A body persists in its state of rest or of uniform motion
unless acted upon by an external unbalanced force.
- Newton’s First Law of Motion


As sure as science, she fell, hard and irresistibly, towards his center of gravity. It was not that she intended to, or had any deliberate intention of being caught hopelessly in orbit around him. But as imperceptible as the laws of attraction go, she found herself drawn to him and his laughter, suddenly and inexplicably, the way gravity draws a river inexorably to the sea.

Things began innocently enough: group lunches with fellow workmates, innocuous chats during breaktime, unexpected connections. The romantics among them called it latent magnetism, a textbook example of opposites attract. Whatever it was, howewver,— magnetism, gravity, insanity— one thing was certain: she was not like any of the other girls that he had once upon a time dated; because what many thought to be that which was irresistible about him was not what she herself had fallen in love with. She was not overwhelmed by his presence or attracted by his celebrity; neither was it the idea of having been chosen over other oogling girls that made their hand-holding sweeter, or more meaningful. No. It was his vulnerability and his passion that made her a true believer. It was his willingness to damn the world for his art, and for his art alone, that defined for her the meaning of integrity. She even bought curtains for him, gaddamit. And she knew that she was in love.

But when all was said and done, as work and life and making a living made wider their shared universe, it became apparent that he eventually had to choose. And when the conflict between his heart and his art had led him to decide, he decided for his art, but wanted his heart as well. She was willing to give it, truth be told— to let him have his cake and eat it too. But he decided for both of them: It was for the best, because I don’t want to hurt you.

And before she knew it, that orbit which both of them had found so comfortable and endearing, had, for her, turned into a vortex of emotions and questions, sucking her ever downward and ever inward, into a spiral of self-doubt. Was I not good enough? Will I ever find anyone like him again?

She knew, of course, that their parting was really for the best— for he was who he was, after all, and in the end. It was too much to expect him to change.

It was just a matter of time.

So in moments of weakness, when vortices of longing threatened yet again to draw her into him, she knew that all it was, was the momentum of the past, the forward circular motion that formerly fixed her way, and nothing more. Soon, soon, even this motion would cease, all energy would be spent, and she would, if not already, break free, chart a different course, set a different motion, move to a different heartbeat: finally, that of her own.