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The Room

Posted: May 28, 2014

While juggling multiple roles, don’t forget you are important too.  Make yourself a priority because no one else will with #KhayaalRakhna

A woman, a man and a room. This short story takes place within limited space and time, but speaks volumes about the brain and the heart.

One of the top 5 entries for May’s muse of the month writing cue, “What does the brain matter compared with the heart?” (from Mrs.Dalloway, Virginia Woolf).

It was a quiet evening.

The need to be needed was not extinguished though.

muse-of-the-month-may-2014A look of his was enough to build castles of wonders and his touch enough to turn her into cinder. Magical pixie dust.

His house, rather room wasn’t spacious enough, yet the walls and that worn out floor wanted her. He didn’t hug her but he got her a glass of water.

His presence had a kind of warmth that was making her melt on his bed. She was nervous and he was accommodating. It was her first time meeting a stranger like him. But it wasn’t his first time. He had met many women before but he was attracted to her rawness.

She was drawn to him. He satiated her urge to overcome her loneliness. He had a strange smell. A mix of beer and rajnigandha incense. He played with her hair, unlocked her thick curls. Her soul was being nurtured like a parched piece of land blooms with the first rain of the season.

He was quite detached from himself. He couldn’t connect to her soul either. He didn’t believe in the concept of souls as such. Yet they had a spark.

He had a small window in the room. It had a blue broken frame. It had tinted glass, faded in color. It had wild ivy all over. It was as if hidden secrets were trying to sprout.

The sun was setting and the orange and red rays were casting a love spell on the bed. He held her close and her thumping heart met his racing pulse. She pulled his hair back.

There was no power. Only a thin veil of fresh breeze over their sweating faces. A taste of her saliva made him giddy. He had never been held so fiercely by a woman before. Their bodies were swinging in sync. Their passionate kiss lasted for a while. The sun had set, the room was dark and the street light was struggling to pierce through them.

She was getting late. Her son would’ve been back from his grandparents’ house. His heart was sinking. She dashed to get a taxi while he saw her vanish from the broken window corner…

Pic credit: Geezaweezer (Used under a CC license)

About the Author: Anisha Dutt is a Programme Associate at TARSHI (Talking About Reproductive and Sexual Health Issues) in New Delhi. She has a Bachelor’s degree in International Studies from Rochester Institute of Technology, NY. Her interests include media, poetry and conspiracy theories.

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