Her intuition had once again proved right-but she did not feel proud about the astuteness of her intuition- instead she wished she had been proved wrong-
What she had feared would transpire actually happened- and when the incident unfurled itself, it had a surreal feel to it- like it was not actually happening to her- she was not a part of the happening- like she was just watching it happen to somebody else as a spectator- so much so that she did not know how to react, respond. She remained queerly unmoved- and then she realized that she had to respond in some manner- and not just sit there like she were watching a movie. She had to think of an appropriate answer- hunt for the right words- She answered dispassionately- she calmly continued to pack his lunch for him- handed it over indifferently- told him to forget that he had uttered those words ever and that she had heard them.
After the impulsive outburst, seeing her grave expression perhaps he realized his blunder and began apologizing fervently- he asked for forgiveness- but she could not bring herself to say that she forgave him for his indiscretion. She stubbornly refused to say that she forgave him- She was not angry or even offended but she felt indignant that he had not paused to think about his wife back home or her husband who was his friend.
He got up and left and she closed- nay slammed the door after him… she hoped she would never have to see him again…
She did not want him to feel humiliated but she did want him to realize that he had been thoughtless- inconsiderate- She understood the frailty of human emotions, but how could he act upon his fickle feelings? Why did he have to confess to her about how he felt about her? What had he expected? How did he summon the audacity to utter those words to her? To tell her to the face that he found her “tempting”? Had he hoped for a reciprocal feeling? She shuddered at the thought.