It was a strange sort of fatalism, really, the way she danced with lovers she never had. She would stand and watch them, mute and unspeaking, as they went on with their lives and conversations. And she would smile, having gotten to know them without really knowing them. It was a game to her, riding the rollercoaster of her excitable emotions.

He was there today. She smiled in recognition and he nodded back. So she stood mutely by, waiting. Scattered words. Yet she knew that he would never love her, and she knew that she would never love him. But she liked to linger on the edge of her emotions, wondering if a spark could have ever formed. It thrilled her to stand on the edge of a growing like, wondering if it could ever be true, pure love if she let it grow. But she would never let it grow. Not now, not at this time. In a strange way, it was her dance with death. As she curbed her emotions and passions in her strange, piercing way, a part of her was stunted – an ungrowing nub in the midst of her expanding world.

It was just as well that she didn’t know she was playing with love – the very driving force of the universe. Just as well that she didn’t know that her silent scrutiny was as flirtatious as her friend’s friendly chatter. Just as well.

She danced defiantly on the cliff today, observing quietly his movements. In her books she read of the dark mysterious men the heroines invariably fell in love with. Some told of the fair, shining Aryan, saviour of the world. But her men were always dark-haired and cream-skinned, some mysterious mixing of her dream worlds, matching her luxurious black hair and khaki-brown skin. This one was strong – she could see it in the way he gripped things with his firm, yet relaxed stance; the way people listened, for all his dithering and complaining that he didn’t know what he was doing. He knew what he was doing, and people knew that.

Yet her dangerous dance was going awry without her knowing it. Her silent smiles and aura of mystery had excited something in him she couldn’t sense. Her cold, distancing perspective didn’t allow her to see it, but it was there all the same.

With the faint aroma of interest in his solemn, brown eyes, he watched her back. He noted her nervous attempts at friendliness, her witheringly cold heart, her wistful glances at her acknowledged circle and understood that she needed more than a friend. She needed a saviour from the ice she had buried herself in. And in his strange, solemn way, he set out on his own walk of fatalism, attempting to dig her out of her own avalanche.

It took just five stammered words to halt her. Five stammered, wavering words, carefully thought out, but barely whispered. I think… I… like you. And her desperate dance came to an abrupt stop. You think what? Uncertainty flickered like a worn out torch. I think… I like you. But he avoided the word love. How sure was he, in the midst of his interest and emotion, that he could dare invoke the name of so powerful a force? I didn’t mean to make you. I’m sure I couldn’t love you back. But he smiled a strange smile and said I know you do, in your own way. And he could see the distancing in her eyes, the frost that tried to glaze over, but beyond that, the warm, salty tears that were begging to be freed.

So they began their fragile waltz together, twirling with fear. Are you sure you still like me? Her pleas could be so desperate, especially when he flagged. Do you trust me? Her need fuelled his strength. Her heart flowed with warmth, covered with frost.

But there were times when he couldn’t go on. And their waltz came to a standstill with tears in their eyes. I can’t, I just can’t. And she would nod, her fingers loosening their grip. But he would hold on. You can’t go back to that dance. It’s dangerous. She would smile wistfully. But I must. There is nothing else to go back to. He looked at her with pain. Have you not thawed, ice queen? And there was that tired shaking of her head. I don’t know how to thaw. And he would whisper, come back to me. We shall dance again.

She watched him warily in his closeness. He had brought warmth she never thought she’d feel. Yet she still felt cold. She still felt herself distancing her heart from his. She shrugged when he wanted to leave, was touched when he stayed. Knowing him, she could feel her social awkwardness and lack of grace. Being with him, she realised how icy she was to her friends, her companions. But she lacked the power to change. She could only keep on clinging on to the warmth he gave her. The warmth she couldn’t find on her own. What made you this way? He often asked. Searching in the depths of her mind, she could only say, him.

And he would sigh. Always him. Why him? Why did you let him hurt you? And her face would darken. Because I didn’t know any better. Because prevention now is better than cure. He knew he could never leave her voluntarily. He could never cause her another hurt. He could never make her colder than she already was. It would have to be her. What are you afraid of? He could still see the coldness in her eyes, but knowing her, he could see the fear behind. Afraid of being hurt. At least she could admit it now. She could never before. No one can hurt you unless you let them. If only she would understand that! I am not letting them. Couldn’t he see? If she was never close, she would never be hurt. But you are hurting yourself. Her eyes opened wide in amazement. How so? And he prayed before he said, you are stunting yourself. You need friends to grow, to have fun with and you know that. Why do you feel so lonely? Why do you call me in the middle of the night to cry? You think too hard, ice queen. No one is going to analyse your every action like you do your own. You have to loosen up. Thaw, ice queen, thaw. Her lips quivered with an I can’t but he shook his head. You must.

There was silence as they peered cautiously at each other. I can’t not care somehow, she finally said. You have to learn. She could see him looking at her with earnest eyes. So sincere. How? He pondered on that one. I don’t know. By learning not to care yourself.

He could see her changing; hear it in the way she talked. And he smiled in satisfaction. She was warming. And he wanted to bask in the warmth of her eyes. Their jerky waltz slowed gracefully. Are you happy now? She thought over that one. Very. They beamed at each other. I can’t call you ice queen anymore, he finally said. Why not? I like it. Her fingers touched the single tear glistening on his face. Because…

In silence, they watched the dawn.