I stood outside the venue, anxiously awaiting her arrival. This marked my first venture into a dinner with a girl, and a mix of nerves and excitement pulsed through me. I fretted over the possibility of becoming quiet in her presence, a concern that only intensified as I realized I hadn't adequately informed her of our meeting at Aroma's Biryani House.
Taking a moment to check my appearance via the mobile camera, I noticed my hair was dishevelled, likely a result of wearing a helmet. Surprisingly, my primary worry wasn't my physical appearance; rather, it was centred around maintaining composure and avoiding nervousness in her company.
Recognizing the need to alleviate my apprehension, I decided to call Apoo and share my predicament. With a mixture of amusement and understanding, she chuckled at my nervousness and encouraged me to remain calm. Apoo wisely advised me to actively listen and engage in conversation, assuring me that staying silent was not an option, regardless of my apprehensions
I patiently awaited her arrival, passing the time by scrolling through my mobile phone. Amidst the crowd surrounding me, I overheard a group discussing vengeance. Their appearance didn't exude decency, prompting a moment of doubt about whether I was at the correct venue. To dispel this uncertainty, I consulted the location picture, confirming that I was indeed in the right place.
However, this revelation also sparked concern for the safety of the girl I was eagerly anticipating. My priority was ensuring her well-being, not just sharing a meal across a dining table. Driven by a protective instinct, I opted to remain outside, determined to wait for her arrival and ensure a secure meeting.
Lost in my phone, I was unsure when she would arrive. Suddenly, a gentle "Hi" broke through my distraction.
I looked up to find her standing before me. She wore blue jeans, a purple top, and a slim necklace with a pendant. Her fair skin and silky hair were visible, but a mask covered her face. Despite the anonymity, I recognized her immediately. Without uttering a word, I followed her to the venue.
She walked with a carefree demeanour, seemingly oblivious to the surroundings outside the hotel. It made me reflect on the notion that those who care for their loved ones often shield them from potentially unsettling or bitter realities.
"Why did you wait outside? You could have waited indoors," she inquired.
"Well, I wasn't entirely certain if I was at the right place, so I thought it's better to stay outside," I responded, attempting to conceal my genuine concern.
"Of course, you were at the right place. I did send you the location, right?" She sensed my hesitancy and expected a greater assurance. However, her attention shifted as a waiter intervened.
"Table for two," she stated to him.
An unexpected alarm rang in my head, and I recalled a scene from my debut novel where the protagonist visits an Italian restaurant, and a charming waitress wonders if he needs a "Table for Two."
We settled into our seats, and for the first time, I saw her without the mask. Instantly, she captivated me with her beauty, surpassing even my imagination. Delicate like a butterfly, her lips resembled rose buds, but it was her cheeks that truly enamoured me – cute, chubby, tempting and spongy, like muffins. I felt like eating them.
Her eyes, however, caught me off guard. I hadn't anticipated such breathtaking beauty. Sharp and filled with hope, mischief, and a tender yearning for comfort, they sought genuine companionship. I wished I could delve deeper into her soul, but her overwhelming beauty left my thoughts in disarray. Those shiny black pearls, her eyes, transported me to another dimension.
Blame her for my scattered mind, for she wasn't supposed to be this stunning. I wondered, would I still find her equally enchanting in every alternate dimension?
Unable to resist, I messaged Apoo, declaring, "She's so pretty." Apoo, intrigued by the girl sitting next to her Bhai, urged me to capture her pictures. However, I was so entranced by her eyes that I forgot to take any snapshots. Although I should have, and deep down, I truly wanted to, the reality was that I was capturing her essence with my eyes, savouring the moments, for memories immortalized in my mind held greater beauty than any photograph.
As the food arrived, we indulged in satisfying both our stomachs and hearts, revelling in the joy of each other's company.
I found myself at a loss for the planned topics I intended to discuss with her. Her presence made me forget many things – my struggles, troubles, and fears all faded away. For a brief moment, I found solace with her, despite not yet knowing her completely.
As she spoke, I found it challenging to grasp the substance of her words. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, yet I couldn't help but gaze at her intently. There was an undeniable charm when she delved into conversation, and I found myself wanting to absorb every word she uttered. Her occasional laughter resonated deeply, quickening my heartbeat. From her eyes and face to her cheeks and laughter, I struggled to find anything not to adore about her.
I pondered if she could ever perceive herself through my eyes, truly understanding the profound beauty she exuded in my perception.
She had said that meeting her wouldn't make me like her more. What a liar she was! I liked her too much. More than I had intended to. She had become the catalyst for my curiosity, now reigning over my imagination. Her presence seemed to permeate every aspect of my thoughts, a reality I not only accepted but embraced with genuine fondness.
I had fervently wished and prayed that meeting her wouldn't deepen my affection. Yet, to my dismay, it did. Now, navigating this newfound sentiment poses a challenge. Despite my usual sense of control, her presence renders me vulnerable. I find myself grappling with a loss of confidence, questioning if I measure up to the expectations a man should meet, even with my past accomplishments.
It's not merely her; there's something intrinsic about her that evokes these emotions within me.
As F. Scott Fitzgerald eloquently expressed in The Great Gatsby, "I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a tender curiosity."
Despite Sanika Ma'am having already suggested names for the characters based on my descriptions, which I had agreed to, a lingering desire tugged at me. I yearned to use this girl's first name for one of the characters, a wish I hesitated to fulfil. The fear of potential repercussions weighed on me—would she be upset? I couldn't say for sure. Tonight, our first in-person meeting prompted a reevaluation of the fantasies I had woven about her in my mind.
She exceeded my expectations, leaving me eager to unravel more about her. Yet, time, that elusive force, sped by when in the company of our favourite people, didn't it? This very phenomenon unfolded before me, as the clock struck 10:30 p.m., signaling our departure. The waiter presented the bill, and I swiftly took it from his hand, placing it beside me. However, my gaze remained fixed on her, intending to capture every moment with her for as long as I could.
After a few shared laughs, the time to leave arrived. At the counter, she suggested splitting the bill, but I adamantly refused, cautioning the waiter not to let her catch a glimpse of the tab.
"This isn't fair," she complained.
"The agreement was, if we meet and I don't like you, only then will we split the bill."
"And now you're paying the entire bill," she remarked with a smile.
"Yeah. now I'm paying the entire bill," I replied, attempting to suppress any signs of blushing.
We stepped outside, leaving behind the charm of the beautiful eatery.
Wearing the helmet, I felt a mix of worry and anticipation. I was glad to have the opportunity to drop her off at her place, savouring the prospect of sharing this beautiful moment with her on the back seat of my bike. However, my enthusiasm was tempered by the relentless misfortune of my bike breaking down four times on the way to the Biryani House. The fear of it happening again, especially with her on board, loomed over me as a potential source of considerable embarrassment.
I pressed the ignition button, and to my dismay, the bike refused to start. Embarrassment engulfed me, and I found myself whispering desperate pleas to my bike, urging it not to betray me at this moment. Despite my efforts, the bike remained unresponsive.
"It's fine. I could go back by auto," she offered.
I hesitated, not wanting her to resort to alternative transportation. I wanted to be the one to drop her off at her place.
"I am so sorry. I just don't get it. A month ago, I had it repaired, and even the petrol tank is almost full," I admitted, drowning in embarrassment.
In a frustrated attempt to troubleshoot, I opened the petrol tank and shook the bike, hearing the petrol sloshing inside. Closing the tank, I grumbled, "Yet, this stupid bike is giving me trouble." Annoyance crept in as I hit the ignition button again, and to my relief, the bike finally started.
"There it is," she exclaimed with delight.
"Finally," I sighed with great relief. She climbed onto the bike, and we set off for her place, navigating the crowded streets with the help of GPS. Despite the chaotic surroundings, there was a sense of detachment when I was with her. I drove with the utmost care, feeling a profound sense of responsibility and privilege in her company. The night, initially ordinary, transformed into a memorable one due to the time spent with her.
We arrived at her place, and she gracefully descended from the bike. The moment to bid farewell had arrived, and I found myself reluctant to part ways. Taking off my helmet, I adjusted my hair which had been bothering my view of her.
As she stood before me, radiating beauty, I couldn't resist stealing another glance at her eyes. Darker and more enchanting than the night itself.
Both of us lingered, holding onto the final moments we shared. With a delicate curiosity, she broke the silence. "So, I hope Mr. Writer had a good time tonight?" Her efforts to ensure a delightful evening reflected in her question, as she sought reassurance that I had indeed enjoyed our time together.
What could I express about the depth of my enjoyment? All I managed to utter was, "Yes, I enjoyed my dinner tonight." I looked down, shielding my eyes from her probing gaze, afraid she might discern more than I intended.
"Just dinner?" she questioned, adding a humorous touch to her curiosity. I glanced at her, smiling at her sweetness.
"Well..." I hesitated, struggling to articulate my thoughts.
Unaccustomed to the warmth of tender conversations, I found myself hesitating. I had lived through three years in the cold winter of emotions, and she felt like a warm summer. Yet, a lingering fear shadowed me, knowing that eventually, another winter would follow.
"Do you wanna come up?" she asked.
I looked up at her, unsure of how to respond to such an inviting proposition. It felt like a scene from a romantic movie—there I was on my bike, hands folded, resting on the helmet, while she stood before me on that tender night, casting a spell with her bright smile and beautiful face.
Her charisma, the way she spoke, stood, and smiled, resembled a dandelion dancing on a hill with the wind—wild and strong.
I suggested staying where we were instead of going upstairs, perhaps a hesitant move on my part. But I wanted to savour each moment slowly, relishing my time with her. Under the night sky, we engaged in conversation, looking into each other's eyes. It was a beautiful experience, with new emotions budding in my heart, and this time, I didn't crush them as I usually did.
Who was this girl? Why was I so curious about her? She was just a girl, so why did I find her so special? Could she be the healer? Will the summer in her bring warmth to my cold heart?
These thoughts consumed me, and at times, I found it challenging to comprehend what she was saying. Nevertheless, I yearned to hear her talk.
Eventually, I started talking and continued until my throat felt parched. I contemplated leaving but seized a reason to linger a little longer in her company.
We went upstairs. I removed my shoes and settled onto a sofa. She brought a bottle of water, and I quenched my thirst, the night unfolding with its own enchanting rhythm.
As we conversed about Mumbai, I shared the intricacies of living in the city, and in comparison, her apartment sounded remarkably good. Our discussions took an interesting turn when she directed Alexa to play the song "In Dino" from Life in a Metro.
I couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden message in that song.
Feeling an urge to express something I couldn't vocalize, I picked up my phone and began crafting a message to her. Some emotions, it seemed, found a more profound expression in writing than through spoken words.
As the song concluded, I took charge and instructed Alexa to play music by Mattia Cupelli. However, a misinterpretation led to the commencement of a song by someone named Matin. A small mishap that prompted her to suppress a laugh. Yet, I could sense the amusement sparkling in her eyes. Did she realize I wouldn't have minded if she had burst into laughter? Her laughter, even restrained, sent my heartbeats into a frenzy.
I felt a tad embarrassed, yet I couldn't resist the urge to join in the laughter myself. On ordinary days, things would proceed smoothly and according to plan, but when I was with this girl, everything seemed to cascade into delightful chaos—my rhythm included. What was it about her, anyway?
As the clock approached 11:30 p.m., she mentioned feeling sleepy, signalling that it was time for me to leave.
"I'll be reading the further story tomorrow," she remarked.
I stopped typing, gazing at her for a moment, understanding her need for rest, especially with a job awaiting her the next morning, and considering the late hour—it was almost midnight. Unlike me, she wasn't a night owl.
"Yeah," I replied reluctantly, still reluctant to part ways.
"So when are you heading back to Mumbai?" she inquired.
"Tomorrow," I answered.
"Hmm... I hope the author liked the company he had tonight," she said with a smile, not meeting my gaze directly.
I smiled back, "More than I could tell," as I began putting on my shoes. The thought crossed my mind—would she like to accompany me for another meeting?
She looked up, pursed her lips, and remarked, "Who knows. Both the writer and the girl could meet again."
Standing up, ready to leave yet still hesitant, I observed her beautiful sleeping face as I walked towards the door.
"I'd look from the window if your bike starts. Be there till you leave," she said.
"You don't have to worry about me."
"But you were," she responded, referencing a moment during our dinner conversation where I had revealed the real reason I stayed outside. Her acknowledgement of my protective gesture touched me.
Her reversal of care left me subdued. Smiling, I reached the door. This is the part where you kiss the girl. At least this is how it's shown in movies or romantic novels. But that's not how it goes it really goes. Real life, however, has its own script.
We both smiled, and exchanged goodbyes, a difficult parting already. Saying goodbye to her felt challenging.
I descended the stairs and mounted my bike, inserting the key and pressing the ignition button.
To my surprise, this stubborn bike started on the first attempt. I scoffed and chuckled at my earlier apprehensions, shaking my head in amusement. Glancing down, I then looked up at the second-floor window. There she stood, waving her hand at me. Engaging the gear and releasing the clutch, I raised my right hand, bidding a reverse goodbye to her.
A joyful smile adorned my face. The night had been truly beautiful.
I accelerated, relishing the thrill of happiness coursing through my veins. A newfound enthusiasm enveloped me.
Leaving with cherished memories, I realized that I hadn't felt this genuinely happy in someone else's company for a long time. Would our paths cross again? The desire to see her lingered in my thoughts.
One thing was certain—I liked her. I liked those cute, chubby cheeks.
- The End of Night 1 -
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