Never Grey – A Short Story


Sometimes I wonder what my husband and I will be like twenty, thirty years from now. I envision us this way, even when our hair is white and grey.

Never Grey

Philip and Trista are all grown up. We never thought Philip would get over his shyness, and look at him dazzle the ladies now. Trista has always been the more outgoing twin, and here she is all sparkles as she welcomes the guests in.

One hand of yours is on the small of my back as you guide me through faces and friends. Tight embraces are exchanged and no air kisses. This is how we wanted it to be.

The greetings die down but the revelry carries on, then we stand under an arch with golden bells and white flowers. Green becomes you, you’ve told me several times. I see your eyes travel up and down my silk-clad body, my skin glowing against the emerald fabric.

And you, your hair is grey. I reach up to caress your face and you smile, pressing your cheek against my palm. Philip shouts from the back, and while we both would shush him on other occasions, this time, we simply get lost in each other’s gaze.

You go first by sharing the naughty joy of our elopement, then end with how your heart never aged despite the wrinkles, the crinkles, the grey, grey hair. I am in my early twenties again as I go second. I share the clear memory of the first time we talked, my neighbor welcoming me into an old building. I end with my hand back on your cheek, and with one sudden movement, you dip me and plant a sweet kiss on my lips. Our families cheer.

Strangers make faces when we pass by, two old fogies giggling like teenagers, fingers intertwined, gazes locked. Some coo and coo some more when they find out we’ve been married for many, many years. You are right, our hearts never aged. They are as strong in love and in energy as the first time we kissed on that dim-lit street, as the first time we made love in your messy apartment. If only our bodies could stay just as youthful.

Philip and Trista toast to the years that were, the years that are, the years to come. Philip has my eyes, Trista has yours. The twins who took us by surprise one autumn morning.

The night falls and the older ones retire. The young ones take their drinks to the gazebo. And we, the two of us, we slow dance in the middle of streamers and popped balloons. It is quiet now, and we move in circles. You kiss me on the forehead, and I lay my head on your shoulder. Philip and Trista dim the lights.

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