It was his eyes, and his voice – his eyes, a violent blue, but then his voice, in such contrast – soft. I was drawn instantly, my three girlfriends and I, we went to our separate homes with his face, his voice, and his silence in our mind. He had said three words, three simple meaningless words – ‘Rain is beautiful’ and he had continued to drink, slowly sipping at his beer, staring into it as though there the party was.

We were out, the mood was convivial – I had spent the day sipping cocktails in the sun with my girlfriends and from there we had ventured to the club. I was inebriated, we all were – and we went around indulging in idle flirtation, inane conversation and sipping on our gins, eventually we sat down as three young men joined us, casual and confident we had their attention, amidst laughter and a general good mood. They were good looking; they were decent, devoid of being lecherous, just innocent conversation, holding on to the vestige of our youth.

And then he came, he said a silent hello to his friends, and pulled up a chair. We were all introduced, and he smiled – a serene smile, far away. He sat, listened to the conversation, and sipped his beer, lost in his drink – staring, occasionally looking up – his fierce eyes, gorging into us, his dark hair framing his eyes. I could not help look, and I could feel my friends, like me, drawn.

I tore my eyes away and focused my attention on the conversation - we spoke of clubs, of work, of the country and as a Morcheeba swooned, and my surroundings seemed somewhat surreal, as though a still from a movie, I shook my head and offered drinks, attempting in my drunkard haze to get perspective. Gin all round, I asked my girlfriends, who nodded assent, and to our new male companions, I pointed at their pints and they nodded, and he looked up and smiled with a silent nod, and the shiver, my heart, my being reacting I looked away and hurriedly walked to the bar.

I sat down, sipped my fresh drink, lit a cigarette, and as with any conversation we were now on to the weather. Horrid, they were saying, the delusion that this is summer - the rain, the sweater, the occasional glimpse of the sun, and the schizophrenic happiness. And so, suddenly he looked up and said, in a voice so melodic, so soft and gentle, a voice that could make a corporate contract poetry, he said ‘Rain is beautiful’ and smiled, and then we lost him.

We left shortly after, we said our goodbyes, and our ‘nice to meet you’ and we went our separate ways. I kissed my girlfriends, jumped into a cab and ventured to my flat. Leaning my head against the window, I had one picture in my mind, him. A silent smile, intense eyes and a voice, so melodic, soft, a voice that I wanted to know. I knew I was not alone, and so I was right as my friends went home, their minds occupied, as they went home to their boyfriends and lay in bed with arms draped around them and sweet whispers into their ears and a subsequent snore, but in their minds his face, his voice, his whispers.

And then, months later, as I lay in my bed – alone, and turned as the alarm clock shrieked an unsightly good morning, I croaked my way out of bed, stumbled as I pulled on my gown, ambled to the bathroom and showered myself awake. As I sat on my bed, wiping my eyes my phone rang, early in the morning - a rare occurrence. I stared at it, the phone vibrating angrily on my bedside table, eventually I answered.

She asked if I remembered him, remember – that strange but beautiful man, at the bar and how could I forget. Him, stuck in my mind, a man I had met once, a man whose name I did not know, and a man I had not yet spoken to, but would – often enough.

I wanted to be happy. I felt tears, I felt my heart rip, I felt the jealousy rise with the bile. I heard myself say, why you? Over and over, why you? Jealousy, vile horrid jealousy. Why you? I faked enthusiasm, listened to the details, and parroted all her words, can you believe it? No, can you? And only single for six weeks! Six weeks? And putting down the phone, I climbed under the duvet, and phoned in sick. A man I did not know with eyes and a voice I had fallen in love with.

And so I knew his name, heard his voice, conversation directed at me, our eyes, dancing together, and the connection as ‘friends’ and his smile, and the feelings cemented, deepened, the mystery intensified, and my friend drinking and content, and indulging in the conquest - so happy, the man she would marry, or so she said and me.
‘Why you?’ – I was in love with a ghost, and now he had come to life.