When I woke up this morning, they were still fast asleep. I slid the window panes inward by about an inch, so the October breeze could sneak in and let the curtains sway. Imagine waking up to experience a gentle breeze entering your room stealthily and letting you know by gently rustling the curtains? How romantic.

I only wish I could order room service for them. But what is the point in ordering coffee for those in deep sleep? Two cups of coffee going cold waiting to be consumed is one of the most pitiful sights one can see. They come in young and full of steam, and with every passing moment they helplessly watch as their life goes up in smoke (pun intended) . In a while, they just sit there devoid of all hope, awaiting the time when they will be flushed down the drain. The wrinkled brown skin on top make them look more disgusting than they feel about themselves. I guess it is the build up of disgust that both parties wait for before the coffee goes down the drain. They way it goes away - heaving the skin away before hurrying down into the drain pipe to disappear forever - makes it seem as though death alone can offer them another chance at finding purpose in life.

Oops! Have I not gone on for too long about coffee? We (or I) have forgotten the couple, haven't we? Pardon me. If I have to say something about them in addition to all that I've said about coffee is, they are at least not going down just like that. I like that part about them although I am sure the coffee would've done better if it had any life.

I mean, you get one shot at reuniting with your sweetheart after all these years and what do you do? You lean on each other, not speak a word, let a stream of tears run over perpetually smiling lips and then fall asleep? What do you expect to see? A God-damned rainbow on the wall? Not on my watch. Heck! Who am I? And what watch am I talking about? All I can do is watch! That watch. That's why I tried to rub off some of the morning-magic on them - opening the window, letting the breeze in. Ah! I get it. I am going on and on like a senile man, am I not?

Wait! They are now slowly rising from their slumber. She is stretching - she ought to. Sleeping in a seated position for hours is inhuman, it is insane. And he is looking around as if he is experiencing memory loss. Imagine! What if he has forgotten everything? Who he is, who she is and what they are doing here? And what is here? They are done stretching and have woken up now. And he hasn't lost his memories. His mind? That, I can't put my finger on.

"Shall we get some coffee?" he says and she nods. She has a peculiar nod - her neck cocks sideways before returning to position. I don't know if it is a nod or a deficiency. He smiles as if it is that which made him grow fond of her. Oh man! Coffee again. It is almost as if there can be no story involving lovers - prospective, current, lost or lost-for-long ones. The coffee comes in, steaming, hot and in a while... Alright alright, I get it.

I am going bonkers here. They spent all night - twelve hours from when they came in - in stark silence. Who the hell do they think I am? Do they think I have nothing to do? I am dying for an authentic and heartfelt conversation. The other day, there was another couple. They went on and on and on about how the guy had to leave town with his father overnight, how he kept returning to see the girl, but couldn't muster the courage to tell her he loved her, how he attended her wedding and darted away before the cacophonous wedding band would make him go insane. They cried, laughed, spoke a lot and then left only to return hours later to check out. It was a beautiful story, alright, but there was something in it for me. And these idiots? They simply sit here, smiling at one another, sleep and then are smiling at one another as though they were resuming a ritual from which they were forcefully weaned away to lead more meaningful lives.

It has been hours and the two have made it a point to leave the room - presumably to eat - and returning to remain silent till it is time for another meal or stroll. Just who do they think I am? I mean, I am nobody really, but that is no reason to make me go through this. This is how they must have suffered when their worlds drifted apart - in silence. But heck! Why put me through it? I am the lord of the business of getting things to seem better than they were before my getting involved. And these people are making me feel miserable. Oh my! When will they leave? I am crumbling here.

Aha! It has been a day almost and finally they seem all set to leave. Their backpacks are stuffed and sealed. The guy calls for coffee - one last cup before they are gone for good perhaps. Finally, they begin to speak. No wonder they never got together and experienced happiness.

"So?" he says, and I wonder how she will respond to this unduly long and profound question. So.

"It's time, I guess," she says, proving no question is so long it can't be answered.

"Yeah!" he sighs till his lungs give up. She lays a comforting arm on his and he pulls away. The idiot.

"Why are you pulling away even now?" she says, a little annoyed. I would've done that too. They have a few sips of coffee and have returned to being silent.

"I am sorry," he says and holds her hand. This time though, it is a firm grip. It is almost as if he doesn't want to let go of her. His pleas, his yearnings all radiating through those eyes, boundless happiness veiled by hopelessness show through hers. Man! I should've peered into their eyes earlier. They say a lot more. I would've had an overdose of love. It would've beaten even the other couple's story.

"Should we stay for another day?" she says as though he has seen through my wish. "I wish," he says morosely, even before I can nod in elation. I only get to shake my head in disappointment. I want to whack him.

"Why not?" she says and looks at him.

"You know. We are running away from so much..." he begins to say and she shakes her head, tears streaming down in torrents. He stops speaking.

"We are not running away from so much or so many," she says and pats his shoulder. "When are you going to stop running away from yourself?"

He hangs his head in shame. Man! For someone who is rock solid, someone who provides such broken hearts the sanctuary they need, even I am moved. I am on the verge of breaking down, but I hold myself back.

"You and I," he says," are not just you and I anymore. You know what all we stand to destroy if we choose to be ourselves?" she becomes pensive and lets her head hang in deep contemplation. In a minute, she looks up and smiles at him. She nods knowingly.

"So, what do you suggest we do? One last moment of glory before we get back to reality?" she says and gazes at him longingly.

"How about some of your favourite doghnuts?" he says.

"You remember?" she says with a twinkle in her eyes. And the two leave, leaving me behind. I am choking. I am an emotional wreck.

Man! What a lovely duo? I wonder why they never got together. I mean, morons get together and stay together for life. Wife likes tea, husband likes coffee and they drink hot chocolate to avoid fighting. Perhaps he was too busy running away from himself and living everyone else's life. Maybe that's how he was raised. I don't blame him. She may have been too afraid of her people too. They both seemed to be nice people. But then, is it a sin for nice people to follow their heart, rather than run away and lead a pretentious life? Is it fine for them to suffer in silence and when life offers the rare chance, feel grateful to be able to share a doughnut?

I remain thinking such thoughts hoping for some peace - some quiet for a few hours at least. I want to reminisce every moment they spent here, celebrate them, mourn their life that wasn't to be, replay the few memorable moments I was fortunate to get a glimpse of.

Just when I wish so, a raucous bunch storm in, the bell-boy visibly tired from having to keep up with them. It is a family - morons. The couple seem tired and irritated. The children are already on the bed, jumping up and down like there is no tomorrow. There is no work for me then. Nothing to work my magic on. I slide the window shut and hope they leave on an all-day chartered trip so I can go back to reminiscing.

"Shall we order coffee?" the husband says. "No! Tea for me," the wife responds. He walks away mumbling something to himself and the wife cocks her head in the hope that it would help her hear what he says. I suddenly understand how life sometimes makes you go through unpleasant experiences even if you don't deserve it. She murdered the cocked-head, this lady.

Oh! By the way if you are wondering if I am cupid, perched on the window sill trying to work some magic, telling you stories and all - no I am not. I am, at your service, Room No. 318. And yeah, our walls have ears.