A few strokes

She tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear. His was too dense she realized. It will need elaborate looking into she made a mental note. Short cropped hair, black and dense, yet falling in layers sort of. It would need intricate sketching, she frowned. Her frantic hands continued tracing long lines against the canvas.

He was not aware of her eyes on him nor that he was being sketched. He looked impatiently at the door once again. His frown lines said that he did not like people who did not value time. Rolling up his sleeve, he straightened his dial. The watch caught her eye too. The way it held itself against his wrist, it seemed to have a life of its own. As if his pulse reverberated within it too.  As if his essence had seeped through his skin and was trapped in its steel band now. She should highlight the watch too, she said to herself. She started re-lining the outlines now.

He straightened himself again realizing that he was getting comfortable in his seat in the restaurant. She could not help but chuckle under her breath, he doesn't want to crumple his work clothes. She was not surprised. The stern look on his face kind of said it already. Even the waiter around his table seemed a bit too conscious. She turned around wildly, a sudden fear gripping her that there might be someone watching her sketch this man in front of her. The tables behind her were empty. It was a Monday afternoon, not the ideal time for the place to have its "happy hours". She sighed in relief. People might find it very weird and someone might even complain. What they don't realize is, there are times when its your mind responding automatically to something that appeals to one with unparalleled vibes. The moment she had taken her seat and she had seen the man, she knew that all she wants now was to sketch him.

He was fiddling with his phone now, his leg shaking in a slow rhythm. Must be humming some song, she deduced. She wished that she could hear the song he was humming, it would have kind of made it easier for her to complete the sketch. Much more easier.

She concentrated on the lights now. He was sitting against a glass pane, the afternoon sun was casting shadows on his right. But her instinct told her to scatter shadows throughout the canvas, as if it was not a brightly lit afternoon, but a cold and misty day.

It was almost done, she brushed her fingers against some areas to blur the pencil lines, to add the effect and the shadows. Too lost in the moment, she did not realize that his eyes were on her now. She looked up and she knew exactly how to finish the sketch. He looked down instantly, getting up in a swift motion, he acknowledged the waiter and left.

She set the canvas down, the one she was sketching in and put up a fresh one and started sketching his eyes. Just his eyes. It was him. His eyes were him. She wrote the following lines after she finished with his eyes.

A drop of rain or the sea

Satiating or engulfing to me?