It is a rainy November night, the hands of the clock unite at 12 and I leave my chair; put the knitting needles and specs on the side table, wrap the shawl around my shoulders and watch the rain droplets tracing unknown patterns on window panes, I try to follow them. I smile. I cry. The butterfly of yesteryears spread its wings and takes me to the life I once lived.
I am Alaena, I have thinning hair, reading glasses, a little towards chubby frame and I’m 67. I live in hill-view plaza, Building no 14, floor no 6 apartment no 174 A. I have been living here ever since they were constructed – a good many years ago. It is still pouring down; Novembers to me are always nostalgic.
He was Rashid Amin, a little less than 25 and a little more than 6 feet, had deep intellectual brown eyes that sometimes appeared green, a caramel colored skin, chocolate wavy hair and a very generous warm smile. He lived in the apartment right opposite to my room’s window; far enough that he could never notice me still near enough that I always knew him well – very well.
He was the most handsome and noble man of the plaza, with a square jaw and very well define features, I could have said cute but cute suits for 5 year old and he was very masculine for cute. He topped in the university majoring in accounts and was immediately taken by one of the most prestigious firm of the country. It was late that I realize that he was awfully rich too (better said, awesomely rich) living alone in the apartment and owning his father’s entire estate yet he had courteous manners (opening car door for women, holding glass door for elders and nodding, smiling and killing hearts) Every morning I would see him in his navy jogging suit, he would greet any one he pass with a smile and gentle nod and would sometimes stop to pat a young lad. He was such a healthy person I wonder if he had ever been to doctor in his life? Never – but once, and for the last time.
He was so good to be true and so unmatchable that I never dared to step ahead to know him or be friends with him. Time fleeted akin to the sand escaping from the grasp of fist. And it brought me grief. He picked his life partner, the lucky Crystal Koya and invited everyone to attend his wedding ceremony; in the flood of colors and smells the ecstatic man was sitting next to his bride, joy was dripping his eyes and smile, radiating and mesmerizing. No one noticed my tears; it was the first time I saw him from near, even less than three feet away. He was so charismatic and charming; no wonder why he was the throb of every young heart.
The minute I saw the bride, I knew she was his perfect match. I had never seen someone as beautiful as her; sleek, slender as if made of most perquisite porcelain. I came back home with a heavy heart, darkness engulfed me.
His room was theirs now. I sealed the window and the Pandora box of my hopes and flew to another city for a change. It took me three weeks to get back to normal, to accept life as it is, three weeks to lit fire to my dreams; for life then was not dreams, it was nightmare.
When I came back Sandeep, a next door neighbor by chance and a dear friend by choice, visited me. His favorite sport, after retirement, had been sitting next to his window and observing people, he hence, knew all. Who was going out with whom, who was doing what, the new borns and the deads; who were engaged and who were broken up. He, to me, was a gossip monger, a cheap local newspaper; that day we sat over the coffee and he told me about Crystal’s suicide.
Sometimes facts hit you in your pit so hard to digest, despite everything I felt so sad for her and for him. She was a schizophrenic, been hallucinated and had anhedonia, inability to experience pleasure. One random day when he was off for office she killed herself. Just like that, as killing yourself is a matter of fact.
I broke down, I cried like I had never cried and that day I realized something I never did, I loved Rashid Amin.
(part two, the main thrill is due in a week =), please wait!)