She hadn't bother disguising the swollen red cheeks or the fact that she was deaf in one ear thanks to all the eardrum shattering slaps it had endured. With a sigh... she willed herself to walk when the music wafted in.
Hamsadhwani she muttered. The notes of the flute mingled with the rock and roll of the drums and struck her rooted to her place. She hummed along... she knew the arohanas and the avarohanas of the raaga. Eyes closed, hands and feet in sync with the taala of the raaga .... The soreness in her body drained away. Music is spiritual. Even to an atheist.
He spotted her in the crowd. Her presence was like the smell of mogra and jasmine. A breath of fresh air in an otherwise rank odor filled life. He watched her sway to the music.... imperceptible movements of her fingers tapping rhythmically on her thigh.
Her hair a tangled mess, her dress a little too tight and a little too middle class. No makeup no jewellery and a red swollen cheek. A stark contrast to the beautiful and coiffed ladies and gentlemen around. Yet he was drawn to her... His eyes never left her face though a million and two people walked about.
The song tapered to an end and it seemed like the weight she was carrying flew back on her shoulders. Soreness and pain returned with a vengeance and she fell back to reality with a thud. She opened her eyes to find him watching her and a wave of self consciousness swept over her.Her dress was faded, was a size smaller for it was a dress that was a decade old. Her hair in a messy bun... her face streaked with dried tears and wet sweat. She wished he hadn't seen her .... not this way.
Averting her eyes, she walked away.
He stood watching her .... oblivious to the words of the world.
And no. He didn't know how the events transpired as well. Little did she know. But there they were.
Her hot fingers touching his cold earlobe. The clink of her earring with his watch... His palm on the mole on her cheek. Her hands in his hair.. The little tickle of his stubble, a drop of blood from his lips.. her gasp and his tongue kissing her teeth.
The drawing away of his mouth from hers. His lips on her nape. Her hands on his back. His fingers on her neck. A hickey that would need to be hidden, a scratch on the back that would need some creative explanation.
The loudspeaker announcing the next band. The quick parting of the couple (?).hurried steps in opposite directions.
It wasn't love.
It wasn't love.
It wasn't love.
It couldn't have been.
Because.
It wasn't love.
It wasn't love.
It wasn't love.
It...........wasn't. ......... love ?
