“Hiraeth, a Welsh word with no direct English translation. It is a mix of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness, or an earnest desire for one’s home. But it is not mere homesickness. It is a longing for a home you cannot return to, or maybe, one that was never yours.”, read M.
“Hiraeth”, he repeated, savouring the taste of it in his mouth. Something snagged at his heart as he lay back to close his eyes and let the meaning seep in.
Unsurprisingly, he envisioned that beautiful face again. Fringed by those naturally, wavy hair. The shade a kind of brown that ignites with a golden glow when sun rays fall on it. Those carved lips inching upwards in a smile with a soft, feline curve. And those eyes, those soulful, lively eyes, twinkling and flickering.
He remembered every single detail about her appearance. He knew nothing about her. Yet, she was the most familiar person on earth to him. He used to see her everyday, after all, which was more than he could say for his closest friends and family. Everyday, like clockwork, he saw her having lunch while he collected his coffee on his way back from lunch. He had never approached her or talked to her. But he adored the lilt of her voice when she spoke to her friends or placed her order. He loved hearing her talk. It had been months since he’d seen her though.
Rising from his couch, M wondered what she was up to. Where she went. Probably moved to another city or changed her office or something, he mused. He knew he’d still be keeping an eye out for her everyday.
Hiraeth, he thought again, as he lifted the newspaper he had been reading to carry with him to work. His eyes came to pause for a moment at the word that he had doodled. “Lisa”, he read, as he smiled and went about his day.
(To read Lisa’s story, please click here)