Tag: short story series

An Idiot’s Love story : The Stalking (Part 3)

I felt kind of cheated. Not by her. But by my own thoughts which had already started building up 2bhk apartments of imaginations where there had not even been a foundation laid. Even thoughts of me getting laid. 😛

I was stupid. Yes, I was. Being a romantic is a pain in your own ass, you know. You turn every single incident, every single statement and gosh, even you try to read the hidden meanings those smilyes might give off.

Why you ask? Well for starters, I tried to start off a conversation on facebook instead of actually going to her and talking, because you know, I just couldn’t!

So, there I was, sending her a friend request on facebook.

Oh, yes I’ve grown quite addicted to this, thanks to a little jealousy and to sharpen my stalking skills. With anticipation and worries, the night went on. Finally, got the notification that my request was accepted. Yes, I was happy and more so, relieved. A smile flashed in between the lecture, to which the professor gave me a strange look. Thankfully, it just stopped at that. Yeah, the look from him, not my smile.

From that, chats became a regular affair. Of course, I had to initiate those chats every night. Was yet to talk to her in person, but there was no stopping me to continue. And well, as it turned out I wasn’t the only one after her. Not just via this stupid fb chat, but on a lot of “platforms”, from restaurants to late-night walks to helping her in projects. Damn, and I was pinging her on facebook!!

So when this castle started showing cracks of being broken, with the heart breaking stories of her outings with others, and one in particular. I tried to talk one day, and move my online communication to the offline world. But then, the way it all unfolded only made me shrink in with the fear of never getting to be with her. Thoughts of me not of “her league”, not the one she is looking for and a whole lot, creeped in, like a storm.

What happened was a simple incident, a group of friends standing and there she swooped in to talk to one of them, even I mustered up courage to say a few words, afterall even I was one of her friend too, even though it was just facebook. But what I uttered, couldn’t travel the distance of a 2 feet!! Maybe she didn’t hear or maybe she just ignored. And I still repeated the same thing thrice, only to witness my words just fizzing off without getting to her ears.

Not that I never got to talk to her ever again. Staying in a residential college has its own perks, of having to cross paths multiple times and somehow during those “incidents” we did got talking. But then did anything happened or build on post those? Nope, not with me atleast.

A few days later she was with someone else. So, I became the guy, who admired her, while she walked around with someone else. Stalking her.

It wasn’t the end though. I did got my second chance.

What happens next ? Be there to find out soon. Also do read the first two parts of the story.

Part 1 & Part 2

As narrated by the Idiot, with minimum exaggerations and enhanced expressions. For further development keep waiting. 

The Broken Window : The scars

The flower-lady was back. The ritual of spreading out her shop on the pavement continued. Carefully placing the basket down from her head and a small broom wrapped around in a polybag and as soon as she could get the dog clear away her area she started cleaning the place.

Settling herself down in the place, she started off arranging the flowers in a particular sequence. Nothing had changed. Nothing appeared to be any different from what it was before. Probably I was in my reverie again when that happened. Or did something actually happen?

I finished my cup of coffee, which didn’t taste the usual, probably because of the milk, or God knows what it was.  I had this urge to go and talk with the lady, not sure why, but I just did.

On the pretext of buying flowers, I went. This was the first time, I actually went there. Of course, she was a regular in my having-a-cup-of-coffee-and–staring-outta-my-window schedule, yet it never occurred to me to go and talk to her. To satiate this sudden urge, I went ahead.

flower garland jasmine

I just handed her a 50 rupee note and took hold of a garland which was arranged in sequential order from the time she had arrived. All I could see were jasmine flower garlands around, wondering for a moment how beautiful they looked. She looked clueless, handing the note in her hand, and staring back at me with an answer. Her faced asked a question but I got lost into thoughts of the scars on her face. I got back from that when she finally asked, “Bhaiyya Change nahi hai ?”  But again, I didn’t have any change.

I showed her my room through the same broken window and told her that I’ll come and get it the next morning. I thought of asking her, how she got those scars in her face, but couldn’t. Way back to the room, the only thing I thought of was those scars.

Only to be reminded of something else from my past, memories which I had always tried to forget.

“Leave Her, please leave her” I shouted as much as I could. Helplessly just hitting him with my little hands. Gathering all the strength I had, lifting whatever I could and throw at him, but only to find that his tall bulky body would resist it all with a hearty laugh.

My cries to the monster fluctuated from being one for being helplessly pleading to him to shouting with rage. But for kid like me, it all looked just like a cry.

I tried brush aside the flashback. The childhood memories were something I didn’t want to recall. Some things are better left forgotten, and this was definitely one of them.

I went inside and lock the door closed.

 

Read what happens next, in the broken Window in the next post.

 

In case you haven’t read the previous ones, here you go!! 

Part 2 : The Broken Window: and she stood there 

Part 1:  The Broken Window

 

The Broken Window : And she stood there…

(Read the First part of The Broken Window here)

The bell rang. But opening the door, made things even worse.

She was standing right there!!! And it all came knocking down, like a flashback.

We never realize the potential of flashbacks, the age old drama technique used on celluloid, but when it strikes for real, its hell.

The moment froze. She stood there, and I did the same. It was as if I choked internally, only I didn’t. Thankfully, she extended a big “Hiii” to make me skip the continuous live stream of flashback in front of my eyes. Stretching my facial tissues only to form a picturesque smile and to move my jaws in typical fasion, I welcomed her inside.

For her, it was as if nothing had happened. And frankly, Nothing had happened.

Everytime, I saw her. Or even her regularly changing DPs in any of the social networks, it only took me back to her thoughts, which was part of the elaborate stalking exercise.

This one time, she was going on about something, and as always I was only trying hard to concentrate on listening on what her little mouth was blabbering. Nodding my head in between, and mixing it up with the “oooh’s and achaa”.

My eyes would wander around her face, making its way from her wobbling eyes to the straight path down her nose only to land on her moving lips. Then struggling to solve the dilemma of choosing one side to wriggle out of her dimples to rest on those flawless cheeks. Completing a full circle, I’ll wander back to her eyes, which would have grown twice the size from when I started the little trip around her face.

Sun bhi rahe ho ya nahi ?”

And a standard “Haan be” would follow the question, with a little guilt of lying and resolve to listen. Meanwhile, controlling my urge of going on another trip.

Her, bleak little voice called me up. Oye, Sun!!, while I stood there beside the door lost in thoughts.

She looked tensed, but I won’t say that this was the first time; I’ll have to become her sobbing pillow. I had tried my best to stay away from her, from her life and problems. But somehow it would happen that we’ll end up in the very same situation. Call it routine, or destiny, I’ll call it the story of my life.

Anyways, it was something related to the guy which she went on and on about, I tried my best to reason, console and whatever I could holding myself on rational grounds. I wouldn’t say it’s tough to do it, but definitely irritating to the core. Khair, once it was all done and maybe after a few days things were back to being normal for her, life was back to being the same. How would I know of that? Well, No news from her side, meant things were fine.

And the usual would follow. Devoting my time to either penning something down on the laptop or being lost in reveries through the broken window, peeping across the street. Reveries were my true companion. They gave me company, and not limiting myself to times when I’m alone but even when I’m in the midst of a crowd. It’s now part of my identity, finding its way out through my thoughts. My broken thoughts, through windows like these. The broken window.

The Broken Window

 

The window through which children across the streets played football with polythene wrapped like one, the window through which you see countless birds sitting on those tree branches, flying across and the window through which I could see a very different world and Oh, the window through which the flower-woman struggled to sell flowers every day.

Although, there was bheed in front of the flower-woman today. But from what I could notice, it was not to buy flowers from her. I had my doubts on what it was.

My phone rang in the same time. A minutes’ gap to answer the call and when I came back, the woman was not there.

 

Strange!!! Where did they took her ?

 

Read what happens next in The Broken Window in the next post. 

 

Part 1 of The Broken Window Series

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén