Homeward

He walked along the deserted sideways with the moonlight kissing his back softly. He loved his post-dinner walks by himself. His wife knew this habit of his and gladly let him go every night for his stroll. She knew the drill all too well. He would go out for a walk, be back in about 15 minutes and do the dishes. It was his strict instruction to her not to do them. And over the years she knew better than to not listen to him on this one thing. He was very touchy about the dishes himself. His usual mild-mannered self took a backseat if she ever did the dishes herself, just so to save him the trouble.

He felt a slight nip in the air as he walked along, his hands inside his jeans pocket. He wished he had put his jacket over his t-shirt. The breeze felt colder than usual. Winter’s coming, he thought to himself, as he hummed an old Sam Cooke tune.

The neon lights of the cafe close to his house still shone on. It was one of those late night places that remained open for a long time. He hardly saw anyone eating-in at that hour but it stayed open nonetheless. Another night of sluggish business he thought to himself, as he waved a hello to the owner from outside the stained windows of the cafe. He walked on towards the riverside of his small town. As he reached the pier, he stood still, gazing aimlessly at the river, which rippled softly making the blue moonlight reflection on it gently dance with the breeze. He felt a surge of bliss fill him inside as he stared into the waters. He had lived in the town since his birth and could never ever think of leaving it. He had grown up here, knew everyone and everyone in turn knew him. He was the amiable owner of the best second-hand bookshop in town. They knew him to be kind warm and funny. And one who could always recommend a good book to anyone.

He found his regular bench by the river and sat down. He put up his leg on his other leg making himself comfortable. For some reason he wanted to stay on a bit longer than usual that night. He leaned back on the bench and shut his eyes, feeling the cool breeze kiss his cheeks. His salt and pepper hair swayed with the wind that was blowing. The air felt sweeter that night.

After a long time he remembered her that night.

She loved him. And his poetry. A chance meeting at a London library had led to their diaries getting exchanged and she had read his poems. Poems that were so close to him that no one else had ever seen or even heard of them. They were an intimate part of his soul which he kept dearly to himself. And here was she, reading them, devouring them and taking them all inside her. By the time he had realised his diary had been mixed up he felt shattered at first and then consled himself that it probably was with a stranger who would never know who the author was. His anonymity would remain intact. So he was surprised beyond belief when he opened his hostel door to her knock that July afternoon. Somehow she had managed to track him down.

She was the most beautiful girl he had seen. Her eyes danced when they met his. Her brown wavy hair cascaded her lovely oval face and her smile seemed to light up the entire space around her. She was stunning. I think this is yours…she said as her outstretched handed him back his most precious possession. He awkwardly invited her in his small room. Lets sit out for coffee instead, she suggested.

As two strangers sat in a little coffee shop in East London that afternoon, there was magic in the air. Conversation flowed  as smoothly as time seemed to move on. They didn’t realise when the day was done and evening was nearly running out of time, but they felt as if they’d just started. They kept meeting each other the next few days, at the same coffee place and it seemed like the first time each day. He couldn’t remember what they spoke but they just went on and on. It was just one of those connections, he would read about in books. But this time it felt real.

They kissed for the first time, at the Embankment by the Thames. It felt like magic.

The transition from magic to reality was as difficult as he had imagined it would be. She wanted to stay in London with him. She could pursue her career and he could write his poetry and get them published. She had a lot of connections with publishers who she could tap. She seemed more excited than him at the prospect. Something unnerved him about her surety. He could never plan anything the way she could. Her clarity of thought amazed and scared him almost at the same time. Her spontaneity was in direct contrast to his hesitancy. And there seemed to be no half-ways. Especially where she was concerned. Sometimes things are just too good to last. He never understood the connection with goodness and longevity but it seemed an obvious one, especially with relationships. The better they felt, the more prone they seemed to veer towards failure.

He left London heartbroken.

He knew he could never his small town for good. He did odd jobs in his town for a while before a while before he decided to open the second hand bookshop. He settled down in his business and got married to a sweet girl who too was from the same town. Life seemed peaceful  again.

As he sat by the river reminiscing, he felt a tiny surprise. In all these years he had rarely thought of her. And suddenly all those memories came back to him that night. He didn’t know how and why, but old memories had this habit of popping up unannounced, unprovoked, mostly without any warnings.  His silent thoughts were broken by the beep on his mobile.

Arent you coming home for desserts?

He looked at the blue light from the mobile phone that night and smiled as he got up from the bench to walk back towards home.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2020. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead.