Now, as I sit down to tell you this history of these two people, I do not know where to start and where to end. Like Julian Barnes said in one of his boring novels, nothing starts at one point, and nothing ends at one – there are always many beginnings and many ends. So, I guess I would not assume to tell you something that I too do not know much about, but yes, I shall tell you their story in my own way, the way my eyes had seen it, like a dream.

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That day, when she wore a blue dress with white, long flowers on it, she was elegant, as always. The sky matched her dress, and the still, silent weather suited her extremely stable emotional state. She had long, semi-curly hair that followed her spine to her thighs, through her behind. To not recognize such a splendid spectacle for so long, he should be stupid in one or the other sense. But that is okay, I guess. When he did recognize that, he started not only to love it but also to feel extremely possessive about it, like, on a head-bath day he was so worried about everyone else admiring her hair, he started to either slow down or accelerate extremely when he thought someone else on the streets was enjoying her curly hair-falls. Anyway, that day, when she was matching the climate, what he was doing, I do not know. He was wearing a white tee and blue track pants, and he looked okay as he always did. He suggested that she had a ribbon for her hair, for they were going on a long drive on a bike, and he was worried about her hair fall. She obliged.

They had two backpacks – both of them black, one of which was on the petrol tank of the bike, and the other, over her shoulders. To have a bag or anything else between them could not happen. He tried to drive as pleasantly as he could, but not pleasant enough for her. The breeze was perfect; the sun, who had scorched them till a few days ago, seemed to have a nap behind the clouds; the city was sparse and the roaring of the sea was in perfect tune with the serenity of their hearts. She rested her head on his shoulder. Like they always did, they were enjoying their moments too much.

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It is not pleasant to begin their story and end it abruptly, but we can make perfect sense of this tale if we start to look at it from two ends. So, let me parallelly tell you another story of theirs, which happened exactly after six months after the above one, and this second one might not be as soothing as you would like it to be.

It was the month of May, and the sun was burning ruthlessly. Outside a wedding hall, he was standing in the sun, wearing a white cotton shirt and blue jeans. His vest was lined with all the sweat he was squeezing out. His already wet handkerchief was of no use, so he kept it away and started to wipe his forehead with his sleeve, which was being stripped yellow with every swipe. Along with him, there was a little boy, who had come to him with a whitepaper – a letter from the bride. Say, a secret letter.

He folded it and secured it in his pants, and continued waiting. What was in the letter? He could not muster the courage to open it. But he had his guesses about its contents. While he was holding the kid and was lost in his thoughts, someone shouted, “The groom is coming!” and a train of ten or twelve cars emerged at the street end. Everyone was on alert. The cars disturbed the settled dust, and in no time, the doors were being opened, and the many hands were being shaken, and a few hugs here and there, and loud voices booming in hearty greetings. He and a few other men were helping with the luggage. It was then, when he gave a couple of plastic bags to the kid and was about to haul up a very heavy trolley, that he looked up, and found her.

In a green silk saree and a pink blouse with a golden texture. The bride. She was there at the window. Behind the glass. He hair was braided with flowers that suited her lips and eyes, and her dress and ornaments. He started at her for a moment. He felt his breath being lost on him. What was she doing? Was she smiling? Or silently crying? Or, was she, being herself, reflecting her heartbreak as immense anger? Was she just looking at him nonchalantly, or being stubborn even to express her pain to herself?

No time. Things to get done.

With one heavy heave, he screamed and pulled the trolley out of the van. One of his friends made a funny remark about him being a pehlwan, for which he laughed loudly, and he jabbed at his friend with another joke. There were a few laughs.

Nervously, he looked up again and found her walking away from the window. He felt things breaking inside him in utter silence.

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After an hour of the bike ride, they had reached their destination, a star hotel, in which he had been promising a two-night stay for very long. She got off the bike, looked at the luxury before her, and was impressed. “Howz it?” He asked, for which she turned towards him and nodded her approval.

Someone came to them and picked up the bag that was on the tank on the bike. When her backpack was requested, she denied any help. He laughed at it and remarked how happy he would be if she were half-possessive about him of what she had been about her baggage. She mocked him with a sarcastic smile, and asked him to park the bike and come, while she went and opened the room.

She went to the reception, took the keys, and after filling in the minimum formalities, she had the room service following her as she went up to the fourth floor on the lift and walked the corridor. She opened the room by herself and was amazed by the beauty of the room. It was perfect. The soft lighting, blurred bathroom glass, the cool marble floor, and the blue window curtain hovering before one of the largest windows she had encountered in her life.

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He went up, leading the luggage parade, and he could not break a smile, but could not stop smiling too. Obligatory. When he walked up the stairs with bags and was crossing the bride’s room, he looked at it, carrying his friends’ fun as a smile, and there she was, with a white cloth in her hands, being muddled; her chin wrinkled, pinning down the pain bursting out of her throat; and then her eyes, red, and glossy. She saw him smiling. He wanted to stop and scream, “It was obligatory! I was not smiling. I am not happy. I am. . . Heartbroken too,” but he knew better. He walked away, his head down, smile faded.

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She felt the walls, the bed, and the feather-soft cushion on it, and walked to the closed window. The room service asked her permission to leave, and she waved him away. Just when the room service was leaving, he entered with tons of excitement and saw her enjoying the ambiance. She turned back and looked at him. He removed his shoes and started to walk towards her. She smiled and turned towards the window. As he walked towards her, she threw open the curtains, grandly. Before them: the wide, wide, blue, blue sea. Just beautiful. Just perfect.

“This is why I took all these pains to get us this room,” he said, coming closer to her.

“I think I love it,” she said, looking at the scenery.

He went till the closest to her, and from behind, very softly, very, very softly, he touched her hands. In a gentle way, she lifted them and wrapped herself in her arms, with his over hers.

“We can see the sunset, you know?” he said.

She laughed. Oh god! What laugh was that? His heart burst with beauty.

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After everything was over, he went inside the washroom and opened the letter. “Come to my room,” it said. Simply. In her curvy handwriting. He did not know what to do. But he would do anything that was asked of him by her. He went. When she saw him coming towards her room, she asked everyone to leave the room for a moment, and they did. No one, in his story, seemed to go against her. And as they all came out; he waited and entered the room.

She asked him to sit on the sofa, closed the door, and locked it.

He was head-bent, burdened with heavy breaths, choked with thick lumps, and his vision started to blur out with tears. His legs seemed not to stop moving, and his body seemed to be shrinking.

She came, and she sat beside him. She started at him for a while, which she often did not. As she was staring at him, he reluctantly let a few drops fall off his eyes and regretted the next moment. Maybe she let a few drops too, he did not look at her. He did not know. All he was looking were at his feet and hers.

Silently, she enveloped him in her arms.

She rested on his shoulder.

Her silence grew a few snivels, and then a tearful whining.

He did not speak. He shrunk more.

“I cannot do this,” she said.

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So yeah, that’s the story people. I guess you’ve enjoyed it, and I also guess some of you like him and her now. If you send me your messages, I’ll let them know of them. And some ask me if it is a love story that I’m trying to tell here, and I always answer, whether it is a love story or not, it is a story of love.

Have a good day, people.