The Flowing Still

The stubborn night, the same chill in the air, the same soft moonlight; they were on the same bridge. She was in his favourite chiffon. Neither spoke for a while. The only sound was from far below the deck; the water flowing ever so smoothly, its surface broken only by the piers of the bridge.

Guy: This isn't very different from the day we first..
Girl (interrupting): That day was never meant to happen; our paths were never meant to cross.
Guy: You still don't believe in fate.
Girl: Your 'fate' has a rather brutal way of playing games; games without rules.
Guy (sighing): What time is your train?
Girl: In an hour.
Guy (looking in her eyes): You look beautiful.
Girl: You don't look too bad yourself...(forcing a smile on her face)
(Their hands touched each other's on the railing; three seconds later she pulled hers away)

Guy: Will you miss me?
Girl: I've learnt not to.
Guy: Have you forgiven me?
Girl: I can't even answer that to myself...
       I'm sorry. Yes, I'll miss you.

Guy (looking at the ring on her finger): Congratulations.
Girl: Take care of yourself. I have to go.

She walked away. By the time she reached the end of the bridge, there was a loud thud on the surface below.