Author’s note: This is the third and final instalment of my latest short-story.
A higher wave pushes us and we hold on to each other for dear life, hoping our combined weight will stop us being pushed into the rising sea. The rock is submerging too fast.
“Do you want to do a Titanic for the selfie you are sending him?” I ask. “It will be completely dark in a couple of minutes.” I don’t say we will drown in sometime. I want to hang on to hope.
The sudden smile on her face makes my heart squeeze, like I am alive again.
She quickly poses against the Sun with me behind her, one hand spread out in a flying pose with both of mine and clicks a picture with the other hand. She quickly sends it before she loses her nerve. She is giggling like a school girl, “I know it is not a making-out picture but I’m happy we sent it. Let that photo burn his retinas.”
“Okay, what else do you want to send him? I’m game.” I join in enthusiastically.
A sly smile spreads across her face for a second. I can see she is considering a really obscene photo. Since we are dying in a few minutes, I don’t mind. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind it even if we were going to stay alive. There is something about this person, which makes me feel like I would be upto anything she suggests. Like an old school-time best friend.
But then she stops, shaking her head. “No, I can’t subject him to that… or you. I’m not that person.”
I shake my head, realising I believe her words. I am not that person too. I try to change the topic, “So, is it true? Did you really hire a guy for…?”
“I tried to get one. But I lost my nerve before I could speak to him,” she admits sheepishly.
“Why did you try for one though?”
“I wanted to move on…” The pain on her face sears my heart.
A large wave pushes at us, and I hold her to my chest, lest the water might topple her into the sea before it is time. I keep hugging her after the wave is gone. With my wounds still raw, her pain is mine.
“You don’t hire men to move on, you know. You look for one who might really mean something to you and take it from there.”
“Does your advice apply to men too?” She gestures at my henna-tattooed palms for impact.
“I don’t know. It has only been three days since she eloped the night before our marriage,” I speak in a defeated tone.
It is completely dark around us, and I feel her nod against my chest, “I guess you will find out in a few years.”
Does she really believe I have a few years ahead of me? The darkness compounded by waves occasionally pushing at our knees makes me feel not so hopeful. I wonder if there are sharks around. Nerves are rattling around my insides, and I am shaking from more than just cold. We are still not inside water but we are close.
I feel her fumbling with her hands and hold her tightly afraid she is going off-balance, trying to be the anchor, at least until the sea is high enough to swallow us.
She switches on her phone torch and waves behind me, signalling. I dare not move, afraid of losing balance, but I hear voices at a distance.
The rescue team has arrived.
*****
Since the boat can’t come too close to the rock, the team passes rubber tubes to us and makes us jump in the ocean before someone pulls us on the boat. And, then to my utter mortification, I retch on the side of the boat while my fellow survivor holds me, so I wouldn’t fall off in the ocean again.
Way to make a first impression!
Once we are back on the dry land and the rescue team members are sure we are going to be okay, they drop us where we can find a ride to our respective hotels. Trying to redeem some of my lost dignity, I am the first to speak, “Now that we are still alive, where do you want to go?”
She smiles understanding my intention, “My flight for Switzerland is delayed for some years. Sigh! I’ll go to my hotel room instead. Do you have any cash for a taxi? Because my purse with my cash, card and hotel keys was washed off at the rock before I woke up. And Paytm needs a working phone. Mine is dead from all the water.”
“Mine is dead too but I do have some cash. Don’t you want to eat something first though? I’m famished.” Suddenly, after three days of being continuously queasy at the thought of food, I am ravenous. Extended periods of near-death experience and utter mortification, compounded with absolute relief, can do that to a person.
“It depends. Can I send him a picture?” She asks, unsure now that we are both on dry land, alive and free.
“I’d love one, but our phones drowned. They are dead, at least until someone looks at them.”
“Well, I see a mobile shop over there. And a restaurant. Let’s eat something and then get our phones fixed. Then, we can get an icecream photo.”
“Only if you make a kissy face!” I can feel a smile creeping in.
“Let’s both make kissy faces—you can send a copy to your fiancée too.” We both giggle at the thought.
“Let’s both pick some nice locations for full effect!”
She is full swing now, “I’ve heard this place has some pretty waterfalls. Want to go there tomorrow? And… I didn’t get your name?”
“That’s a really lame pick-up line, especially considering it’s coming from a girl.”
She swats my shoulder, and I make a face, like I was six again, sending her into a fit of giggles again. We are fellow-survivors, alive in the moment.
The rest of life can wait.
END
Photo by Kush Dwivedi on Unsplash
Short Stories 