Pain Killers

She sits on the picnic bench, clenching something tightly in her hand. "Theory of relativity" she whispers to herself and waits for him to arrive.
She had met Mike long back. They often find interesting rendezvous spots by accident. As in they bump into each other like they are meant to bump into and then they sit and ponder about the maladies of life. Today is different. Today is planned. Today is thought through.

She glances at her watch, her looks migrating lazily from its face to the jogging trail leading to the picnic bench. He appears on the end of the trail, his cotton tee stretched against his defined biceps. He approaches her and halts his run, gasping for air while settling next to her.
"Runner's high!" He exhales and throws his hands out in the air. "So tell me my friend, what is it that we cogitate about today? "

"How are you doing" she esquires.

"Fantastic, and you?"

She doesn't respond. Instead she stretches her open fist and offers him what she'd been clenching to all this time.

"What have we got here?" "Medication?"

"Of sorts"

"Interesting. To cure which of my ailments, may I ask?"

She smiles her brightest. "Pain killers, meant for my pain, not yours"

"Gulp them all down the throat I say" He jokingly opens the cork of the tiny bottle and looks inside. Little, colorful capsules sport smile emojis.

"Wait, wow!" "Happy pills alright, would I get into trouble for popping them in?" He continues to jest around.

"Open" she says. "Pull them apart"

He discovers tiny little notes tucked into each capsule, tied meticulously with a golden wire.

 She looks at him intently. He unfolds one in a silence that seemed to have deciphered her cryptic code language.

"Eighty six" she says. "Days since we last spoke"

He lets out a amusing chuckle. "Donate your brains for research buddy. Now I have eighty six messages in a bottle, ahem, capsules, where, Pray, do you come up with such original methods of communication? "

"One a day pills. stuffed with all that needed to be said, taken with food to cure my blues"

He reads a note out loud   "Ah, the things we hopelessly misconstrue" He pauses and looks at her.
"Are all of them going to be a maze into your psyche or did we get any direct in some of them?"

"Like you need me to get direct. Don't you read my mind like a book?"

"Ah, well, let me complete this life's little tidbit then, the way you have meant it. "Ah, the things we hopelessly misconstrue - we guise insecurities, selfishness, even lust as love"

She looks at him with a straight face and  smiles. "Almost close. I meant to say, we guise all kinds of bullshit as love"

"Ever considered giving a Ted talk about 'Eighty six ways of inflicting the joys of depression upon yourself?"

"Shut up" her face blooms a tender smile. "These are anti depressants"

"These aren't"

"Then?"

"As far as I can see, there is only one antidepressant, and that's yours truly"

"Very funny" She mocks him. "But, true"

She holds his hand gently and smiles again.

"Read another one" She prompts him.

He unfolds another note, clears his throat and reads "Life is a balance...."

"Not fair...one more phrase that needs to be complete. Let's see - Life is a balance between Malcom Gladwell and John Greene?"

She lets out peals of laughter "Now read one more"

"What hurts you blesses you - Rumi"

"Oh not fair, this is a complete quote...wait a minute, is this a hint at something?"

"Don't get ideas. Look at how puny I am, and I don't mean anything literally as you have known me during these past 2000 years"

"Time for new mirrors, new glasses, new scales or all of the above"

She laughs again..."See, I told you, pain killers"

"Someone's pain is someone's pleasure, someone's trash is someone's treasure" He laughs out loud, and adds "Figuratively of course"

She holds his hand again - "Do you know what Sadhguru says the most powerful human contact is?"

"What?"

"This"- she gently tightens her grip on his hand.

The dusk deepens around the corner while their hearts lighten in each other's company

Fiction inspired by true events.