His Muse

By Mansi Singh

They met again,

17 years after high school.

"Why did you stop writing?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"Because I got married," she replied, a hint of sorrow in her tone.

"And when did you start painting?" she asked, her eyes searching his.

"The day you got married," he said, his gaze unwavering.

She had loved him before she understood love, but if only she knew he did too. She was a poet until she became another's muse, and he became an artist because she was no longer his.

By Mansi Singh