Tragic – 55 Fiction

With moist eyes, he left house, never to come back. She was sobbing beside the window, knowing today it’s over.

Blankly, he drove for hours to reach the place. But today in that crowd, he felt so alone. He closed eyes to see her beautiful face but saw who trained him. And he pressed.


The unusual

“Till what time you want to be like this…make new friends, move on buddy,” Prashant insisted Yash while walking towards the parking lot after wrapping up work. Everything was absolutely usual, almost everything. The black sky with few floating clouds; pleasant evening breezes of Bangalore; almost-broken full-of-risk Shalini’s auto gear bike, parked in the corner under that old lamp-post; the same old guard sitting on that plastic cream color chair; the empty apartment waiting for Yash seven kilometers away; and the mixed feelings of loneliness and hatred boiling inside his heart.

But there was something unusual in that ride. Yash was about to reach his apartment but, for the first time, those words were still echoing in and sensing his numb-from-last-three-months mind. After passing almost 200 meters off the video library, he stopped the bike, and the three words of all, make new friends, jumped out. He turned his bike and got inside the library.

Wearing a sleeveless pink top with thin shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a low-waist light blue denim perfectly fitting her sleek legs, she was standing tall at the counter walking though English videos catalogue. Though looking at her flawless and classy style make new friends alarm in his mind by then was changed to make any other friend followed by don’t waste time here, he decided to stand next to her, silent, pretending interested in videos. The scent of her body and fragrance of her hair were intoxicating his already numb mind, but in a different, beautiful way.

“P.S. I love you?” she inquired.

Her voice complemented her persona and Yash couldn’t stop saying I love you too. Just that his lips were zipped, and the voice didn’t come out.

“Here it is madam, I love you,” the shopkeeper said with a flirty grin, looking at both of them.

“Boss, its P.S. I love you,” Yash unzipped suddenly from nowhere, emphasizing on P.S.

She looked at him, surprised, taking her hair flick behind her ear and for the first time he saw in her deep blue eyes. Whenever a beautiful, or in that case any girl looks at a guy, he feels that she has done that in a cute way. Yash was no different.

By the time he’d managed to give her a smile, “Madam 100 bucks deposit and your mobile number,” shopkeeper interrupted looking at Yash again with his stupid grin. She softly uttered and Yash’s fingers fed her number, without taking the cell phone out of his jeans’ pocket.

“You want something?” shopkeeper asked when Yash was looking her going out of the library.

“I got it”, he grinned back, blinking.

It was the first time Yash had done something weird like that but he was not feeling bad at all. He was smiling. Not because he had any intention to make use of an illegally held private number of a stranger girl, but because he had done something unusual, way off his usual in many months.

After doing his routine work of having dinner, leaving utensils unwashed in the basin, talking to mom for a minute, and checking mails and facebook for no new messages, Yash entered his room. The memories were still alive, and the most in that room. He threw his cell phone on the floored bed, which had the same crushed bed sheet, uncovered from all angles, from a last few days, with pile of old magazines, and a few namkeen wrappers and cold drink empty cans lying on the other side. Without bothering to clean it today as well, he lay down to kill time and started a movie.

Suddenly and coincidently, there came a scene when the guy entered a video parlor and saw this beautiful sales girl there. His hands reacted as his eyes were watching the scene, and he found himself checking her number. He smiled again, got off the bed, and walked across the room, to the mirror hanging on the wall. There was a blanket of dust on it. He wanted to see himself after a long time. He wiped the dust off with his fist and look into his red eyes. What he has done to himself? Why still is he waiting for her? She is not going to come back to make things beautiful again. He himself has to make them beautiful. Thinking all this, he closed his eyes and a tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it gently, not anymore.

And then he looked around his house, which he once decorated so passionately, and he found himself rolling his sleeves. He swept the floor, broomed the spider webs, cleared the mirror, washed the utensils, threw off the wrappers and empty cans, changed the sheet and pillow covers, organized his wardrobe, took a hot bath, and sprayed the fragrance. He looked again in the mirror. He was feeling light. He was feeling new. A smile spread on his face. He picked up the cell, and saved that number as The unusual.

Doing something unusual, something out of the normal routine, howsoever weird, stupid, or kiddish it be, sometimes makes you feel better. Keep doing that unusual, as long as it’s not harming anyone. Though, the unusual mentioned in this story is not advised.