Endless desires: Falling in love

Chapter 1- “The essence…”

Letting life linger, he stretches his arms wide and deeply breathes. His senses are penetrated by familiar warmth of the odour and he bursts into a half-smile, shaking his head, slowly.

He pats his own palm and hums a tune as the chilly breeze blows past him, somewhere to touch somebody who takes its essence….

His tune, soft and gentle, manages to drown him into the endless glimpses of the days when he had a desire to take the world into his own hands and he mumbles, gently, careful enough to not break the rhythm of his humming, “Stupid, I was…” and then, taps his fingers again, closing his eyes.

He continues his tune and starts to descend into a world of his own of sacredness, where he belongs to somebody close, somebody his….

“Nilay,” a voice brings him back to the freezing cold of Nainital heights, “Do you want to suffer a viral fever so that we can stay here for the rest of the week also? Come on, in!”

He scratches the back of his hair and glancing back at his painting, smiles before replying, “I would love to stay here for the rest of my life,” he swallows and then, brings back his smile, “But I am just coming.”

He walks, whistling his favorite tunes, and places the painting on the leaner after setting his foot on the wooden floor.

He rubs his palm on the painting and keeps looking at it. A vile thought covers the midair of his mind that if he were to be a person, as in the painting, then he would have stood there forever; wishing that the world stands still….

He hears the tapping on the floor and nods, smiling, to speak, “I have packed my bags, Dad, I am ready to leave.”

His voice dulls, strangely, but he turns around, grinning, and moves aside to show his father, his painting; his creation.

His father peeks at it and then gazes at his son who stands there with a charming smile on his face but it fails to break through the harshness within his father’s tone. Turning away, his father glances back, and states, “I am telling you for the umpteenth time, Nilay, stop this nonsense and join me in business. You will gain nothing out of,” he points at his painting, disgustedly, “This crap.”

Nilay looks down for a moment, closes his eyes, and then looking back up, responds, curtly, ignoring his father’s comment, “Thanks, Dad.”

Siddhanth did not bicker further and turns on his heels, ordering, “Your travel plan is on the table. Take it, study it and follow it.”

He runs forward to follow pace with his father and frowns, questioning surprised, “My travel plan? You are also coming with me, right?”

He does not see his father’s face when he sentences his words, like a stranger, “You very well know, Nilay, I have no time to waste on this stupid adventure of yours. I will attend a meeting here and leave by jet. You can accompany me, if sanity meets you, or rather you meet it.”

Siddhanth’s taunt does not affect his expressions.

Alas!

His heart cringes at this tone but that is momentary as sharply, gazing out, he does not respond and walks back to his room.

Mr.Siddhanth Roy shakes his head and mutters, devoid of any feeling except mockery in his tone, “Nilay is useless.”

Among his own, where his music and paintings are, he feels that life exists and rubs his nose, scrunching his brows. Then, he says to his own being, “I am happy to travel in the place where I belong, where she exists…”

Then, he smiles again and rests his gaze on the neatly polished guitar that has witnessed endless conversations and such hearty smiles; that still believes him to be worthy.

Couple of hours later….

“Mr.Roy-” his agent starts with utmost respect seeing the branded attire that he was fitted into perfectly.

Nilay waves his hand, taking it out of his Wrangler pockets and warmly smiles, and speaks, intervening, “Call me Nilay,” he glances at his badge, “Khan Saab. After all, I am much younger than you and we have to share camaraderie to understand your instructions, don’t we?” he smiles again.

Khan nods and explains the pamphlet and plans to Nilay, who listens, jokes and keeps smiling.

So much difference, Khan wonders, between father and son; one is fire and the other is cool water.

Shrugging, Nilay shakes hands with his agent and departs with his backpack and roller in his hands towards his adventure, his journey and his destination.

He whistles and walks on the brisk velvet snow and soon, a team of tourists join him. He starts his conversation with a Brazilian who is awed by the beauty of the hills and is quite depressing in English.

“Kaylee is your name, beautiful lady? Did I pronounce it right?” his most ravishing smile is present on his face and eyes.

The Brazilian smiles at him and grinning, corrects him in her thick accent, “It’s not Kay-lee, dear, it’s Kaay-lee. Kaaylee.”

He looks ahead, sheepishly, and responds, “Shakespeare says, ‘What’s in the name?’. And Nilay Roy adds that what’s in the name when a lady is as beautiful as you.”

Kaaylee takes that as a compliment and pats his palm, fondly, while he busies himself in chatter with her.

A gaze follows his flirty moves. It scowls as he compliments the lady and comments, passively, “Flirt.”

Nilay never fails to hear the comment and says to Kaaylee, “Excuse me, Kaay-lee, just for a moment.”

The Brazilian nods and starts clicking the pictures again, walking forth.

He digs his hands into his pockets and walks backwards, to the source of the thin and chiming voice.

Without looking at the lady’s face, he smiles and asks, “Flirt?”

“Yes, flirt,” is the worded reply and taken aback, he turns around.

The young woman stares at his face, sharply, but then turns her gaze. He looks at her shady hair that flows back to touch her petite waist with the air. His eyes rest on her face that has a touch of crimson, a natural crimson, in it.

“Excuse me, are you checking me out?” she snaps him back to reality and walks faster than before.

The guide’s voice begins to drift again.

He smirks and walking in pace, with her, answers, “I was not checking you out, beautiful,” she glares, “Do you know how would I check you out?”

She stops, then glares and starts walking again. He looks at her, straight at her, and says, “This would be how I’ll check you out.”

“Listen, Mr. Flirt,” she points her finger at him, turning around as her long hair locks, with the familiar warmth that he felt in the morning, brushing against his slight stubble and his eyes closed for a fleeting moment.

His calm sense gives her chills and she fails to retort further. She keeps looking at his face and then, as he smirks, she still resides in her world of her own.

He gets hold of her finger, sensational touch, both feel; then, grins and states, “Mr.Nilay Roy, beautiful. Now, are you checking me out?”

She flares her nostrils and his heart thumps a little more than usual. She continues, “Mr. Flirt, I prefer.”

“What’s this beauty called?” Now, he ignores her comment and questions.

A very slow smirk appears on her pink lips as she turns back and answers, “Shakespeare says, ‘What’s in the name?’. And Mr. Flirt adds that what’s in the name when a lady is as beautiful as me.”

She holds her head up high and he shrugs, grinning.

Then, he teases, “So, I’ll call you Crimson.”

“What?” she nearly shrieks.

He smirks, “I love the way your cheeks have-”

Presenting Syra Yousuf as Kaavya Malhotra

“Shut up!” she retorts and adds, breathing, “Kaavya Malhotra,” he grins and she irks, “Now, move aside, flirt.”

Attraction is beyond our will and idea sometimes. It has no bounds, no barriers and no logic. Beauty attracts man, familiarity attracts mankind.