Somewhere in the past, the stilted window looked at the sun peeking bright through the dark billows. She sat on the couch with a gaze through the window, feeling the warm touch of the rays. The rays touched her dusky skin and scattered through the room. The thought of him filled the space and she could feel the warmth of him like that of the rays. His thoughts were all she craved for. Every breath, every blink, every sigh and every smile reminded of him. The words he spoke echoed in her mind and silenced the knock at the door.
Startled, as she went to the door, a deep anxiety caught her. Her surprise and a bizarre trepidation greeted him at the door as they met for the third time. He could only feel the surprise though. She was suddenly feeling happy and at a loss of words at the same time. His smile had an aberrant numbness and perfunctory feel which brought all approaching affairs to a halt at the foundation and the art of which he had mastered over time. Deb had a veil on him that he so proudly held close. A part of it was conscious and played. But the part which was comatose eclipsed the other and it became increasingly difficult for her to hold her back. Her breath fell short, her eyes missed a blink, her sigh became heavy and her smile widened a degree.
Deb lived a block away and had met her during one of the art exhibitions in town. As he stared at one of the charcoal art for what seemed like an eternity trying to understand the nuances, she stood by appreciating the same work. Both admired the work in subtle silence. Deb studied art as an interest apart from his regular job. She was never an art enthusiast and eager to understand the cryptic form, quietly asked Deb about it. She made a sincere effort in listening to him for the next five minutes. The art was dissected and unfolded to its minutest details. Playing with and weaving intricate words into a lucid narration was his forte. She was so engrossed in the immaculate expression of his words that she failed to notice when he had left. But his fragrance lingered in the air.
With a widened degree of smile she opened the door. Deb had come over to invite her to the exhibition at the end of the town.
They met frequently over the next few months in the block, in the alleys and beside the Wall where he sat often. Deb often leaned on the wall with a drooping head to let his creative ideas flow. He was a copyright par excellence. The wall was a bright red brick structure and stood at the end of the alley less frequented. It had an open view of the distant fields and the expanding sky. Nearby was a Peepal tree the shadow of which covered the wall during the entire noon. It was here that hours of words, touch and feel sew through the red bricks when they met. The moonlight played a gleaming display of light and shade through the Peepal leaves in the background.
Debanjana was in love.
Startled, as she went to the door, a deep anxiety caught her. Her surprise and a bizarre trepidation greeted him at the door as they met for the third time. He could only feel the surprise though. She was suddenly feeling happy and at a loss of words at the same time. His smile had an aberrant numbness and perfunctory feel which brought all approaching affairs to a halt at the foundation and the art of which he had mastered over time. Deb had a veil on him that he so proudly held close. A part of it was conscious and played. But the part which was comatose eclipsed the other and it became increasingly difficult for her to hold her back. Her breath fell short, her eyes missed a blink, her sigh became heavy and her smile widened a degree.
Deb lived a block away and had met her during one of the art exhibitions in town. As he stared at one of the charcoal art for what seemed like an eternity trying to understand the nuances, she stood by appreciating the same work. Both admired the work in subtle silence. Deb studied art as an interest apart from his regular job. She was never an art enthusiast and eager to understand the cryptic form, quietly asked Deb about it. She made a sincere effort in listening to him for the next five minutes. The art was dissected and unfolded to its minutest details. Playing with and weaving intricate words into a lucid narration was his forte. She was so engrossed in the immaculate expression of his words that she failed to notice when he had left. But his fragrance lingered in the air.
With a widened degree of smile she opened the door. Deb had come over to invite her to the exhibition at the end of the town.
They met frequently over the next few months in the block, in the alleys and beside the Wall where he sat often. Deb often leaned on the wall with a drooping head to let his creative ideas flow. He was a copyright par excellence. The wall was a bright red brick structure and stood at the end of the alley less frequented. It had an open view of the distant fields and the expanding sky. Nearby was a Peepal tree the shadow of which covered the wall during the entire noon. It was here that hours of words, touch and feel sew through the red bricks when they met. The moonlight played a gleaming display of light and shade through the Peepal leaves in the background.
Debanjana was in love.
[...in continuation to a previous post]
