The train rattled through the quiet countryside, its steady rhythm blending with the hushed murmur of passengers. She sat by the window, watching the golden fields stretch endlessly, the setting sun casting a soft glow over the horizon. Her thoughts wandered ahead to her husband, waiting for her at the destination. It was her father-in-law’s 80th birthday, a grand family affair. She’d spent days preparing for it, yet her heart now felt unexpectedly heavy.

As she adjusted her seat, someone slid into the empty spot beside her. She glanced up and froze.

It was him.

The years had been kind to him, mostly. His hair, now streaked with silver, softened his once-boyish charm. But his eyes—those same eyes she once got lost in during high school—still held that familiar warmth.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the past rushing back uninvited. He broke the silence first. “It’s been a while,” he said with a gentle smile.

She smiled back, uncertain of what to say. She hadn’t expected this—their lives had diverged long ago, and meeting him now, here of all places, felt surreal.

They eased into conversation, the initial awkwardness melting away as memories resurfaced. They laughed over shared moments, the stolen glances, the secret notes passed between classes, and the naive dreams of a future they once thought was theirs.

As the train journeyed on, they fell deeper into the past, talking about who they were back then and wondering what might have been had they not parted ways. She told him about her life now, her marriage, her family. But when she asked about his, he grew quiet. He brushed it off with a soft smile, steering the conversation back to lighter things. But she could sense something weighing on him.

As their destination neared, he looked at her with an intensity that made her heart race. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For breaking up with you all those years ago.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but words failed her.

“I’ve missed you,” he continued, his voice raw with emotion. “I’ve thought about you more times than I can count, wondering if I made the wrong decision. And now…I’ll always regret it.”

She felt a pang in her chest. Her mind screamed that she should say something, anything, but the words tangled in her throat. Instead, she found herself wanting to reach out, to hold him and let him know that everything would be okay. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Too much time had passed, and their lives were now two separate worlds.

When the train slowed at a station before her stop, he stood up. “I’ll get us some tea,” he said, smiling gently. “Don’t go anywhere.”

She watched as he disappeared into the crowd, the promise of tea and more conversation lingering in the air. But minutes turned into an uneasy stretch of time, and he didn’t return. She panicked as the train began to move.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced down at the message that had appeared on her screen, her heart dropping as she read his words.

“I boarded this train to go back to my wife’s hometown, the place where she passed away. I lost her to cancer a year ago. We met at the hospital when I was undergoing treatment for it too. I never recovered, and now…I’m going back there to spend whatever time I have left. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I’m sorry. But meeting you today… it made me happy, even if just for a moment. Thank you for that.”

Her hand trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes. She stared at the message, letting its weight sink in. She wanted to run after him, to say something, to make sense of it all. But the train had long pulled away from that station, carrying her closer to her destination and further away from him.

As the train finally came to a stop, she stepped off, her legs feeling unsteady. She spotted her husband waiting for her on the platform, his face lighting up when he saw her. Without a word, she rushed into his arms, burying her face in his chest, the tears of her past spilling out as he held her close.

She wasn’t just crying for her old flame or the life they never had. She was crying for the love they had once shared, for the missed chances, for the pain he had quietly carried, and for the way life had unfolded in ways they could never have predicted.

Her husband held her tighter, sensing her need for comfort but not asking why. She didn’t have the words to explain it all. The past had finally said its goodbye, and now, she clung to the present, holding it as tightly as she could.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2024. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead

The storm came without warning, fierce winds battering the windows of the bus. Rain lashed against the glass, and the driver’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Road’s flooded. Looks like we’re stuck for the night.”

He sighed, his head pressed on the rain-streaked window. He wasn’t in a hurry to get to the resort where his girlfriend was already waiting for him. A weekend getaway she had planned down to the last detail, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was more for her than for ‘them’.

Across the aisle of the same bus, she glanced at her phone, frustration clouding her face. She too was headed for the resort, where her fiancé—predictable and always in control—had planned their weekend. But now, this storm had thrown all those plans off track.

The driver directed the stranded passengers to a small motel in a nearby town, where they could wait until the storm passed. They both found themselves side by side in the lobby, each clutching their room keys.

“Some storm,” he said with a wry grin as they exchanged glances.

“Yeah, some detour,” she replied, shaking her head with a soft laugh.

They didn’t introduce themselves. It felt unnecessary. They were strangers on the same journey, sharing the same unexpected delay.

The motel wasn’t much—a small, cozy place with a handful of rooms, a flickering fire in the lounge, and a sleepy receptionist who barely noticed them. The rooms were clean, simple, and unremarkable. But the atmosphere was different, almost as though the storm had suspended time, creating a strange bubble where everything else beyond the rain didn’t matter.

Later that evening, after a hot shower, he wandered into the lounge, drawn by the warmth of the fire. He wasn’t surprised to see her there, curled up in a chair with a cup of tea. She looked up when he entered, offering a small smile.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Be my guest. I was starting to feel like the only one here,” she said, shifting to make space on the couch beside her.

They spent the evening talking, their conversation meandering from the storm to the frustrations of everyday life. It was light at first—banter about the inconvenience of the situation, quick-witted jabs about their stranded fate. But soon, the conversation deepened in a way neither of them expected.

“I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get to the resort anyway,” he confessed, staring into the flames. “My girlfriend’s already there. She’s probably more excited about the fancy dinners and other activities she’s planned, than I am.”

The girl smiled, nodding in understanding. “Same here. My fiancé… he’s one of those people who likes everything in order. But sometimes, I wonder if I’m just part of the schedule.”

They both laughed, but beneath the humour, there was something else—a quiet, subtle recognition of their shared dissatisfaction. They spoke easily, the kind of conversation that felt effortless, with none of the barriers that usually exist between strangers.

There was a strange freedom in being two people with no expectations, just existing in the moment.

As the fire crackled and the rain drummed steadily against the windows, he looked at her, his voice softening. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How a storm can just… stop everything, force you to slow down.”

She met his gaze, her eyes thoughtful. “Maybe it’s what we needed. A break from the plans. From the routines.”

They fell silent, the warmth of the fire making the room feel smaller, more intimate. After a while, he spoke again, a little more hesitant this time.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Sure.”

“What would you be doing right now if the storm hadn’t happened?”

She thought for a moment, her expression shifting. “I’d probably be sitting at a fancy dinner table, listening to my fiancé talk about his plans for the next six months.”

“And would you be happy?” he asked, his voice gentle but probing.

Her smile faded a little, and she looked down at her hands. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think I’d be going through the motions. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve been doing that for a while now.”

They exchanged a glance, one that lingered a little too long, and something unspoken passed between them. It wasn’t the kind of attraction that came from the obvious chemistry they shared, alone. It was deeper, a recognition of shared discontent, of being stuck in lives they hadn’t fully chosen for themselves.

The next morning, the storm was still raging. They ventured into the little town together, braving the rains, wandering through quaint shops and quiet streets, laughing at the absurdity of it all. The rain didn’t seem so bad when they were together, and as they huddled under the same umbrella, their shoulders brushing, the connection between them growing.

At a small café, sipping hot coffee, she  looked at him, her expression softening. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

“Me too,” he admitted, his eyes bright with the same realization. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How you can meet someone and feel like you’ve known them for ages.”

They shared more stories, laughter filling the small space as if it had always been theirs. Every moment felt heightened, more meaningful, as though the storm had washed away the pretence of their other lives.

Back at the motel that evening, they sat by the fire again, closer now, their conversation growing more personal, more intimate. They talked about their dreams, their fears, the unspoken doubts about their relationships that neither had been brave enough to admit before. He made her laugh with his dry humour, and she charmed him with her wit and sincerity.

At one point, the firelight flickered, casting warm shadows across their faces. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She didn’t move away, her breath catching slightly as their eyes met.

“I never expected to meet someone like you,” he said softly, his voice low.

“Neither did I,” she whispered back.

For a moment, the world outside the motel faded completely. There was only the warmth of the fire, the sound of the rain, and the quiet intensity between them. Their hands brushed, a simple touch that sent a spark through both of them. They leaned in, their faces inches apart, but neither of them crossed the final distance. It was enough, in that moment, to simply be there together.

The next morning, the storm had passed. The roads to the resort were cleared, and reality came crashing back in. They stood outside the motel, their bags packed, the bus waiting to take them to their respective partners.

“So… I guess this is it,” she said quietly, her voice thick with unspoken emotion.

“Yeah,” he replied, though the words felt wrong.

They stood in silence, each of them facing a choice they hadn’t expected to make. The lives they were meant to return to felt distant now, as though they belonged to someone else.

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft. “What if we didn’t go back?”

He looked at her, startled by the suggestion, but also relieved to hear the thought he hadn’t been brave enough to voice himself.

“Do you think fate brought us here for a reason?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

He reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. They stood there like that, neither of them moving, as the sound of the bus engine starting echoed faintly in the background.

Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the glass.

Would they get on to the waiting bus?

The storm was long gone, but inside, something lingered—an unspoken question that neither of them was quite ready to answer.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2024. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead

She stood at the edge of the water, the cool breeze brushing her face, the horizon melting into shades of pink and orange as the last rays of the sun fell on the sea. It had been years since she had felt this kind of peace. Life, with its unrelenting demands, never allowed space for such moments anymore. A young son, a loving husband, a home to care for—all of which she adored. But here, with her two friends at the seaside resort, away from her routine, she finally exhaled.

She felt free. 

It was their second evening at the resort when she noticed him. A solitary figure, sitting on the far end of the beach, flipping through a book. The sand beneath him was littered with shells, the remnants of the day’s tide. He didn’t seem to notice her, yet she felt a pull, as if he belonged in this moment, on this stretch of sand.

Their first encounter was casual. She and her friends had decided to explore the local market, but she had lingered by the beach a little longer as they left, watching the waves crash against the rocks. He had appeared then, close enough to say something, but far enough for her to decide if she wanted to engage.  

“Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” His voice was calm, as if he were commenting on the weather to an old acquaintance. 

She had nodded, offering a small smile, and they had walked together, just the two of them, the conversation growing naturally. They spoke of books, the music they both loved, art and literature that had shaped their worlds. It was rare to meet someone who shared such a passion for the same things, who seemed to understand the quietness of thoughts left unsaid. It was their first meeting but she felt she knew him from before. 

Over the next few days, they began meeting by the sea, their walks stretching into longer conversations. The connection between them was undeniable—he was easy to talk to, attentive, and his words stirred something in her that had long been dormant. 

But she never mentioned her life back home. And he never asked. It was an unspoken rule between them, to keep this world separate from the one she would soon return to. And yet, she found herself looking forward to their time together. There was a gentle rhythm to it—waves, walks, words exchanged without expectation.

On the final night before she was to leave, the air between them felt different. She sensed it in the way he looked at her, as if he were waiting for something. They walked to the same rocky point at the edge of the beach, the moonlight casting long shadows on the sand. 

And then, as they stood in silence, she realized where she knew him from.

The familiarity she had felt wasn’t just a passing connection—it was from her past. The memories began to unfold. He was someone she had known years ago. Back in school. They had been close friends, sharing their dreams and stories, promising to stay in touch. And then, life had taken them on different paths, as it so often does.

She looked at him, her heart racing. Did he remember? Had he known all along? She couldn’t ask, afraid of disrupting the fragile balance they had built. Instead, she laughed nervously, brushing her hair from her face. 

“You remind me of someone I used to know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, testing the waters.

He turned to her, his eyes soft but unreadable. “Do I?” he asked, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

For a moment, she thought he would say more, but he didn’t. They stood there, the waves breaking against the rocks, time stretching between them like an unsaid truth. 

Perhaps he had recognized her. Perhaps he hadn’t. Either way, it didn’t matter. What mattered was this fleeting, nameless connection that existed only in the space of their shared days. Tomorrow, she would return to her life, to her husband, to her son. And he would remain a stranger, a memory she would carry with her, unspoken but never forgotten. 

As they walked back along the beach, she wondered if he would ever tell her. But some stories, she realized, are best unfinished, wrapped in the mystery of what could have been.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2024. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead

Everything seemed to happen late with him in life. He got his first job late. First girlfriend. First kiss. First sex. Everything came much later to him than he would like. But by now he was getting used to it. It was an inevitable part of his life. Timely, easy, was something he was just not used to.

Albeit late, he was finally happy in his relationship with Sara. Two people couldn’t have been more different from each other than they were. But somehow they clicked. And it worked. Their love was easy. He didn’t have to labour on it like some of his earlier relationships. The two of them hit it off naturally.

His career as an advertising executive was finally yielding success. After years and years of struggle as a copywriter he had finally managed to get elevated to Creative Director in a fairly large agency. He was the number two in creative in the entire agency and was tipped to reach the top once his boss retired in a few months from now.

It was his dream to write a novel. He had been working on it for the last three years surreptitiously but hadn’t gone much ahead. Like most of his dreams this one too was deemed impractical and unrealistic.

“You live in a fantasy world you know”, she’d often remind him. “You yearn for a world you think is better than the one you’re living in. And all the while you don’t appreciate the wonderful life you already have”.

His friends also mirrored his girlfriend’s thoughts. “You have it all man”, they’d say shaking their heads. “A comfortable life and yet you yearn to go back to a life of struggle. Why”?

Why, he didn’t know himself. But the fact was, it was his dream to give up his “lucrative but creatively unfulfilling” job, to leave the concrete jungle and settle in a remote town in the hills and only focus on his writing. That’s what he wanted to do. What’s so impractical about wanting to earn less and live a little more, he wondered, knowing well that no one would get what he was saying.

“You live in a bubble of romantic nostalgia”, she told him angrily once, when he informed her how he had spurned a higher paying job because he felt unmotivated. “That’s another kind of denial. A denial of the present”, she fumed.

He kept quiet because he knew he couldn’t convince her to feel the way he did about life.

It was a sultry June morning in the city. The perspiring crowds seemed to be all out on the streets. They were out to meet an old friend of hers from the college days. You should meet Sid, she said enthusiastically. He can really guide you on your journey to be a successful man. He lectures big companies all over the world on corporate targets and individual success. You can learn so much from him. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, reminding of the time she had confessed at having a huge crush on Sid in their college days. Clearly she was still besotted, he smiled to himself.

The mobile phone vibrated in his trouser pocket making him stir from his slumber he felt getting over him as they sat in the posh cafe waiting for her friends to arrive. He answered the phone and his face lit up.

You can’t be serious! Please tell me you’re not joking he said as he excitedly stood up from the chair in the cafe. She looked at him bemused. All the while they were there he had hardly spoken and had looked liked dozing off as she rattled on and on. And now suddenly he was all full of life.

I will just be back he said excitedly as he pushed the chair away to make a move.

Where the hell do you think tire going she asked bewildered at his sudden burst of energy and excitement.

Oh there’s this small exhibition cum sale of rare first hand editions at The Gallery in Wellesley Street. It’s just on for today. There are some rare Joyce and other first editions and I don’t want to miss out on them. He was already halfway to the door of the cafe by the time she could react.

But…

I will be back real quick. You have the first round of drinks with Sid and Devika and I’ll be back by the time you order the entrees, he exclaimed as he rushed out of the door.

She noticed he had left his carry bag on the table and sighed. As always he was so impractical and dreamy. She smiled to herself as she awaited Sid and his fiancée.

Naren looked around the small gallery with the proverbial eyes of a kid in a candy store. There was more than even he could imagine. The Beat poets, Larkin, Ted Hughes, Plath, Virginia Wolfe, James Joyce. The first editions were spectacular to say the least. It was almost as if someone like him was selling off a personal collection. It was priceless.

That’s a personal favourite, he heard her soft voice over his shoulder as he was leading through a tattered edition of Whitsun Weddings. He turned around and saw the most gorgeous set of blue eyes he had ever seen in his life. Her chestnut hair tied up in a cute bun and her bigger than usual thick rimmed black spectacles covered more than half her pretty oval face. But it was the glow on it that mesmerised him. She seemed like an angel to him at that instant.

Mine too he meekly responded, after what seemed an eternity.

Hi, I’m Annie, she said, extending her arm towards him. The first thing he noticed was how slender and delicate they were. He felt he’d be crushing them with his firm grip. He made a conscious effort to touch them softly, as he extended his arms forward too. He felt a strange kind of thrill as they touched.

The two of them sat on a small settee in the corner of the gallery, he was mesmerized by her looks, her perfume and the sweet sound of her voice. He felt as if in a trance and could barely comprehend what she was saying. He had a smile fixed on his face as he kept staring into those blue eyes.

I asked, what do you do, she slightly raised her voice, aware by now that he wasn’t really listening. She also felt a tad embarrassed by his gaze. She smiled softly as she realized the effect she was having on him at that instant.

“I…I am a writer….in an advertising agency”…..he said, and immediately added….as if to compensate for that…”am writing a novel…that’s my dream”. He felt like fool after he eventually finished his sentence. He somehow didn’t want to disappoint her with his true profession. He wanted to somehow tell her about his “true dream”

Oh wow…a writer…in my gallery..she seemed genuinely excited and taken in. I would love to read your novel some day, she blurted out spontaneously and immediately regretted it silently. Did I come across “too keen” she wondered to herself. But all the same she felt her heart beat faster than usual. Unaware that it was in sync with his rapidly rising heartbeats at the same time.

Both of them lost track of time as they sat there engrossed in a strange connection which both felt and could not deny. It was almost there was an unknown unseen force that was conducting all that was happening with the two of them. They willingly went along with the flow of the vibes that appeared way stronger than their conscious wills.

Sara’s number kept flashing on his phone, but he was way too lost in his conversation with her.

For once he felt the timing was just perfect, as he over turned his mobile and turned it off as he stared into Annie’s deep, blue eyes and got lost in them forever.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2022. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead

The sky was a beautiful shade of orangish blue that evening. The setting sun was spreading its colour all over the blue canvas it seemed. She whistled an old tune as she drove along the empty long and winding road. One hand on the wheel and the other on the side of her door she drove on, alternating her view between the road in front and the greenery all around her.

She kept driving aimlessly for a while. This stretch of road was endlessly long and hardly saw any traffic ever since the new highway was built. The greenery around her changed to more prolonged brown patches from time to time. This road had almost been forgotten by everyone, including nature.

Her mind was floating back in time as she drove. Many a happy moment she had spent earlier in her life kept coming back to her. She stopped her car abruptly and sat still inside for a while. It was a while till she sat there before opening the door to step out.

Her face hadn’t changed with the passing years. Her wavy brown hair, still as thick as it used to be, had a few silver streaks on them. Her almond eyes sparkled like before and her skin was still the same. Delicate flawless glowing. She got out of the car and then leaned back on it as she looked out. Nowhere in particular. Her thoughts too like her vision seemed to be going nowhere. She found herself lost in a maze of memories and reflections.

Here…we can meet here almost every time no matter where we are.

That’s an absurd thing to say you know. How can we meet here everyday when we won’t even be staying in the same city.

I’ll just be a call away. You know that.

Please say no. Don’t do this to us. This marriage won’t make anyone happy. You me or her.

She turned around as she felt a gush of wind caress her shoulders. He was standing behind her. His eyes lit up. Just the way it did every time he smiled. And smiling he was. The happiness on seeing her was all over his face. She hugged him tightly and he hugged her back even tighter.

Ohh you’re hurting me now you know she said as they broke their kiss. His response was to kiss her again. This time she didn’t feel the need to talk and responded by kissing him back. The evening sun looked away as the their kissing silhouettes were visible now.

The car lay mangled up at the side of the road. Her lifeless body inside it her eyes still open and unfocussed. Or maybe it was focussing on her kissing him.

Her damaged mobile phone lay beside her on the seat. The message of his passing away in a far away town by cardiac arrest flashing.

The two of them kept kissing as the sun said it’s final goodbye

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2022. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead

Coffee stains on the table reminded her of him. His annoying habit of keeping a mug without a coaster. Sometimes there’s be cigarette stubs too. The irritation would increase.

An inverted book on the bookshelf always upset her. Every time during her weekly dusting routine she would find at least a couple of books shoved upside down. Usually they’d be a Kerouac or Ted Hughes. Other times they would be on the drawer or dining table. She would curse under her breath each time she put them back in their place. She loved things in order.

The record player would never be switched off. Often she found the vinyl scratching and hissing as it reached its end and he had forgotten to turn it off. Usually she’d nudge him hard to wake him from his slumber on the settee.

She looked around the empty house and it seemed so much in order. The table was neat and clean, the jars and dishes placed properly in perfect sync. The room looked spic and span. Not a thing out of place.

But she missed his presence.

She realised she’d have all the mess and untidiness if she could only have him by his side. She sighed to herself, her thoughts lost.

Hey honey I’m home, his ever cheerful voice woke her up. She had dozed off for a while lost in her thoughts. God this place is a mess. I can never do even half the job you can do, he said as he picked up a couple of magazines and put them back in the rack.

She looked at him moving around busily doing bits here and there. Her eyes filled up as she lay on her bed unable to move. The accident had taken a permanent toll on that.

I’ve got a surprise supper fixed for you love, he said with a huge grin on his face. She felt her world light up each time she saw him smile that way. He was moving towards her bed with a tray of food and a small foldable table. She smiled back at him as a couple of droplets escaped from the corner of her eyes.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2022. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead

The bowl of soup lay untouched on the kitchen slab. The microwave door was half opened. The cool air rushed in from the open window and brought along with it a few drops of rain. They kissed her and rolled over closed eyes and trickled down her beautiful face. Taking with them a few tears which were also making their way down the same route.

It was another lonely evening as she remembered him.

She stood frozen in time for a long time. Lost in her thoughts. In her world. Amongst her memories.

She remembered every debate she had with him on politics. His overtly left leaning ways annoyed her more than she could ever convey. His hatred for the well off was embarrassing to her at times. His impulsive outbursts at times especially with people known to her made her squirm. She recalled their differences in art. She disliked his kind of cinema (“serious and meaningful” as he would call them as opposed to her “dull and boring” labelling) with a passion she could never overstate. Their tastes in music (or his lack of as she would classify it) clashed more often than not. They disagreed on almost everything. But when they did agree it was magic. And it was this magic perhaps which kept their spark alive. She felt well and truly alive every time they were on the same wavelength.

She kept standing still at the exact same spot for God knows how long. The rain splashes had drenched her properly. She seemed stuck in time. Lost in her world. Engulfed in memories. She clicked her mobile which was in her hand to see an old photograph. The way his sideburns had a tinge of grey always appealed to her at that young age. She looked at the photograph and found herself smiling almost spontaneously. Her almond eyes drenched with her tears contrasted beautifully with the smile on her lips which was still as mesmerisingly beautiful as it was back then. He still had that power to move her.

By the time she got married she had stopped believing in love. In fact she had stopped believing in almost everything by then. The way she’d seen love go out of the window she didn’t want to believe in anything after that. Her sense of betrayal overshadowed everything in her conscious frame of mind. She knew she had lost the love of her life forever. She just existed now.

Is the soup going to take ages?

The gruff voice from the dining table made her come back to the present. She stared vacantly for a couple of seconds before hurriedly putting it in the microwave to heat up.

In a minute darling she replied composing herself in a few moments. She quickly wiped her face dry as she focussed on the soup bowl revolving inside the oven.

Her husband was everything opposite to what her love had been. Insensitive, cold, calculating and almost robot-like in his desire to succeed in life. Money, position designation were his prime focus. And it was on these parameters that he gauged and judged everyone around him. She found it stifling to be around him. She heard a few more groans of disapproval from the dining table as the soup seemed to take an eternity in getting warmed up.

The beep of the microwave was almost in sync with his hollering yet again for his dinner. She fumbled as she handled the hot bowl on to the bigger plate and carried it over for him. He looked at her angrily as she kept the bowl in front of him.

You never learn do you. Always lost in God knows what thoughts that go through your head constantly. She felt his insults even more strongly since they were in direct contrast to her lovely thoughts of the past a few moments ago. They seemed to pinch her more.

He loved his red meat and kababs back in those heady days of their youth. As she watched him devour the tasteless and bland soup she noticed that touch of grey on his side burns. They were perhaps the only thing which had remained the same in all these years. For all the changes that had happened with him over the last 20 years that bit hadn’t changed at all. She realised it still made her heart warm up despite all the ice that had gathered on top for two decades.

It kept raining all through that September evening. He had finished his bowl of soup and gone back to his own bedroom to do some more office work.

She sat on her chair staring blankly at the bowl of soup as the rain continued. Inside her.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2022. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead

He could have well refused the ride. He thought for a while as the address flashed in front of his eyes and then decided to accept it.

He had to drive a couple of minutes to pick his passenger. A million memories jostled in his mind during that journey of two minutes. The name wasn’t familiar to him but the destination address was.

He was nattily dressed in a jacket that was well fitting and matching trousers to go with. The light pink shirt was a sign of how confident his passenger was to carry off the colour. He had a quick glance at him through his rear view mirror and headed off.

The years had thinned out his once wavy hair considerably. It was surprisingly not as grey as it could’ve been given his age. His eyes had lost that sparkle which once upon a time were in full display every time he would see her. There was more emptiness than sadness in them now. He turned on the radio and as if on cue Tupelo Honey came on. It was their song he remembered.

Can you please turn the radio off, the passenger indicated as he was talking on his mobile. He sighed as he turned it off. Maybe I shouldn’t listen to this song. Not when I’m going to that address he consoled himself as he drove on

They were happy when they moved in, he remembered. The house needs painting so bad, she rued when they first saw it. Given their modest budget it was the best they could afford. We’ll paint it up to our liking…in good time…he assured her. They hugged. They kissed. They were happy.

As he took the turn to get off the main road and enter the mew that would take him to the address he remembered the fun they had painting the house. She was a disaster. And he a bigger one. As they stood admiring their patchy terrible painting the looked at one another and burst out into laughter. They’d painted themselves more than the house. Those were fun days.

I’ll be there in about 5 honey, the passenger said, a tad loudly. There’s not much traffic fortunately. He looked again at the passenger through the rear view mirror. He remembered the times when he’d be a passenger. He had seen better days.

Their happy marriage story didn’t last too long. A couple of children and an unprecedented economic depression threw romance out of the windows. Little things began to irritate them about each other. The quarrels increased. The screamings got louder.

We’ll always have love was their mantra. But the day he moved out so did all the love. She took the house and kids and he was on the streets. He remembered the rainy night he spent listening to Tupelo Honey under the shelter of the convenience store in their neighbourhood. Memories of yesterday flashed right in front of eyes as he passed the store again. Nothing much seemed to have changed in the neighbourhood in these twelve years.

That’ll be it, the passenger said even before he could stop outside the address. He didn’t need anyone to tell him where it was. He could’ve driven there blindfolded. He sighed as the car stopped, looking right in front of the dashboard on to the road. He made sure he didn’t look right to see the house. He couldn’t bear to see it. After all these years.

The passenger got off the cab thanking him and leaving a tip on his unclenched fist. He was still not looking at the house. From the corner of his eyes he saw a woman come out to meet his passenger. He could see them hug tightly as the man lifted her off the ground and turned her around once. They went in.

He still didn’t dare to look even after they had gone in. His mind was strangely blank as he aimlessly stared at the road in front of him. A message flashed for his next ride. It was a four minute drive from where he was.

He started the car and drove away, ready to pick his next passenger that November evening.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2022. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead

I love you I love you I love you, for sentimental reasons…

Sam Cooke’s eternal classic seemed to echo his thoughts that evening as he sat along by the corner table of the bar. It was retro night and the young crooner was belting out one classic after another. He sat alone with his mug of beer. As the mug perspired from being kept out for that long he drew lines on the glass with his shaking fingers, lost in his own thoughts, absent-mindedly hearing the old familiar tune that wafted across the largish room. It was yet another Thursday.
As he approached the end of the 40s, life seemed to have slowed down for him. A far cry from his jet-setting advertising days or even his brief stint with cinema. He was happy doing some editing work for a friend’s publication these days. Most of his other days he spent alone at his studio apartment. And the evenings were always in the bar across his apartment street.

The bartender walked up to him that evening and asked him if everything was ok. He normally finished 3-4 mugs by this time and today was unusually slow by his standard.

Is everything ok? The bartender’s voice brought back into the present. He was way too lost in his thoughts and it took him a while to reply in the affirmative.

I’ll just take it slow today.

Ah just as well then, the bartender shrugged his shoulders as he walked off. I would’ve given you a couple more on the house today. It’s the wife’s birthday you see, he smiled, a tad relieved perhaps that he didn’t have to keep his promise after all.

He smiled back at the bartender without saying a word. It was my wife’s birthday too today you know, he whispered in his own mind. Her thoughts came flooding back to him all over again.

He left the bar and headed home. There was no staggering for once. It was a rarity that he left the bar after a solitary beer.

The bartender finished arranging the glasses and had one last look before turning off the lights. It had been a relatively light Thursday. He went up the back stairs to enter his apartment which was just above the bar. The modest two room apartment was tastefully done up. The table was nicely laid up for a cosy dinner for two. He had himself cooked the roast to perfection just like she loved it. A small chocolate cake with a couple of strawberries garnished on top took the centre stage on the table he light a solitary candle and went inside their bedroom.
She looked at him lovingly as he approached the bed. Her falling hair and wrinkled skin had done little to lessen her beauty. The innumerable chemos had failed to affect her loveliness which sparkled brightly as she smiled at him. He lifted her frail frame and placed her on the wheelchair. It’ll be the dining table today as you wished, he sighed as he brought her in the outer room. She saw the spread and looked up at him. She softly squeezed his hand which was pushing her wheelchair. She noticed a teardrop fall on her sky blue bracelet. It was the one she never took off. Even after her marriage.

Let’s cut the cake, she said.

He sat alone on his bed, overlooking the rain soaked streets. His trembling hands were on the sepia-tinged crumpled photograph he had taken out from his battered wallet. A tiny teardrop escaped the side of his eyes and fell on the sky blue bracelet the girl in the picture was wearing.

Happy Birthday honey, wherever you are he whispered looking at the photograph with his soaked eyes.

On the street across, the two of them sang happy birthday as she gingerly cut her birthday cake with her sky blue bracelet hand.