Tag Archives: Romance

Dew Drop : Friday Fictioneers 22 may 2015

PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter

PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter

As she sipped her coffee, he carefully combed and braided her silken strands.
“No-one ever pampered me like this, physically or emotionally; not even my husband of ten years.”
“You call this pampering? For me it’s just love, and this is the only way I know to love.”
“I envy the person who gets to marry you.”
“Who stops you from being that person?”

It’s been eight years since. Just like a morning dew drop he appeared in her life, moistened the sun burned path, taught her how to live and love and vanished like the dew drop vanishes with the rising day light.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by ever smiling Rochelle. This week mush overcame my mind !

Rest of the fictions are at the froggy link:

The Bridge : : Friday Fictioneers 13 march 2015

Friday Fictioneer 15 march 2015

Friday Fictioneer 15 march 2015

Ten years were long enough to change the look of the city. Some of the buildings still survived. Of course this coffee shop overlooking the entrance of the office building across the street was not there.

Sipping his espresso, he kept looking at the entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse; he knew she still works there. His mind oscillating between conscious and subconscious, past and present – voices, pictures and smell.

Smell? That perfume seems familiar –

“I knew I will catch you here someday – not fond of burning bridges – right?” Startled, he turns to catch her standing behind, with that familiar stare.

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The second story this week – which I wrote first, for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle !

 

Smile : Friday Fictioneers

Copyright-Ted Strutz

Copyright-Ted Strutz

“Honey – when are you getting free from your chamber tonight?”

“I have got two more souls sitting outside for me to relieve them from pain.”

“Don’t waste a second after that, I have a surprise for you.”

“You never stop surprising me sugar – do you?”

“How can I not think of the most important person in my life?”

“Even after these five years I do wonder why such a gorgeous and famous news anchor fell in love with me.”

“It was you who made me smile;  no one knew I had a smile before I came to you.”

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A different mood this week. Thanks once again to our fabulous host Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers once again!

 

The Restaurant Corner Table

restaurant

Pushing the heavy swing doors of the restaurant, he looked up towards the clock, exactly 2:30 in the afternoon. Taking off the rain coat, he slowly moved towards the table in the corner, right in front of the glass wall facing the road outside. The drizzle outside has settled down to a steady rhythm.  It has become a weekly ritual since that fateful day two months back. That too was a Friday; he had planned for a lovely weekend with his fiancee; at least that’s what he believed her to be. And he found her getting that huge bunch of Valentine roses, not from him. That’s when she broke it him; all he did was raise his voice a notch up to ask who the roses are from – when he believed himself to be her lover. And she mercilessly broke his dream. As per her, it was all just his day-dream; she felt her to be a thirty plus guy, who is too ordinary and simple to expect her to be his lover. She never saw him as a lover but just as a friend, whom she helped. Just a friend? After all the emotions and attention he showered on her.

He kept going back and forth in his mind for more than a month. And then one day he came in to his favorite lunch joint, from his office during the late lunch time, with a bottle of rat poison. Sitting on the corner table, right beside the glass wall facing the road outside, he kept looking at the tiny bottle, while his meal was getting cold. He was about to open the bottle; that’s when he noticed the piece of paper lying on the seat next to his. A regular ordinary tissue paper; with a pen drawn heart. At first thought it to be some childish doodle. But then he noticed a few lines scribbled below.

It said – “Sitting across, I see the glint in your eyes that told me you are special! Hope someday you will feel the same for me. – Yours ‘She’ !”

Something made him feel, it IS for him. Sitting across? He lifted his head to scan the hall. It’s already past the usual lunch time, and hall was nearly empty. Only three tables were occupied. A woman in the far corner, head covered n scarf; couple of young ladies chatting away over the food; and someone behind with back toward him, couldn’t guess if it was a ‘he’ or a ‘she’. Which one of these could be the one who wrote this? She saw him? And noticed the glint – in his eyes? Is it one of these occupants? Or can it be someone who has left silently before he came in? After all he always sits on this same table – everyday! Wondering about the new-found piece of paper he never realized when the bottle went in his overcoat pocket from his hand.

From that day onward, every Friday he would get a paper napkin, with the familiar feminine perfume, and words that made his world filled with hope. He felt rise of hope and belief that he too after all can really be loved. Sometime he thought of coming early to find out who she could be; to catch a glimpse of her leaving the note. But every-time, Friday’s used to be nightmare with his boss. Still he made sure to sneak out for his lunch – and the piece of love he collected from the seat next to his. He already has a file full of it. He even left back some hints. Sometime it was another letter asking for her identity. And even a kiddish attempt, scratching the wooden table to write “I love you too!”

He was not sure if he can discuss it with someone. Not many friends and none so close to discuss something so childish like love. He just hoped that soon she would have enough courage to reveal her identity, and he will again walk with someone, shoulder to shoulder. Day by day he was becoming confident of the outcome, and it showed in the bounce of his steps.

Just before the thirty something man pushed the door open, the young waiter noticed that once again today the group of college students sat on a different table; one next to their usual table on the corner, right by the glass wall facing the road outside. It’s the same group that has, a silent couple he sees every time. He saw them talking love through their eyes, and exchanging notes on paper napkins. He also saw that day his regular customer who prefers the corner seat, with the bottle, very suspiciously looking like a bottle of poison.

The waiter the cleaned the table of the college students, picked up the paper napkin from the table and placed it on the seat next to the corner table, the one right in front of the glass wall facing the road outside.

That Time of The Year

 

Once again it’s that time of the year when the clouds of darker shades start covering the sky. The smell of newly wet earth fills your senses; birds you never see through the years fill the world around you with their excitement. It’s that time when the six-year-old wants to run away to the neighboring orchards to reclaim his mossy throne in the shadowy world. It’s that time of the year when the teenager wants to go back to his bedroom window where he can spend the lazy afternoon watching the non-stop rain drops. It is that time of the year when newly adult wants to walk under the shared umbrella – shoulder to shoulder – dreaming about the world he wants to create.

 

Monsoon Clouds

Monsoon Clouds

It’s been quite some time that I didn’t find any reason to complain about life. Wherever I went, I felt it’s a party arranged by you. The life seems so full that all the pains find no reason for their existence. Standing under the grey canopy – absorbing the ballad of life around – never saw it coming. The gust of wind caught me full on. Lurking behind the unseen dark corners of room, they swept me off. With no apparent reason – it wrings the heart out. Tide after tide of melancholic memories, flashing faces and familiar voices calling. Shakings legs want to give away – head spinning. As if perched on the threshold of a huge time gateway – seeing the past and present swirling together.

Nostalgic Rain

Nostalgic Rain

Weary eyes tries to shut down – in its last-ditch effort to break away from all that’s around; a desperate effort to curl inside the shell; frantically trying to hold onto something – someone – in that madness. Then a sudden feeling – a droplet lands on the face – and then another. The waiting skins absorb them and the droplets find their way to the heart. The monsoon kisses assure – the lips slowly curls back. The wind still there, but the accompanying drops of nectar embrace. Sanity claws back – the soaked eyes open to welcome the washed off world.

 

It is that time of the year once again – when it’s hard to reign in the romantic heart. The Eternal Romantic once again rides on his optimism.  It is that time of the year again, when memories run amuck. It is that time of the year again when eyes can only see love around. The soul feels the passion that was and that still is – feels the romance that was and what can never die. It is that time of the year when rain comes dancing back to life.