Tag: Love

Posted in My life

Family That Wakes Together and Cries Together

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Most of you might already know that I am married in a joint family. In broad words, a joint family is several generations of people living together, that eat together and pray together. It includes a lot of shared laughter and duties, and everyone helps in chores and raising children, where it is impossible to tell who the real mother or father is. ❤️

Last year, my husband’s baby brother (now 28) got married (a detailed report on learning how to do make-up without poking myself in the eye is in another post: Link). This year he and his wife welcomed their first child. 🐣

Since the last child to be born in our house was nine years back, we had developed a very romanticised version of what would it be like to have another child in the house. We had totally forgotten the tornado that struck this house the last time. 🌪️

The first three days were spent with running to and fro between hospital and home, alongside entertaining a few guests who had come to enquire. Once the mom and baby came home and we believed the worst was behind us, we realised it was just a trailer.

Mayhem ensued. 🌪️🌪️🌪️

As most babies do, he sleeps during the day and wants to discuss gravity and poetry at night. 🌃 (I believe, in the first fortnight, his father actually managed to write several pieces full of enough pain to secure him a place in State Level Urdu Poetry competition.) Everyone was droopy. 😴 There were children’s things covering every surface while we were digging for baby clothes 👚, diapers 🚼 paper towels 🧻, milk feeder 🍼, baby food 🥫, nappies 🚼, handkerchiefs, more clothes 🎽👚, more diapers 🚼🚼…

Suddenly the pristine house looked like war zone. ☠️⚠️ We were all talking in whispers 😗 and tiptoeing around, afraid to set off the landmines that covered the floor of the house. We were praying for the baby’s mom to recover completely from her cesarean procedure so she’ll be able to take complete responsibility of the child. The day seemed close enough. But she developed post-surgical complications 🏥 and we were left to care for the baby as well as entertaining the numerous guests that now arrived in droves unannounced to offer congratulations and blessings.

Meanwhile, the baby 👶who is the most serene child 👼when with his mom🤱, wouldn’t stop crying 😭 while she was gone for her treatment three times a day.

It’s not like the new dad didn’t try feeding 🍼🍼🍼 him, but he was afraid. The baby is so tiny! Father couldn’t pick up the child without shaking with apprehension and having him in his lap was enough to give him high blood pressure. Burping him was an experiment he wasn’t ready to engage in.

By the fourth day of treatment, both Mom-in-law and I were in tears. Literally.

The baby’s glass feeder 🍼 had broken late last night and he wouldn’t feed without it. By the time a new one was bought seven hours later, he had rejected all our attempts to feed using a spoon 🥣 cried endlessly and we were ready to kill someone. Men in the family who hadn’t even tried holding him since they were afraid of hurting the pint-sized bundle, were wise enough to stand at a distance where we couldn’t reach them while holding the baby in our laps.

Thankfully the treatment ended at the end of fourth day, and the new mom became the primary caregiver again. The baby, after four days of crying jag, decided to go on sweet-and-quiet baby mode 👼. We are still helping the mom in every way we can, pitching in when she is too tired (He still wakes during the night and ensues endless discussions on a variety of philosophical subjects, insomnia being the main one). But we have a system in place, food in place, clothes in place, and his father has resigned himself to the fact that he is half the caregiver, sharing feeding, burping duties (now that the baby looks bigger than a new-born kitten). We are trying to promote him to diaper duties, but…

Well, I’ll think of a plan once I’ve slept for more than five hours. 🤣

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

Beautiful | Part 3 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the third part a Science fiction story from my latest short stories collection: A Window in Future. You can find the complete collection for free here: Books by Shaily You can find other parts here: Part 1 and Part 2

I jerk back realising something is actually dangling in front of me. It was the operating system of the car trying to hear my orders. I must have been speaking under my breath…

But why are we still in my apartment’s parking? Oh no! I forgot to give the destination location. Instructing my automated driver to take me to office, I continue my wool gathering.

I really like Mark—he is unlike other people I have known. He is respectful and funny, and his sense of humour is kind. I love spending time with him. Even though he comes from a very rich and famous family, he does not have the airs. He avoids paparazzi by using Image Converter outdoors. He even attended Derek’s wedding using the Image Converter too…or that’s what I assume—Derek told me that he came, and I couldn’t find him there. Well, it was better that way, considering that I had attended as my real self. (What old schoolmates think be damned!) The office staff was told that Derek’s bearded partner was out of town for a family emergency.

I had met Lee there. He didn’t recognise me at first, of course. I had to remind him of the day I wanted to kill myself because my boyfriend dropped me for having Werewolf syndrome; and of his valuable advice that day about using Image Convertor. When I told him about the avatar I was using, his wide-eyed look was worth a picture!

But he didn’t laugh at me. In fact, he was sweet, attentive and funny. While he danced with me, he held me longer than needed, and he even asked me out on a date. I wanted to go—to have a chance at love. But somehow, he reminded me of Mark too much—the tenor of his voice, the way he spoke more from his eyes than words, the way he never made fun of anyone and, yet, always had something funny to say…

And, at that moment, I wished it was Mark holding my hand and asking me out on a date. I realised I couldn’t do that to Lee.

I tried looking for Mark. For all I know, he could be one of the bridesmaids. (He can do that for a laugh!) I wanted to tell him about myself. In that moment of drunk insanity, I had thought that if Lee understood, then may be even Mark would. After all, hadn’t he also spent half his life hiding from people?

But later when the drinks were out of my system, I realised it was just wishful thinking. He might not understand at all—at least, he couldn’t overlook my potential of sprouting a beard and more. I can’t jeopardize our friendship for a chance at illusive love. I could have done that initially when he was just a client. But over the last few months, I have worked too closely with Mark. We have also gone to football matches cheering for the same teams. We have had too many breakfasts, lunches and dinners together along with heart‑to‑heart conversations.

Last weekend, we had gone to the dream arcade after dinner. While selecting our dream holiday destinations for a one-hour virtual vacation, I had declined taking an AI partner and Mark asked if I would take him along instead. It was the most beautiful and the most difficult hour of my life. Having him sitting next to me watching waves crashing against the rocks, hearing the seagulls cry and smelling the ocean, and later strolling along the rocky beach—

Even when we stepped out in the real world, the effect lingered. Mark was quieter than usual, his eyes deeper, and our parting handshake was one second too long. That second was enough for me to wish I had donned the Diva avatar.

When I told Derek, he insisted that I must come out clean and tell Mark the truth. I can’t take his advice though. While I have stopped being affected by other people’s opinion of me over the years, I can’t risk Mark’s amusement or even indifference. He is more than a friend, at least in my books. If he made even one joke about my beard, I’ll die.

*****

“You are at your destination,” my car reminds me. My car is now standing in the company’s parking lot and ignition is off and so is the air conditioning. The door has opened itself but, apparently, I am too lost to notice it all. I get down quickly and rush towards the lift, leaving the car to lock itself.

As expected, Mark is on time. But instead of the café, he is standing at the lift door and waving at me with a heart‑breaking smile. I sigh secretly and then, with a smile, I wave back, “Hi there, Derek couldn’t make it due to a personal situation.”

“I know.” he said, sheepishly. “I owe him one for that!”

He must have noticed my raised eyebrows because he added hastily, “I need to speak with you about a personal matter.”

I groan inwardly. I am used to Mark sharing his latest failed dates with me—somehow all his dates always fail since he expects genuine people and gets only bundles of make‑up and plastic smiles. I am usually okay with the discussion, but something has shifted inside me after the stroll on that virtual beach.

“Sure, tell me.” I try to infuse enthusiasm in my voice.

“I…uh…I wanted to talk about that virtual vacation we went on?”

Those words put me on high alert. I am sure he is thinking I am gay and lusting after him and wants to friend‑zone me. So, I try to play casual, “Yeah! It was nice but rather quiet. I am thinking, next time, let’s take AI partners, like a double date?”

He seems taken aback but then he gives an understanding smile, “I rather like nice and quiet vacations, especially with a pretty girl by my side.”

As my eyes widen at the word ‘girl’, he adds, “Well, the avatar you use is one of my favourites too. And you aren’t really that good an actress to pass off as a gay man, you know. Since you are a girl posing as a man, I assumed you…uh…like girls. But when I met you at Derek’s marriage, you told me the reason for your choice. It all made sense then.”

“But I never met you there at the marriage!”

“Yes, you did. You thought I was Lee!”

Incredulousness and incomprehension must be clear on my face because he smiled, “I was just using one of the lesser-used avatars, you know. I realised Lee also used it once I was in the middle of the wedding crowd and a group of Derek’s friends from college came to talk to me. Mostly, I just nodded. Some of them told me I looked taller…”, he smiled apologetically, his eyes pleading for understanding.

Seeing me speechless, he continued, “I always liked you…adored you actually. But after holding you in my arms at the wedding dance and later at the dream arcade the other day, I realised that I didn’t ever want to let you go.”

After a second of hesitation, he added softly, “You can keep your beard if it makes you happy. I love you either way.”

End

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

Beautiful | Part 2 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the second part a Science fiction story from my latest short stories collection: A Window in Future. You can find the complete collection for free here: Books by Shaily You can find other parts here: Part 1 and Part 3

Derek was supposed to meet Mark at the office gate first thing in the morning. Since he has bailed, I am supposed to do the honours. And I am running late. I gulp down the breakfast while my mother’s recorded message drones, “Eat slow. Chew well.” Normally, I would slow down just to honour her words. But today was not normal.

Well, it’s not like Mark would throw a fit. He will just sit in the café outside the office, buy coffee and croissants, and call me to meet him there. That is precisely what I want to avoid.

I quickly don my comfortable sandals that morph into formal men’s shoes and run out of the door as the house seals itself, and the house planner switches off electricity. When I jump in the passenger seat of my car, I realise that I forgot to cancel the dinner settings on the oven. Mark will insist that we go out for dinner. He has been like that lately. Butterflies take flight in my stomach at the thought of being alone with him over a dinner again.

But then all the butterflies shrivel and die—he believes I’m a man. So far, I have been pretty okay with this arrangement, even if people suspect me to be gay—there are stringent laws protecting people with different sexual orientation. There is no law, however, protecting people like the real me. At least, none that actually count.

*****

I and Derek had gone to different colleges. Since I was on medication, I had assumed the hairy mess to be behind me. I had met someone I liked. But his ex‑girlfriend dug into my past and plastered the college walls with that old Halloween post. After that, even though he already knew about my ‘condition’, he was unwilling to share my notoriety and broke up with me.

I had video‑called Derek that day and cried my eyes out. He had listened patiently for hours, interfering only when absolutely needed.

“Euthanasia is not a choice…”

“Your suicide will cause pain only to those who love you…”

“If you want, I can fly down to your college. I can break any noses that turn up on you!”

That was when his classmate, Lee, had come on the call, “Have you heard of Image Converter app? It can help you go incognito in college for the rest of your days there. Since your classmates won’t recognise you, they won’t sneer at you either.” I had my doubts, but he insisted, “I have been using the same app in college. You see, my family is a little too famous, and the paparazzi never left me alone. So, I use it to go incognito as well. I can walk you through the process and the required government documentation if you want.”

So, with the college counsellor’s help, I changed my identity to the bearded guy and started my new professional life. Familywise, I was okay to be myself. My family loved me. They wouldn’t care two hoots if I was a real werewolf. My brother would occasionally howl at the moon for my benefit, but I could always punch him in the guts. All I needed was a cover at work so I wouldn’t be judged professionally.

As far as love went, I couldn’t care less, or harbour any hope…that is, until I met Mark.

Derek never approved of my hiding behind a male identity, but he understood and supported me. When we started the company, he made sure our work‑culture was inclusive. Still, he keeps suggesting that I should come out of the closet. Is Mark another carrot he is dangling in front of me?

*****

I jerk back realising something is actually dangling in front of me. It was the operating system of the car trying to hear my orders. I must have been speaking under my breath…

But why are we still in my apartment’s parking? Oh no! I forgot to give the destination location. Instructing my automated driver to take me to office,

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

Beautiful | Part 1 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the first part a Science fiction story from my latest short stories collection: A Window in Future. You can find the complete collection for free here: Books by Shaily.

“What avatar would you like today?” The Image Converter app starts interrogating me as soon as I step out of bath and begin pulling on my comfortable skirt.

“The usual, please,” I reply, gritting my teeth for what is sure to come.

“Are you sure, you don’t want to try the latest Diva or Corporate Femme avatars? They are more popular and would suit your personality better.”

For a moment I am tempted to try the Diva avatar just so that I can impress Mark. But who am I kidding?

“The usual, please”, I repeat, habitual of resisting the daily offer. Earlier, I had tried explaining my dilemma to Image Convertor; that I have Werewolf Syndrome or what doctors call as Hypertrichosis; that I do not want to present myself as a perfect woman since I am not one. But Artificial Intelligence seems to lack emotional intelligence. So, now I just keep repeating the order until it gives in.

After a few failed attempts at making me look feminine, it relents, “As you wish.”

In the mirror across the room, I can see my clothes converting into an electric blue formal suit and a neat beard growing out of my clean face, Ironically, I also have smoky eyes and lipstick. Sigh! “Make the suit grey and remove the make‑up.”

My Image Converter gives an exaggerated sigh and removes the virtual make‑up, turning me into a regular bearded man. From prior experience, I know that my voice has changed too. The beard is for irony, of course. Afterall, my facial and body hair is the reason I use the Image Converter app. There was a time when I wanted to look like a normal girl and have a normal life. But as a woman with a potential of growing an actual beard, I am the biggest irony of all.

*****

I rush into the lounge. The Day Planner app activates at my footsteps and begins reciting my day’s engagements. I curse Derek under my breath for ditching me yet again for this meeting with Mark. I would rather be sleeping and dreaming about that man than meet him alone face‑to‑face.

The food processor alarm breaks my reverie and my breakfast of eggs and bacon slides in front of me along with a mug of iced latte. I shovel food in my mouth as I read emails displayed on the wall‑screen. If I wasn’t so angry at Derek, I would have taken time to appreciate the effort he took to install the wall screen. I always complained that palmtop screen in the office was just too tiny, but there is client privacy to be considered. More importantly, Derek keeps sending stupid jokes that I can’t let the staff see; there is reputation to uphold—his and mine. So, he installed the wall screen at home for the days when I am working from home—today was supposed to be one.

But he had called me this morning bright and early that I had to rush to office on my work‑from‑home day because he was bailing on me for ‘unavoidable reasons’. He must be taking Stacey out for shopping again. He has been doing that a lot ever since their marriage. Usually, I don’t mind but today, we were supposed to meet Mark for an on‑site meeting, and I hate the thought of being alone with him all day long. Well, not really hate…

In fact, I like it too much… which scares me witless.

*****

Ever since his engagement, Derek has been pushing me to take over some of his older and stable clients to free up his time. Mark is one of them. This is the fifth time in Derek’s two-month-old marriage that he left me alone with Mark.

I wish Derek isn’t my bestie, so I can kill him without remorse. But he is and so I can’t. We started school together when I used to be a normal person. When I hit puberty and my facial and body hair started growing beyond the normal length, he was the only one who stuck around a ‘werewolf’. Considering my great-great-grand aunt had the same affliction, my parents were somewhat prepared and got me the medical attention, but I was still underage for the highly restricted medication and by the time I received government approval, I looked closer to a wolf than a human.

I missed the year at school and stayed at home until the medicines stopped the hair growth and I shed the ‘fur’. I had also stopped socialising to keep the news from spreading, but the story leaked out somehow and someone took a picture of me at my worst and published on the school newspaper.

After this incident, I was a laughingstock. All my friends shunned me, fearing that my exceptionally low social status would rub off on them. Only Derek didn’t care about what others thought. He would tell people off when they wouldn’t leave me alone, meeting snarky comments with snarky comments. Once, he even punched a guy who posted that same photo on social media as a Halloween joke.

And Derek’s friendship is the reason I didn’t commit suicide after my horrendous last year at the college. And that is why, I am currently suppressing the fantasy of strangling him to death and concentrating on getting ready at full speed.

To be continued

You can find other parts here: Part 2 and Part 3

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Published, Random Thoughts, Science Fiction

Sigh!

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is a story from my sixth short stories collection: A Window in Future. To read all the six stories together, find the book available for free here: Books by Shaily.

Sigh! Red suits her!

As always, I am stealing glances at Sabrina—the pretty femme at the reception across my table. She is decked up for the event at the hotel today, wearing a red dress that makes her even more magnetic than usual. Her melodious voice fills the hall as she greets each arrival and inquires their details and requirements. She is scanning each invitation card for authenticity, and I wish I was one of those cards, just so that she would notice me. But I know my wish is wasted.

Sabrina is a state‑of‑art Social Interactive Belle Android (SIBA).

I, on the other hand, am an old piece of junk with technology so obsolete that it is a wonder I can still work. They call me a restored piece of history—an antique Personal Computer or PC. But honestly, it is just a way of saying that I am a useless item meant for display only.

I often wonder why they installed me at all. Nobody uses me. They just bought me seven months, 23 days and 15:29:14 hours back to celebrate the first century of the hotel (2003‑2103 AD). Every morning, they just boot my system, grumbling all the while about the time it takes to get me going. And, then they switch on the screensaver videos that show the landmark moments in the hotel’s history. These screensavers are displayed on various e‑walls inside the hotel. That’s all I do all day.

They don’t even need me to do it. They could have easily used a thumb-sized nano‑chip displayer for that. I think they have bought me just because of when they started a hundred years back, they had a PC exactly like me at the reception where Sabrina now stands. It is featured in a lot of their pictures from the initial years. They have been telling the guests that I am the same PC—a symbol of antiquity and reliability, just like the hotel itself.

Mark of antiquity, my foot! (Well, in a manner of saying…)

Sabrina is flirting with a handsome guest. I have an urge to let sparks fly. Of course, it is all innocent fun. She has been programmed to be pleasant with everyone, and a bit of flirting is acceptable. It is not like they are running away with her. But she flirts with everyone except me!

My screen flickers due to frustration. It has been happening a lot lately. The closest bot who works as the bellboy rolls his camera‑eyes and moves close to Sabrina to wind me up some more.

Sabrina smiles at him and chats up about the latest updates she has received—the security patches and the latest voice modulator that allows her to speak in two hundred and fifty languages. She is looking at me with a smile as she speaks about it; the smile holds a hint of disdain.

What did I do to earn her contempt? Her coldness makes my screen flickers again—rapidly this time.

She probably knows I never receive any security patches. I am not even connected to the hotel’s tech‑systems. They say I can’t bear the load. It is all a lie, of course. They don’t want to risk mixing old technology with the new one. They just want me to look nice until they don’t need me anymore.

I hate being here. The antique technology shop from where I was bought was a lot more civil than this place. Over here, none of the bots communicate with me. They are all high‑end, drunk‑on‑technology snobs. They all have their own new terabytes to process without adding my old bits into the mix.

I am an outsider and a poor one at that.

I often think of the old days when I was a new home PC. The Mother would work from home through me, and her kid would beg for screen time to play online‑games. They would caress me every day with a soft cloth and treat me reverently. Their everyday life ran around me: the morning news, food recipes, home‑office work, music, games, movies…

It was a busy life; one with a sense of fulfilment.

And when I did retire, my new owner had kept me carefully among others of my own age. We would snooze all day and chat up when one of us was awake. Some of us were sold for parts but that was expected. None of us can live forever.

When the hotel had bought me, I thought it was the end of me; that they would use parts of me to fix something they had. I was glad for it too. A life of doing nothing did not sit well with me. Little did I know that they would put me on display like a dinosaur fossil to be scorned at everyday by the only one I ever desired.

I look up at Sabrina again; she is laughing at something the bellboy said and looking at me derisively. Of course, the joke is at my expense. The pent‑up rage is all‑consuming now and I see red. My internal wiring is hot, probably sparking.

My screen flickers again—very rapidly this time, like an old man wheezing. I can’t see anymore but I hear Sabrina’s concerned voice getting more distant by each nano‑second—not concerned for me but for the hotel’s reputation being killed by “useless antiquated technology and a worthless asset”.

I feel someone pull my plug.

I hope it is finally the end.

Photo by Bernd 📷 Dittrich on Unsplash

Posted in My life

Matters of Heart: Act 9

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal
Daily writing prompt
What’s the funniest misunderstanding you’ve ever been part of?
View all responses

I have always been a bit of a dope when it came to matters of heart. It doesn’t help that love is a forbidden territory in India. The word “Love” is frowned upon like “Covid”. Any male (regardless of age) guilty of broaching the topic with a girl is beaten by her brother, father, uncle, brother’s friends or neighbours in general. Even married couples don’t hold hands in front of their family, afraid that someone might accuse them of spreading the virus.

That’s why lovers hide in plain sight using a code language that I had never been able to crack. So when guys made passes at me, they all passed by me without making a dent, or even a scratch…

When I was in the second year of college, I was pretty boyish myself–I was one of the few girls in my college who had her own ride and never had eyebrows done (in fact I had nearly a unibrow. I never used makeup, wore pants more often than salwar suits, walked ungracefully and my laughter was often compared to a generator.

My close friend had joined a coaching and there were quite a few older boys there who talked to her. I walked with her from college to the coaching and sat with her until her classes started. The first day, I cautioned her against a guy in particular. He felt to be a “bad boy”, though I had no idea why. There was an air around him that called out to girls left, right and center. I had a feeling he welcomed ALL of them.

Since I was quite boyish, I never expected boys to notice me. So, I didn’t follow my own advice and befriended him. By befriending means that I would talk to him outside their coaching in public setting and visit his home to meet his family (who were superb people, by the way).

A few months down the lane, he told me through my friend that he “liked” me–Indian code for “want to date”. I called him to discuss the matter and laughed out loud throughout the conversation despite his swearing that he was telling the truth. I “knew” it was a prank to pull my leg later.

He said that to every girly girl. And I was not a girly girl.

Gradually, it became an ongoing joke between us where he would propose me and I will say “No”, because I “knew”.

One day, when I called him over the phone, he told me about his ex-girlfriend who was my classmate. And he told me that “he loved the way she loved him.”

See, I “knew”!

I nodded understandingly–clearly, he was looking for a way to get back with her. I wanted to help, hoping it will stop him from running behind ever available girl (including me) and settle down for a single sweet one instead. So, the next time I had a conversation with this girl, I told her about what he had said.

Soon after that his sister fell ill and I went to visit her. This girl was there too, and it looked like they were between a serious conversation.

He asked me, “What did you say to her?”

He didn’t look pleased, so I tried to stall, “We are classmates and say a lot of things to each other. Which one in particular are talking about?”

“About me and –“

“Exactly what you told me over the phone.”

The girl looked triumphant and the guy flustered. After that the room became quite uncomfortable. I couldn’t understand why he would tell me something like that if he didn’t expect me to pass it over to her.

It took me nearly seven years to figure out he was trying to make me jealous.

Stupid me!

Posted in Fiction

Seen: Part 2 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

This is the second instalment of my new short story.

I am rather late due to road construction on the way. I called my date to inform him, but he never picked up. So, I left him a message, but he is yet to return the call. Is he stuck in the same traffic problem?

I slip out of the taxi and walk inside the restaurant. My date is my sister’s colleague and, according to her, just my type. I’m already scared because my type has been going wrong all these years.

I open the restaurant door and notice the rectangular frame behind the receptionist. Before I can avert my eyes to avoid what is surely a mirror, I see a black shirt and maroon tie, his face lonely and lost, like he has been waiting for quite some time. My heart squeezes and I wonder if the woman has stood him up. What woman would do that to someone as sweet as him? Even though I am relieved he isn’t being cozy with anyone, I want to smack the woman for hurting him.

Sigh! I don’t need that on my date.

I walk up to the receptionist, avoiding peeking at him and concentrating hard on the back of the receptionist’s desktop, and enquire for my date. He hasn’t arrived, nor left a message. Has he stood me up too?

Undecided, I ask for my table. The receptionist opens a door in the wall behind her and gestures at the table reserved for me.

But my eyes travel to a different table. Apparently, the “mirror” behind the reception is a see-through glass. I sit down at my assigned seat facing ‘him’. My eyes keep drifting at him.

It has been fifteen minutes since I came here. He is looking down at his wristwatch, getting impatient.

Another ten minutes pass by. He is calling someone on the phone but isn’t getting any response.

When will we ever really meet?

I realise I am focusing more on his date not showing up than mine. I twirl the spoon in my hand for something to do, assuming I will see him in the surface but all I see is my own face reflecting back!

Is it because he is right here? Or has fate decided to stop intervening? Is it the last time I see him? I wait as I chew on my thoughts.

Another ten minutes…

Time is running out. I watch him rise out of his seat, having decided to give up. I hate the defeated look on his face. I twirl the spoon in my hand to avoid looking at him. It reflects me back.

Will I ever see him again? Am I okay not seeing him ever again, considering, until lately, I always thought of him as a pest? The thought churns my stomach.

He straightens his shoulders and raises his head. Our eyes meet. I can’t help asking, “Hi, were you waiting for someone?”

I just added insult to his injury. Who wants to talk about something like this. So, this is the moment when he should huff out of the room. But he nods solemnly, “Seems like something important came up so she couldn’t make it.”

I like it that he is not acting mad or trying to put her down. Always the gentleman.

He doesn’t need this. Doesn’t deserve this.

My mouth opens without my meaning to speak, “Will you have dinner with me instead?” My voice comes out all wrong, and I realise how forward I’m being through this proposition. What would he think of me?

His eyes are wide with surprise and confusion. I clear my throat and try to look casual, “I know it’s a lot to ask. But my date is late enough to assume he stood me up and I don’t want to eat alone.”

He raises an eyebrow, second guessing if I am crazy and, if not, why I want to invite a complete stranger to dinner. The silence lasts a few seconds while he considers the offer—long enough to give me a flash back of all the years I have waited for him. My heart is running a mile a minute. For the first time in my life, I have taken the lead. If he declines, I will never be able to live it down. Should I retract the offer? Say I was just kidding?

Looking at my hands, I wrestle internally with all the excuses I can come up with to leave the place. But before I can bolt out of the door, he simply shrugs his shoulders with a smile and sits down in front of me, “Well, if you are sure! I need to eat something too, I guess. By the way, I’m—”

And so it begins.

END

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

Seen: Part 1 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

This is the first instalment of my new short story.

As I apply make-up for my date in front of my mirror, I shrink when I see ‘him’. He is fixing his tie—maroon—on a black shirt. My heart sinks at what it could mean. Did a woman give him this tie? Is he trying to impress someone?

I don’t want to distrust him by questioning something as simple as his dressing style. It could just be a formal occasion at home; perhaps, a cousin’s engagement or marriage. Is he the best man? Will he flirt with the bride’s maid?

Well, it could be just a business meeting, but it is weekend and he is whistling.

The thought of him with another woman pinches my heart. I thought I had learnt to live my life knowing he would continue to live his life without me. Lately, we had been getting along well—me avoiding looking at him like a star-struck teenager and him staring at…

…nothing…

…since, he can’t see me on this side of the mirror.

I first saw him on my seventeenth birthday, when I wished on the birthday candles to see my true love—I know! Miserable! But I had just caught my boyfriend cheating on me and it seemed an appropriate wish at that time….until I went to wash my hands in the sink. There he was in the mirror eating popcorn while watching television! I let the matter drop for the moment, assuming I was hallucinating.

But soon I realised that my stars weren’t dropping it. After that, I could see him in every reflective surface—mirrors, puddles on the road, window panes, steel dinner plates and cutlery—whenever he was in front of a reflective surface too. That includes car’s rearview mirrors, which made me incapable of driving. Putting on make-up depended on whether he was in front of a reflective surface or not. I changed my schedule to match his. I wake up before him so that I don’t forget my own face and I avoid looking around between 7 and 7:30 while he uses bathroom.

Earlier, seeing him did not enthrall me—in fact, it irritated me no end. Who wants to see a scrawny teenager taking a shower, kissing a girl in college parking lot or smoking his first cigarette with friends? When he acquired a smart phone, all reflective surfaces would reflect him intent on phone gaming for hours and I have come to know the inside of his ear so well I could be his ENT specialist. And now that he works in front of a computer all day, I see him all day working.

So, obviously, I actively tune him out, almost like having switched on reality TV on mute but choosing not to see it for long stretches of time. There are times when I can’t help it though, like when he started growing up into a better person, helping old people on the road and pulling out chairs for ladies.

One thing I have never seen him doing, though, is cheat on a girlfriend. A few months back, I witnessed his meltdown in the shower. I think his steady girlfriend dumped him because I stopped seeing her with him after that. And then he zombie-zoned for months until a couple of weeks back when he was finally able to smile at something. This is his first “tie-day” ever since.

This incident is what did it, I’m sure. All of a sudden, I could finally see him as a person, and not just a splotch in the background. Ever since then, I have steadily degenerated into a girl crushing on a reality TV star, all without any hope of ever meeting him.

Honestly, I never waited for him. I’ve had my own set of dates and a couple of boyfriends. Now, after an year of my last painful break-up, I’m back in the dating circle. This is my fifth attempt at dating since nobody seems to click. That’s why, I don’t want to see ‘him’ kiss another girl tonight and end up comparing my date with him. So far, it has always ended up in immediate disappointment.

To be continued

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

Posted in Poetry

Cluttered

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Vaguely aware of the piles of thought

Inside my autumnal head;

Smelling reminiscence rot;

Feeling a little mislead.

I am somewhat cold

On the usually warm bench;

Almost missing your arms,

Making my heart wrench.

Spring cleaning was ere long due.

Clearly, while leaving leaves behind, you

Blew them really far apart,

Scattering my heart

To the wind.

Now I’m forever cluttered,

Trapped in autumn.

Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

The Ceremony: Part 2 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the second instalment of my latest short story.

My eyes follow her as she moves towards the shadows behind the throne, glancing at the throne nervously. The Royal Couple is not there. Honestly, I haven’t seen them since she danced with her father. It isn’t normal for the Royal Couple to leave the room during an event.

Is she looking for them?

Are they alright?

The warrior in me spurs in action. I follow her quietly in a room behind the throne.

She turns around and challenges me, her sword at the ready, “Why are you following me?”

“I wish to help if there is an emergency. The Royal Couple is not on the dance floor. I haven’t seen them for quite some time.”

“They are fine. You can leave.”

Her attitude puts me off. She is hiding something. “What are you hiding? Where is the Royal Couple?”

My question throws her off as she fumbles, “I’m not hiding anything. They are fine. They just—”

Her words are cut off with a feminine shriek. The voice is coming not from the hall but from the wall behind her. It urges her into action.

She speaks quickly as she quietly moves the fake wall behind her, “This is a secret tunnel which leads to a hidden inner chamber. I thought my parent went there because they didn’t want to be overheard. Now I’m not so sure.”

Swords out, we enter the tunnel and the door closes behind us, leaving us in complete darkness. The woman shrieks again—The Queen? I take off after the Princess as fast as I can without announcing our presence.

Suddenly the shrieks change to giggles, “Please don’t. Don’t. Stop it. I can’t take it anymore.”

There is a slow rumble of laughter as the Consort’s voice follows, “But you said nothing I do could make you laugh again. You lose! So, now you have to forgive me.”

The Princess is looking utterly mortified at her parent’s childishness.

“Okay!” Queen sighs, “But I still think it was wicked of you to trip the boy. Nala’s breaches were ruined.”

The Princess stiffens.

The Consort countered, “I had to! Ester wasn’t giving her a chance. He wasn’t dancing and, when I saw him slinking out, I had to act on my feet. I wanted him to see she wasn’t some pampered Princess he believes her to be.”

Are they…are they talking about me?

The queen interjected, concern lacing her voice, “Did he say that about her?”

“No. But I could see it in his face when she stepped into the room. Well, you can’t fault him for that, considering how shy she is and tries to look strong to hide her nervousness in public events? One would think she is snubbing people. So, I had to prove him wrong. I saw his face as he waited for her to blast the boy and how his jaw dropped when she went all soft on him.”

Nala shoots me a look, quickly averting her eyes like I had burned her. It is my turn to be mortified. She has understood who they are talking about.

The Queen sounds wary, “But, how can you be sure Ester is the right man for her?”

“Well, he is a decent man—doesn’t want to marry for wealth and position. As his father puts it, ‘Only love has the power to tuck away his sword…’ Only after seeing her soft side did he join the ceremonial dance, which means he likes her for the right reasons.”

“So, will you tell her to choose him?”

“No. I would prefer her to find him, like I found you all those years ago. The moment you touched my hand, I knew…”

Nala sucks a breath beside me.

The shuffling sounds make me realise where this conversation is going and I tug at her sleeve. We run out of the tunnel quietly. As we brush our clothes to straighten them in an attempt to avoid each other’s eyes, she whispers sadly, “I am not a snob, you know.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She nods stiffly, moves quickly ahead of me and joins the festivities again as far away from me as possible. The Queen and her Consort follow us soon after, looking as if they had been here all along. No one could guess they were hiding away like teenagers just a moment back.

During the dance, I catch the Princess looking at me several times, averting her gaze quickly as if caught. Her face is impassive—the mask is on. I would give anything to make her smile at me again. As our turn to dance together is coming and my stomach is churning with anxiety, I realise I want her to choose me.

She looks a bit pink in the face herself as she faces me. We dance with swords striking with wordless grace in rhythm with the music, The quiet steel in her eyes is stabbing me over and over. We haven’t known each-other, but I feel like a traitor for judging her. I have to do something to make her forgive me. Anything to bring that smile back.

As she passes close to me, I do the most inappropriate thing a warrior can do—I tickle her with my free hand.

Her eyes open wide and I give her a devilish smile, like issuing a challenge.

I see Nala trickling through the Princess as the steel in her eyes melts into a mischievous smile.

Challenge accepted.

End