Nandini, a Love Story, Chapter-8, At last

A few weeks passed silently, undermining my arduous investigation into that matter. Ripa planned to complete her master’s from Open University as Asraf’s job in Himachal Pradesh would not permit her to continue her job here in West Bengal after their marriage. So if she could add an extra feather to her portfolio then it would be easy for her to search for a job there. I promised to help her.

So I applied for leave and took her with me as there was a branch of Open University at Simlachak, half an hour’s journey from my office.

We reached earlier at the stop and got a bus with a window seat for me. The bus stopped at Baitali More for a break. I peeped out of the window just to wash my hands to take a slice of cake from Ripa. But I froze with a mouthful of water and the bottle in my hand. He was standing there, near the fruit vendor, buying fruits. I could hear the bip bip of my heart, planning to tear out the pericardium.

“Oh then he works somewhere here”, I mumbled.

“Eh? Saying something?” Ripa asked.

“No nothing. It is very hot today.”

Fearing that he might discover me looking at when he would turn after paying the bill, I slipped my face inside, just keeping up my silent observation until the bus moved.

I was smiling. A dark cloud was hovering somewhere within me throughout these days. How hard I tried to ignore it, it was there somewhere lurking and poisoning my happiness. An intense yearning that I knew but dare not admit exposed nakedly in front of me. But all those sadness and depression were quitting, making me happy. I could not catch his eyes under those spectacles but their warmth was permeating through my bleak heart…treacherous heart. Honestly, I was happy.

To be continued…

munu.ruku2020

Hey, I am Munmun, the phoenix fabulist who wants to tell you stories. I love to read stories and I love to weave stories. I feel life is an amalgamation of multiple stories, colourful threads, and threads of pain, pleasure, hope, and hopelessness. We just need to pick those hues and arrange them, knitting them with our own emotions and perception. So let’s celebrate the stories of life.