And then...

Miles of Silence

Why would a movie end with the reappearance of evil especially when the protagonist goes through the intricacies of investigation and reaching a logical conclusion? Why would the nature undo the entire process of reaching happiness? Why should we realize that happiness is not an eternal asset? Why is that, when answers are found, more questions are posed? He was suddenly a lost man. Until the last frame of the movie, he had his nail totally bitten off; the gut of his fingers exposing a freaking pink. He hated old style English movies. He hated its Indian copies. He missed three of her calls all this while.

She, separated from him by a ridiculous thousand miles, was seated in her couch battling confusion. Pink or yellow or should it be both? She had questions, rational, striking her head but poked her enough to reason irrationally. Which color would fit this kind of an occasion? Who would like to see her dressed in pink? What kind of people are most likely to attend her friend’s wedding? For every question she asked herself, she called him only to see it end as a missed call, literally.

Both were bathing in a huge bubble of questions, of rant and racket.

Looking at the volume of calls missed, he felt a strong sense of guilt. How could I miss her calls watching a movie that ended with questions rather than credits?  But, he put off the worry for a brief while and thought of a way of making it up to her. He thought of flowers and bouquets. He thought of poems and chocolates. His phone rang again. Just once. And it denied him of a call. Missed.

She was dressed in beautiful pink and dazzled in light gold jewelry. She was having the gayest of times but was occasionally troubled by what she did last night. Why did I? she thought. She danced, she ate, and she clicked pictures and cracked her heel. She shed a tear while she slowly limped back to her room.

He had his mug of coffee in his hand. He did not call her back. Something stopped him. Fear, perhaps. She’s having her time. That was all that he thought. He barely recalled what he watched last night. He just rued what he had done. He oakie blew his nose. He wiped that odd tear.

Can I have a good ending now? He wished. He held his phone in his hand, tighter than ever.

I missed the best dance, she thought. She put her phone aside and put herself to sleep resting her head on the tear-dabbled white pillow. 


[an episode cont'd from the previous post]