It was a scene painted straight out of Michelangelo’s
canvas. Nothing abstract about it but definitely complicated...thought
provoking. In the fading crowded background she stood out like Mona Lisa. Only,
this painting was live, alive and animated. With lucid movements, she reached
down into her purse to pull out her phone. And then, she all of a sudden, she
caught my eye. Cupid must have been around somewhere. So dumbfounded I was,
immersed in the beauty of the entire scene, that I could not drag myself to
look away. I kept staring. Risking the aftermath and the onslaught of impending
fury, I kept staring at the painting in front of me. Grace defined itself in
her. Her hair fell in layers across her shoulders, dark, shiny, contrasting
against the colour of her cheeks. Her sanguine cheeks puffed up because of the effort
put in the stretching of the lips into a smile. Her eyes, soft, deep, brown,
searching, staring in amusement at the foolish oaf staring blindly at her.
Somehow, I managed to smile back, the colour rising in my cheeks. And then, the
unimaginable happened. Rising slowly, she glided her lithe figure in my
direction, never leaving the lock on my gaze.
"Hi, mind if I borrow that pen?" Her voice was
just as magical, soft, musical.
I fumbled, struggled to get the pen out of my pocket and
handed it over to the enchantress.
"I'll be back in a sec." And then she was gone,
back to her seat, as she engrossed herself in filling up a form.
I was still staring. I was in love.
And then, like all good things, the painting crumbled. The
picture became clear. The recipient of her continuous texting, appeared out of
nowhere. In a minute she was gone. When I came through, I realised, my love
story had ended. In two minutes...the dream had ended.
And then, as further realization dawned, I recollected, the
precious pen. Gone!!
On her table, something fluttered below the coffee cup. It
was the damn form. I decided to keep it as a souvenir, a memoir of my loss to
the unknown winner.
As I bent to pick it over, my heart skipped a beat. It was a
number and a name.
It was hope. It was maybe the beginning of my love story.
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