Tag: Fiction

Posted in Fiction, Published, Science Fiction

7D: Part 1 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a Science Fiction story from my fourth book, 7D: Tales from the Future. You can find the second installment here: 7D: Part 2

The sun is warm on my skin, and the air smells of pine and heather. Yume’s green eyes gaze into mine mesmerizing me as he guides me by the elbow and urges me to touch the blue bird sitting next to the gurgling spring. Her glowing blue feathers call to me. There is a song in the wind without words—music of the bubbling spring, singing birds and chirping grasshoppers. The dream‑like scene holds me still.

Yume is still touching my elbow; still looking at me with those green eyes. I shiver as butterflies take flight in my belly. Half‑afraid that the blue bird would fly away shattering the magic of the moment, I touch its buttery-soft wings. It quivers but stays where it is. Its two yellow friends sit close by, unaffected by my intrusion. One of them is drinking water from the spring; the other one is singing in a voice that would remain with me forever.

With his perfect pointed nose, Yume resembles the birds: calm and serene. For a moment, I wonder if his team has used him as the model for these birds. The green expressive eyes are certainly his. I am better off not knowing though if I want to keep re‑living this otherworldly experience. I know it is just an illusion—a seven‑dimensional (7D) piece of visual art that allows me to see in three dimensions as well as hear, smell, taste and touch—but still…

It is a product of responsive technology powered by Artificial Intelligence, which means that when I interact with any element, it responds intelligently. My act of breathing is met with the smell of pine forest; the blue bird quivers upon my touch; and the water splashes against my hand, tongue and throat—wet without actual water—as I drink from the spring.

The best part is that there is no need for special glasses or equipment to run it—just a touch‑powered, self‑fitting, ring with a button that Seiko is wearing on his finger. Once you wear it and switch the button on, it activates and adds certain elements to your surroundings, creating the illusion. This piece is an immersive one that has turned my entire room into my personal heaven. Yume smiles at me knowingly. I will owe him forever for this moment.

Seiko touches one of the two rings on his finger. The scene pixilates and melts in the air, and my office comes into view, and I sigh as I return to reality. Seiko is amused, “Engages all senses, doesn’t it?”

I nod wordlessly. Before I had experienced it, I was a little unsure of the profitability of the technology—it will be extremely expensive in the initial years due to the research and development cost, close to a vacation on a space station. So, I had wondered if people would be interested in buying it when they can have the same experience by traveling.

But now, I am converted. I would never have been able to touch a live bird in a natural setting.

And then, there is Yume still touching my elbow, which makes it difficult to think clearly. He has a way of making my legs jelly. Honestly, I would never approve of such a crazy fascination. I have never been so taken by any other man. Once a talk‑show host had asked me what it would take to tame the tigress and I had told her the vision of my perfect man: the perfect gentleman, strong with ideas, gentle in conduct, intelligent, capable of witty conversations, and not overbearing or jealous. I had also told her that I was sure he did not exist.

But then, Seiko and Yume had approached me at a Visual Arts conference last month. With his quick wit, amazing knowledge and impeccable manners, I was instantly drawn to Yume. Add to that the way he looks at me—like I am the only woman in the world—appreciates me for all the right things and the way his hand lingers in mine a second longer than necessary for a handshake, he had me purring like a kitten ever since.

But we are never alone. Seiko is always there. Both of them are always talking about this breakthrough in 7D technology—how their company has been looking for an investor to commercialise it. As the heiress of my father’s investment empire, I have invested all my life in visual technologies. I know that this one will be an instant success.

Right now, they are both looking at me expectantly for an answer. They know they have won already. Seiko queries, “So, will you invest in our organisation to commercialise the 7D technology?”

“I’m afraid not,” I say, much to my regret.

Author’s note: To be continued…

If you would rather read it all together in the book, 7D: Tales from the Future is available for free download here: Link

Photo credits: Google Gemini

Posted in Fiction, Published, Science Fiction

The Flight

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is a Science Fiction story from my fourth book, 7D: Tales from the Future.

We can’t afford to miss this flight—literally. I urge the taxi driver to go faster but he is helpless too. Half the air route is filled with taxis. The other half is filled with protestors with huge placards on their vehicles levitating in the air with demands to prepare more spaceships so everyone can reach to safety. I check my four‑year‑old daughter if she has picked up the panic around her. But she is licking a lollypop contently as she hugs her favourite doll.

I would have been out there as one of the protestors too if I hadn’t got the ticket. I had to sell everything I had but, somehow, I was able to scrounge just enough. Of course, that was only possible because I had a head start. One of my close friends received inside information from his government connections before the impending apocalypse became public knowledge.

*****

While thousands of meteorites enter Earth’s atmosphere every year, Oxygen burns most of them down to ashes. However, this one hurtling through the space towards Earth is the size of Russia. The one that made the entire dinosaur species extinct was nothing in comparison.

The seas are already rising slowly, thanks to the new gravitational pull, beginning to drown the sea‑side cities. And once the meteorite enters the Earth’s atmosphere, it will catch fire, raising heat to unbearable levels, burning oxygen and filling atmosphere with poisonous gases. And then, it will make impact, turning Earth to pieces. Is there are any survivors from the impact, they will find that these pieces will not have enough gravitational pull to contain air. But before asphyxiation kills them, lack of air pressure will burst all the inhabitants apart like balloons.

Of course, the event will have a larger impact on the galaxy—not that any of us would be alive to study it.

A lump constricts my throat as I pull my daughter closer at the thought, glad that she is too young to understand the horrors she is leaving behind.

The governments of all countries on Earth had known about it for years, of course. But they had been hiding the information from public to avoid widespread panic. They had been lying through the   teeth that they had weapons to break the meteorite down before it enters Earth’s orbit. It was only last year when a famous e‑news channel sniffed out the truth—even with the strength of all the space weapons we own, it is impossible to break down a meteorite of this size in space. And even if we somehow manage to do it outside Earth’s atmosphere, the residual motion, abetted by Earth’s gravity, will pull most of the pieces inside Earth’s atmosphere anyway. Too many of these pieces will be too huge. The result will still be almost the same.

Hence, the governments have been putting all their resources in quietly building spaceships to travel to Azumi‑306—the closest habitable planet in a different galaxy. They have been sending scout flights with scientists who have discovered ways to exist in the otherwise unknown territory—what food to eat, what creatures to avoid and how to see in the 280‑hours‑long moonless nights. Apparently, they are currently experimenting on growing “Earth‑food” on Azumi but haven’t really reached there yet.

*****

When the news came out last year, people went berserk. Some people with means got the tickets and were leaving Earth to start afresh. There is no guarantee as to how it will all pan out though. The two-and-half‑year flight and the life after were full of uncertainties.

I pull my daughter in my arms. I wish I could shield her from all this.

The people outside are protesting for more spaceships, which is useless. If governments could, they would have done that already. But there would never be enough spaceships for the billions of people inhabiting the Earth. So, it will be Titanic all over again—the rich go first, leaving the poor behind to die. But that was a thought for later. For now, I just had to get us through this day somehow.

*****

We reach the space centre at last. We are just in time, so I must be quick.

I tickle my four‑year‑old and am rewarded with a toothy chuckle. I hug her tight and, with trembling lips, I speak the magic words, “Remember, I love you.” And then, I hand her over to the flight attendant, “This is her first time alone.”

She tries to smile reassuringly, like she has been trying to contain tears all day, “We have a special facility for children without chaperon. She will have a fair chance at life.” I try to smile back, wish her luck for the flight and beyond, and watch as she closes the gates. Somewhere behind those gates, a spaceship is preparing to fly to a new world. A precious part of me goes away with it. With a deep shudder, I finally let the tears fall.

END

If you would rather read all the stories together in the book, 7D: Tales from the Future is available for free download here: Link

Photo by SpaceX on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

Lingering

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

What is that a shape in the mirror behind the candle? Gah, just candle smoke! I should just snuff the stupid thing so I can get some sleep, but I can’t make myself. The candle is almost at its end anyway.

The ancient bed creaks every time I turn, and I curse the moment I accepted this inheritance–old, long-lost and in the middle of nowhere. Sure, it is pretty during the day with all its carved wooden panels, but at night, it is plain scary. My boring job in the city is better than the night-long agitation; jumping in the dark at every sound this old house makes.

Pipes groan every now and then. Windows I probably missed closing somewhere in the house rattle loudly. Is it windy outside? I can’t it feel it here in my room with the windows closed and curtains on. Floorboards pitter-patter with tiny feet–I need mouse traps by the dozen, it seems.

That smoke in the mirror–is that a face? Is it sneering at me?

My insides quiver with a chill unrelated to the weather. I need sleep. No, I need to get out of this ghost house. I will drive back home tomorrow morning and sell off this place. Who wants to live inside a horror show? No electricity, no company. At this rate, I will go insane in a couple of days.

That sneer in the mirror…that candle smoke…are those canine teeth really growing?

Oh! The candle’s burnt out! I should have lighted a new one while there was still light. Now, where is that torch?

Damn! Where is that bloody cellphone?

Fine, I will just open the curtains.

I stumble in the darkness to the nearest window and pull the curtains open, avoiding looking outside in the wilderness. Silver moonlight filters in to show the smoke gone from the candle.

The sneer with canines still lingers…

Photo by Jasmin Ne on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Published

The Bracelet: Part 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of the title story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. I would recommend reading Part 1 once again to gather the momentum of memories that led you to this point. You can find it here: The Bracelet: Part 1.

He is here. But why has he brought so many others along? Has his family arrived for our marriage as he had promised? But their faces are not friendly. In fact, they are downright angry. Why are they carrying pitch forks?

My familiars rush to meet him at the door, but he scowls and pushes them back inside. He motions at me to come out with him. I comply.

As I step out, someone grabs my hands from behind and I cry in pain. My love…he speaks something that I can’t understand. It is English, but so different from the way he usually talks. He asks me about the father of our unborn child. Flustered at the implication, my voice shaking, I shout, “It’s you!”

“And that,” he says, “is my confession.”

I can’t understand where this is going. He had come to me two weeks back, and I told him about the baby. He was surprised, but he had never questioned the father of the baby. That day, I had reminded him of his promise to marry me as soon as his family comes, and he had agreed.

Now, he holds a book and quotes questions from it. He asks about witchcraft…I tell him he already knows I’m a healer. I had treated him when he was dying of fever. I say I love him. But he shouts me down and asks me to answer only in ‘Yes’ and ‘No’.

The questions blame me of witchcraft and of forcing him to impregnate me. No matter whether my answer is a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’, they incriminate me of being a witch either way. So, I try to remain silent, but it earns me his knee in the stomach, every time…

I writhe in pain, while my mind is on the baby. At this rate, he’ll kill our child! I beg him to have mercy on the unborn. For a second, I see guilt in his eyes. Then, he pushes me inside the cottage and closes the door.

Hope surges through me. Have I been spared?

I hear a lock click outside. Smoke fills my nostrils—they have set my cottage on fire! Out of the window, I see them waiting with pitchforks with bloodlust in their eyes. If I get out somehow, they will simply slice me in pieces and throw back in here. There is no hope for me.

My familiars are scared and freaking out—clawing down the door and the now‑closed windows, all on fire.

With shaking hands, I go to the miniscule back window meant for the pets to go out when needed. I hastily pull out the bracelet from my hand—the little effigies I had carved out of cat’s‑eye stone to tie the familiars to me. They don’t have to die with me. I try to throw my bracelet with all my strength out of the tiny hole. But the smoke has blinded me, and I can’t get a clear shot. It falls back in.

I am on all fours, gasping for breath and coughing. I order the cat to grab the bracelet and get out. I tell them all to leave. Ordinarily, they would have complied.

But they don’t. They have covered me from all sides the best they can. They are trying to protect me with their power, but they aren’t strong enough. I feel their frustration, their heartache, their loyalty, their friendship, their love…

…their never‑wavering devotion while the raging fire consumes us all. I can hear my familiars think of the man who deceived us into loving him; trusting him; giving him our all…

Their pain is my own as our lungs burn and hearts heave. How could death be so slow or so tormenting? I can’t find my knife to kill us. Someone had already removed it while they questioned me.

We burn together and I feel the crippling pain inch by inch…our hair, our fur, our feather…

Burning rage fills me as I feel my babies of magic die one by one just as clearly as I feel my unborn baby die within me…

My hollowed‑out heart lets go of that thread that ties me to life. I wish to die here and now. I beg the Gods for death…

Too slowly, I feel life leave me… Deep down, I know that when they find my body tomorrow in the museum, I’ll have one burn scar—on the wrist that now wears the bracelet…

END

Photo by Manpreet Kaur

If you would rather read it all together in the book, The Bracelet and other short stories is available for free download here: Link

Posted in Fiction, Published

The Museum: Part 1

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories.

Not sure why I went inside the museum that day. Was it loneliness?

Boredom?

Morbid curiosity?

Or was it just the hope of seeing Cleo again?

*****

It would be fair to say that he was neck deep in Egypt…or may be deeper still. He was absolutely in love with his birthplace. In fact, the first time I had met him was inside city museum’s underground Egyptian section.

That day, I was bored, had no plans and went alone. I was admiring the gold throne when Cleo had approached me and offered a tour of the section. He hadn’t even introduced his friend, who had simply smiled and left us alone.

He seemed quite well informed on the subject of ancient Egypt and his enthusiasm was contagious. He talked like a thirteen-year-old on a trip to a football match. Soon, I was skipping along his side from display to display. He had stories about each piece—the pottery and the potters; the carving and the carvers; the two sarcophagus (the elaborately carved ancient Egyptian caskets) and the mummies hidden inside—the king and one of his slaves.

He was intelligent and witty and had a quirky sense of humour. He was chivalrous but not overbearing. He treated me like a queen, and no woman can ignore that kind of attention. When at the end of visiting hours, he had asked me to visit again, I could not help but promise to return the next weekend.

So, for seven weekends, we met at the museum. We laughed and talked. I told him about my life at college, my dorm room and my crazy roommate. He told me about his childhood antics, crocodiles on the Nile, pyramids and Egypt. He was holding back his present life though, as if he wasn’t ready to share it yet. He didn’t tell me what he did for a living and if he had a family back in Egypt.

It worried me a little, but I wasn’t the one to probe.

And we had time.

His interest in me felt genuine though. When we held hands as we walked through the museum discussing different displays, I could feel that he was as reluctant to let go of my hand as I. Sometimes, he would look into my eyes with the look that made me wonder if he was going to get down on one knee and ask me to marry him.

I would have said “Yes” without doubt, even if it meant moving to Egypt with him.

But he never asked the question in words, and I didn’t know how to begin that conversation, especially since we were never alone—he wouldn’t leave the museum. He lived on the campus, or so he said. He wouldn’t come out with me for dinner, lunch or even coffee. He always had something to do, something to show, something to talk about, which was not his present life or our future. He didn’t even have a mobile phone number, so we couldn’t connect unless I visited the museum.

*****

Two weeks back, he told me he was moving to Egypt; and it seems that he had known the fact for a long time. Apparently, a certain part of the Egyptian display at the museum—including the mummies of the king and his slave—had come from a private collector whose family had acquired it from the black market several centuries ago without the consent of the Egyptian government, as was the norm in those days. But a team of Egyptian researchers had traced them back to the correct tomb a few years back. They had discussed the matter between the two countries and were moving the collection back to where it belonged. Cleo was leaving with it, back to where he belonged.

And I wanted to go with him.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Photo by Spencer Davis on Unsplash

If you would rather read it all together in the book, The Bracelet and other short stories is available for free download here: Link

Posted in Fiction, Published

Broken: Part 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is third installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the other parts here: Broken: Part 1 and Broken: Part 2.

On the morning of the fourth day, I gathered wildflowers that grew within the temple yard. A tiger was manning the boundary. It gave me hope that my ‘friends’ wouldn’t be able to come tomorrow, and I wouldn’t have to go back. I could stay here forever, seeing her every day. I held the flowers lovingly in my arms until she came, afraid to put them down lest they’d get dirty.

When she came, I all but jumped up. She placed the basket in the same place and looked at me. I meekly held out the flowers. She accepted them quietly with a smile that almost made me swoon. She turned to leave. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I might have to leave soon. How could I go without knowing her name? Or rather, how could I go at all?

“Please don’t go,” I begged her.

“Do you need anything else from me?” her voice was teasing.

“I…I don’t even know your name,” I blushed to the roots of my hair like a schoolboy.

“I thought you’ll never ask. People call me Kyarr,” she replied.

“Oh! I thought Kyarr was the deity here.”

She kept smiling.

“I…My ‘friends’ are due to return tomorrow. I was wondering…thinking that…I…Would you…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. What if she says no? What if she considers it an insult? I know nothing about her. She could be married. She looks young but people marry early in this part of the world.

Heck, even I’m married! What was I even thinking?

She waited for a few seconds. Then, probably realised I wasn’t going to finish. So, she simply said, “I know your friends come tomorrow morning. I guess, it is the last time we meet.” She was still smiling.

“Would you like to come with me?” I blurted out, then lost all the courage and looked at my feet.

“I can’t. I’m needed here. But thank you for asking.”

It hurt to see that there was no pain in her eyes. She was smiling as always while my own heart was ripping up in pieces. “Will you at least stay the night? I just want to look at you until I leave,” I knew I was transgressing some social boundary, but I couldn’t remember what…

“I can but you might not like how I look. That’s why I haven’t been staying here for the past three nights.”

I could hear the warning in her voice, but I was past caring now. If it was the last time I was looking at her, I didn’t care if a few hair came out of her bun as she slept. Now that I think of it, I can’t remember how she wore her hair—Was it a bun? Pig tails? Or did she leave them loose over her shoulders? She’d still be the only one I love.

“I insist.”

She shook her head, giving up, and sat on the stone throne on the pedestal. Then she gave me that smile that melted my knees…

…and turned to stone—a magnificent stone Tigress.

*****

My helpers returned the next day and told me the goat was still very much alive. I told them about Kyarr, but they didn’t believe me. They said Kyarr, the stone Tigress, has always been there on the pedestal. She was the temple deity.

They said the curse was turning me mad like all those before me.

*****

I would like to believe them and forget all about her, but how can I?

Even though I have returned home, my dreams are full of tiger calls, and my every waking moment is spent thinking about her. Somehow, her being a tigress makes no difference to me. She’s still the one I love.

Often, I see her walk away from me. I call her. I beg her to stop, but she just gives me a smile that would make me follow her anywhere. And then, she keeps walking until I can walk no more. Once I fall, I crawl behind her until I faint. And when I wake up, I find her gone.

My bleeding feet and knees don’t hurt. My heart bleeds knowing I’ll never see her again. I tried booking a flight to return to my Kyarr, but my wife—I can’t recall her name now—she won’t let me go. I think she’s jealous. Could you please make her understand, Doctor? You do believe me, don’t you?

The doctor looks up at me with eyes filled with pity. He stops the recorder and makes some notes in his pad. He signals a male nurse to escort me to my padded cell—my cage from where I can’t escape and walk until my feet hurt and crawl until my knees bleed…

End

Author’s note: You can find the free PDF version of my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories here: Link.

Photo by Mike Marrah on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Published

Broken: Part 1

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the other parts here: Broken: Part 2 and Broken: Part 3.

I had never hunted in this area before, but I was dying to get a tiger’s head for my collection for years now and an eco‑tourism website had mentioned this place. It had boasted of a uniquely high tiger‑per‑kilometre ratio as compared to the rest of the world. Tigers are revered here, so, local poachers don’t touch them. There’s no law against hunting the endangered species in this country though. Just my luck! So, I got a quick tourist Visa, gathered my hunting gear and flew here.

*****

In a country where tigers are revered, I couldn’t directly ask people where I could find a tiger to kill. So, I went around the long route. After the first day of sight‑seeing with a local tourist guide, I tipped him heavily. Then, I said, “I just wish it was a little more exciting than that!” I talked about my hunting trips. He immediately promised to find someone to help me, which he did within the hour.

The ‘help’ was a small shrewd man who offered his services based on a hefty fee per day. We started small—hunting foxes, then, gazelle and wild boars. I tipped him generously each day, increasing the amount with the size of the game, nudging him to find something even more exciting. He gradually warmed up to me and suggested bigger cats—serval, cheetah, leopard…

I told him, “I’ve done them all in. The only big cats I’d be interested in now would be a lion or a tiger.” I knew well that there were no lions here. So, he would show me tigers.

He hesitated. A long pregnant pause had me wondering if I had gone a little too fast and whether I should have waited a few more days. But hunting tigers could take several attempts ranging between several days to weeks. I could not afford to tick off more days from my one‑month visa.

After what felt like an eternity, he admitted reluctantly, “There’s a place in the forest where tigers throng. That is the only place where you are sure to find them. Mind you, we never hunt them. There is a curse in that place. Anybody who goes hunting tigers in that place ends up as either dead or raving mad.”

Old wives’ tales, of course! “I’m not afraid.”

He looked at me with the resignation of a parent who knew his child was beyond hope. “Okay! But this time, I won’t stay with you for the hunt. I have a family to provide for, so, I can’t afford to be cursed.”

It took immense effort to stop me from rolling my eyes. “Sure, but you can show me where it is, right?”

He nodded quietly, “Yes, but it will cost a lot more—I’m risking a curse and a possible death. I’ll take the money in advance today, so that I can hand it over to my family in case I die.”

I knew he was exaggerating to hike up the amount. He wasn’t even going to be on the hunt. But I hadn’t travelled across the world to save pennies. If the website was to be believed, the number of tigers in the area guaranteed a trophy.

*****

The next morning, he came back with supplies for four-five days, a goat, two labourers and tools to create a hunting platform. The labourers looked apprehensively at my gun, muttering in native language. The ‘help’ translated, “They want you to promise that you wouldn’t fire it until we’ve safely returned from the place. Firing the gun draws the tigers in.”

I could not help rolling my eyes this time. “Come on, the sound of gunfire scares animals away…”

“In other places, gunfire might do that, but it is different here. The tigers kill anyone firing a gun in the area. You’ll see soon enough.”

*****

We travelled as far as we could in an old jeep. Then, we walked on a well‑beaten trail. Apparently, a lot of people walked through that part of the forest without any weapons. So much for risking life!

We left the trail and entered deeper into the forest. After an hour, we stopped near a tall and sturdy tree with high and strong branches that gave me enough cover without obscuring my view. The ‘help’ ensured it was impossible for a tiger to climb it. I knew the last precaution was unnecessary, but he insisted, “You will thank us later.”

While the labourers built the hunting platform and the ‘help’ arranged goat’s fodder, I smoked a cigarette relishing in the tiger calls. The website was right. Too many tigers live in this area. Not sure how though. Tigers are rather territorial. Usually, there is no more than one tiger in several kilometres. But in this place, it sounds as if there is a huge ‘pride’ living in close vicinity—only, tigers don’t live in prides. The biggest group could be a mother with one or two cubs. Then, how could it be that…

By noon, the platform was mounted, and the ‘help’ asked, “Are you sure you want to do it, Sir?”

Mentally, I laughed at the superstition. Overtly, I just nodded.

“Alright,” he pointed towards north. “There is the temple of Kyarr over there. The only survivors from a hunting trip in this area were found hiding there. They were completely mad, mind you, but alive. So, if the situation gets out of hand, try to make a dash for it. I’ll return in the four days and collect whatever is left of you.”

With those parting words, they left.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Photo by Mike Marrah on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Nature stories

Breaking the Ice

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

For months, she hadn’t been stirred.

Suddenly, the ice broke with the unexpected weight and she screamed for help. Melting with the sun as spring approached was something a part of frozen river would accepted as fate. She would have lived a complete life by then. But breaking down early because someone mercilessly stepped on her weakness…that hurt.

So, she screamed for help. But all of them were on their own now as more cracks kept appearing–the stag that had stepped on her continued jumping neatly on the now-broken ice and crossed the river.

The river was now a jumble of fast moving pieces of ice running forward to meet the sea.

Most of them were simply resigned. She struggled against the flow, trying to return to her calm and composed existence, but there was nothing to hold on to.

Her fight was desperate and fruitless. Her screams were drowned in the gurgle of the river just like the few woohoos from others…

Woohoos?!

She turned around and saw another part of the river, clearly enjoying the ride. He had always been far away, closer to the bank. But now he was pushing her, shining with a twinkle. His playful smile dared her to try beating him at the game.

She pushed back and he laughed, pushing her again, tickling where they touched. Soon, they were both laughing as they pushed and touched and tickled and woohoo-ed down the river.

Not sure how far they reached before they melted but they certainly never stopped to notice.

Posted in Fiction

Mellifluous

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Thank you, Beetly Pete and John Melon for the story ideas.

He was mellifluous. Not his voice–I hadn’t heard it yet. I am talking about the person himself.

As usual, I was late and had to run from my office with my backpack on my shoulders to catch the last bus to my town. I preferred Fridays to visit my parents when it was relatively spacious, as compared to Saturdays when, apparently, the entire world was travelling home.

After a lot of running and jostling, I finally managed to get on the bus. I was still trying to catch my breath at the door while searching for an open seat when I saw him…

…and never looked away.

It was the peace on his face that drew my eyes–a peaceful ship in the sea of turbulent waters…

He wasn’t a regular or I would have remembered such a face. His skin was light brown, and the dimples made him look rather ‘pretty’–if a man can be called ‘pretty’ without being offended.

As I slowly walked forward in the aisle, I realised he was in a deep sleep–how he managed to sleep amidst all the honking and sweltering heat was a mystery to me. But the way his chest rose and fell gracefully with each breath left no doubt that his lights were completely out. His hands resting in his lap looked fluid, even though there was no movement. His black hair flew gently with the wind from the open window and he seemed completely oblivious of my scrutiny…

…or my existence. Somehow, the thought bothered me.

I sat down a couple of seats ahead of him. I would have sat next to him, but the seat was taken by another female. She sat looking rather bored, consulting her watch often, as if wishing for the time move faster. She seemed completely unaffected by his presence.

Was it just me, then, who felt the tug towards him? I wanted to offer her my seat, so that I can sit with him–afterall, she didn’t seem to care either way. But it would be very conspicuous, completely irrational and totally unlike me. Why would I want to sit with him? I didn’t even know his name! Also, I wasn’t a big town girl. I was never friends with boys and my dealings with them were strictly on need-to-know basis. Dating was unheard of in my family and going after a boy made me feel like an overachieving fool.

Not that it stopped me.

I tried to think of other things, like my favourite food waiting for me at home; my father waiting at the bus stand (since it would be dark by the time my bus reached there); my mother waiting at the door, worried why I hadn’t turned up yet (even though I always reached at the same time)…

But it didn’t seem to make a difference. I kept looking back at him–intent on making introductions once he woke up.

Finally, the girl got up and got down the bus and I took her place in a flash.

I was blushing now because people had noticed how I had hurried to get to him. A lot of these people have seen me ride this bus for an year now. We had exchanged gossip on the way to our various destinations. Now they watched my walk of shame back to my seat to retrieve my backpack that I had forgotten in my hurry to secure this seat. They looked at me with me interest, some of them raising their eyebrows in obvious questions with knowing smiles.

I was also blushing because, as I sat back, our shoulders were touching. A small-town Indian girl that I was, I never had a boyfriend, and the only other boy I ever touched was my elder brother–to get piggyback rides. Of course, I sit next to other people in the bus and in office. But it never felt like this–like I was stealing a moment. Pathetic!

I didn’t like sitting next to him though. It was difficult to look at him properly now. But I could tell his profile was even more interesting. The crow’s feet around his eyes reminded me of happy times; of hikes and dips in the river; of lemonades and jokes; of shared family tales and good-natured ribbing…

It was still light outside and he slept on. His closed eyes were peaceful amidst the various traffic jams that our bus was stuck in. Even the sunlight falling on his face didn’t seem to bother him. His breathing was even and restful–like soulful music meant only for my ears. It made me drowsy. I wanted to talk to him but I didn’t want to disturb his peace. Surely, we can talk once he woke up…

An old fellow Friday traveler woke me up at my stop. The seat next to me was empty except for a gun wrapper. I felt my stomach drop as collected my backpack.

“He waited for you to wake up for eons. Kept stealing glances but didn’t want to disturb your sleep though. So, when his stop came, he jumped over the back of the next seat.”

Sensing my disappointment, she gestured at the gun wrapper with a smile, “I saw him scribble on it right before he left. I think he left his number for you.”