to herself, as she turned once again and headed for the exit. He called out her name and she directed a nonchalant wave at him in reply.

She was free once again - to be appreciated just as she was, make-up or no make-up, nicely dressed or not. She smiled till her cheeks hurt; but she was happy, truly happy.