It was a wonderful evening.
We read together. I read to him my experiences of the village.
We hadn't had a pleasant evening the earlier day. But that didn't seem to affect today's experience. It was looked at with completely new perception. He criticised the story... "Where in this do you recollect YOUR experience, YOUR interaction and YOUR happiness incidental to the trip?" he questioned emphasizing each time on the importance of 'my self' as the centre of my narration. "It makes memories more memorable," he explained with a tenderness to his voice.
I then read to him from the book, the pages of which had been consistently filling up ever since the first evening. There were random occurences, a mention of a loving look, disconnected thoughts weaved to suit my reading and fond remembrances of looking at the stars. "Very poetic, yet not right enough to suit a writer's eye," he pointed out, noting the change in style.
He went on to speak about space and its relevance in a person's life. He placed one of the characters from my story in a different situation. An intense elaboration of time and space! My thoughts lingered...