One rainy night, two strangers and coffee ... Part 2

One rainy night, two strangers and coffee ...

Part 2

Asad's pining eyes held the Lonely Girl's gaze a little longer before dropping his gaze over her mouth. He forgot about his car outside, he forgot about his laptop in front of him, in fact he couldn't care about work right now nor could he care about the girl his mother had chosen for him. All he wanted was to hear the Lonely Girl's voice once more. He was captivated by her beauty and her voice, albeit she only spoke once to the waitress and briefly to him and this was a first for him, a first for desiring the attention and the voice of a female. 

He thought of the different ways he could start a conversation with her but nothing came to his mind. He looked at her for items which could be used as a starting point to a conversation, possibly her sadness, or her helmet or the rain in which she was totally drenched ... all could be used but they all seemed silly to him, silly in the sense that he would be intrusive and she wouldn't have liked that. Asad continued to observe the beauty before him in wonder, she was lost in her thoughts, her body was here but her mind lost elsewhere, her eyes were focused on the rain outside through the glass windows of the coffee house. She stared with great concentration at the rain drizzling miserably against the glass.

That was Asad's cue, as he thought he'd ask her about the weather, so typical and cliche but he went ahead anyway. He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket and began scribbling away on the paper. Once he finished writing whatever he was writing, he pushed the paper towards the Lonely Girl's side of the table, drumming on the table with his pen to get her attention and hopefully to look at the note too.

She turned her attention towards him, puzzled by his actions, if he wanted to say something he could easily have voiced them but then again she recalled she told him that she did not want to be disturbed. She looked at him baffled by his weirdness, she hadn't expected someone as formal and business minded as him to pull such an action. Maybe he was flirting or maybe he was being totally creepy but whatever it was she could not help but smile inwardly at the smileys she saw he had drawn with such finesse and so she tentatively pulled the paper to her side to read what it said:


It read:

"Do you love the rain Miss Lonely Girl?  " Asad scribbled as a question posed to her, the Lonely Girl looked up at him bewildered as she thought of how weird his pick up line was, if that was pick up line at all.


The Lonely Girl turned her attention to the Coffee Man, his face was open and welcoming but his eyes careful as he waited for her to answer, if at all she cared to answer. She reached into her shoulder bag and took out a pink pen and answered his question by writing a short and simple answer. She thought keeping it brief would deter any further questions on his part and hopefully she could go back to staring at the rain, and drowning her sorrow in the warm hazelnut cafe latte in front of her.

"Yes I love the rain, it's peaceful Mr Coffee Man," the Lonely Girl replied in a short sentence, pushing the paper to his side.


Asad looked at her, bemused by her short and vague response, looking at her poetic eyes, he expected at least a paragraph or at least for her to speak with her beautiful voice but she didn't and so he decided to keep up with the questioning on paper. He didn't know what compelled him to do so but deep down he hoped that eventually she would speak to him with her sweet voice. He giggled inwardly at the name she coined for him, the Coffee Man; well it wasn't as bad as the one he coined for her, the Lonely Girl. He sighed and began scribbling something on the paper.


All the while the Lonely Girl looked up and saw his beautiful face, an enchanting smile spreading across his face as he penned his question. His smile was magnetic, that for some reason she began forgetting what had originally brought her there.  She gave him a vague smile at his interest in her and his weird way of asking her questions. It was cute, so cute that she had no choice but to answer his questions.


Once again he pushed the paper to her side of the table, smiling as he did hoping she wouldn't run from there scared that his persistent questions might scare her off. He hoped he didn't appear creepy.


"It's Asad, but I could settle for Coffee Man. You love the rain? Really? You find the rain peaceful? What's peaceful about getting wet and having your day disrupted by rain? It's messy and dirty,  " Asad had scribbled back on the paper. 

The Lonely Girl read his question and decided to write down a lengthy answer this time, a lengthy answer that would keep him busy for a while and possibly thwart his efforts, preventing him from asking her any more questions. She craved his attention yet ironically she felt she needed to reject his concern, it was truly none of his business. 


She was nervous and it was all due to him, he made her feel like a mess, a tight knot of emotions ranging from intrigue and desire formed at her core. It somewhat frightened her, his questions almost digging a hole in her soul and she didn't need anyone new to build a home in her soul and form a bond, as she required the shackles of her last unfulfilled bond to free her from the hurt that it caused. Not that she ever loved " him " but she did think of the possibilities of loving her last reluctant partner, a man that she never actually met but she made dreams about and began building a world around him, a world he did not want. Once she finished writing her lengthy answer she tentatively pushed the paper to his side, giving him a half lidded stare, her nervousness got the better of her. She hoped that she did not appear vulnerable as he read her answer to his questions about the rain.


"Asad, that's a nice name. I'm Zoya but Lonely Girl suits me well  ... I guess you perused and read me right. I do feel lonely, not the kind of I-have-no-one-lonely but lonely in not being able to express the sadness that I feel. In answer to your question about the rain: 

Then you probably haven't had the opportunity to dance in the rain Mr Coffee Man, oh I mean Asad. Rain is soothing; its droplets express all the emotions that I cannot voice, pain, longing, sadness, happiness. It's that feeling you get after the rain caresses your skin like nostalgia or being enveloped by love and care, like a mother's touch.  My heart skips a beat each time a drop falls from the sky. The smell of fresh rain reminds me of summers in New York. 

The look of rain as it pours and drizzles across the windowpanes is heavenly, washing away all the sorrows. It's music is so calm and it's like nothing could ever be wrong in the world ... that I forget everything that makes me sad, it reminds me of all the things I would have missed had I chosen to meet him tomorrow," Asad read her answer with great concentration in trying to understand her. He looked up at her, his eyebrows furrowed in astonishment because he wasn't sure if she was sad or happy, sad was his best bet. 

And for some incomprehensible reason he felt he could relate to her answer, in some weird way, like her words spoke to him only. A mass of knots too formed at his core, feelings of familiarity and a spiritual and beautiful connection to her. He decided to ignore those gut feelings because he did not believe in signs and decided to smile at knowing her name and at the trust that she had placed in him by divulging her innermost secrets. That made him feel special. "Zoya, that's a beautiful name," he whispered under his breath.

Zoya realised she may have written a little too much, it wasn't normal for her to open up to a total stranger but for some reason she felt she could open up to him. She saw Asad look at her bewildered by her weird answer, his eyebrows furrowed into question marks. She diverted her attention back to her hazelnut cafe latte, her fingers tracing the brim of the mug but her reverie was cut short as Asad pushed the note once more in her direction, she didn't realise he had scribbled yet another question, so much for writing a lengthy answer she thought.


It read: 

"I prefer the dry indoors to that torrid downpour outside, and no I think it's really stupid for someone to stare at the rain hoping their sorrows would disappear. Rain is but just water, it cannot give any real solace," Asad answered her back  and he watched her read the note from behind his black coffee, hoping she was not offended by his cold remark on the rain, savouring the taste of the richness of the blend.


She continued to read the next lines Asad had penned on the paper:

"Uddas ho? 

Pareshaan ho? 

Ya Naraaz ho? 

Kya Hua?"  


Zoya let out a sweet giggle on seeing what he had written below his cold remark on the rain, on the note. It had smileys drawn next to each line which she found utterly cute, and she certainly didn't see that one coming her way from him because he looked super strict especially after he wrote such a cold remark on the rain. Once again his sweetness and those smileys compelled her to pour her heart out, after all it was her last day here in Bhopal and he was a complete stranger, it wouldn't hurt if he could reduce some of her sorrow for her. It would not matter what he thought of her pain.

She took a good few minutes writing while Asad stared at her in awe. She was so angelic; he could not understand why her beautiful face was adorned with a sad expression or why anyone would cause her pain. He saw her momentarily sigh deeply as she looked outside, her eyes searching for someone or something or some sort of solace from the rain. 

She finally completed what she was writing and passed the note back to Asad, hoping that he would not be judgemental or think that she was naive and so she crossed her fingers for luck. 
Her simple action of crossing her fingers brought a smile to Asad's face, in fact he hadn't stop smiling since she began answering his weird questions even if no real vocal talk was involved. 

Asad began reading her note paying attention to her messy handwriting; it was innocent just like her eyes.

It read:

"You know when you were a little kid and you believed in fairy tales? That fantasy of what your life would be like when you grow up. Well if you were a girl which of course you are not, anyhow ... then possibly you dreamt of these things - a beautiful white dress, a dashing Prince Charming who would carry you away to his house on the hill in the picturesque countryside. 
Well that is what I always thought would happen when and if I met my Prince Charming. 

I would lie in bed at night and close my eyes and have complete and utter faith that one day that would happen maybe not in the way that I dreamt but it would happen. 

Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and Prince Charming - I believed in them all, they were so close, so real you could almost feel them. But eventually I grew up and one day I opened my eyes and the fairy tale disappeared and rationality began to takes its place realising that those were just dreams and never a reality. 

Most people turn to the things and people they can trust. But the thing is I don't have that many people I can trust and rely on. I came here to Bhopal searching for a lost member of my family, my so-called Dad who I have never seen in my whole life. But that search was pointless. 

I never knew who my mother was but my Aapi insisted I grow up and forget my past and get married and so I was supposed to meet him tomorrow, the guy to whom I would be married to ... but I've decided that I won't ... I can't because I heard he's a well-known rich businessman, an established architect who doesn't really care for feelings and love and he was just agreeing to marry me because his mother insisted. I actually spent a whole three months preparing for tomorrow, so that when I did meet him things would be perfect, hoping that maybe he would change his mind on seeing me because I started to picture a life with him. 

But I cannot live my life with such a man, it would be the death of my dreams the only thing I have that keeps me happy and keeps me going. His mother visited me earlier today but before she could talk to me properly, her son whose name is yet a blur to me, called and cancelled for tomorrow. He said he didn't need to meet me because ours would not be a normal marriage, it was just for his mother, he blared loud and clear over the speaker on the telephone. He said I would be a misfit in his perfect life and I didn't understand why because he hadn't even met me yet. 

His words were painful, I don't know why I give him so much importance when he clearly does not even care. My Aapi still insists that I should marry him and his mother insists I come by their house tomorrow so that he and I could finally meet but my Jeeju was the only one who said I didn't have to. And I'm happy that my Jeeju is the only one in this that understands me.
Oh well it's his loss really, the poor deluded soul. But I wish that he gets what he is looking for, that all his dreams come true and hopefully one day his perfect match will enter his life and make him the happiest man in the world and give him all the love he needs. Anyways I don't care anymore. 

I have decided to let go of my dream. It is hard letting go of that fairy tale entirely because I have somewhere deep inside of me the smallest bit of hope and faith that one day he would open his eyes and realise what a fool he was and then maybe just maybe my dreams would all come true. But who knows maybe we were just never meant to be. And maybe someone else may enter my life ...

At the end of the day, faith is a funny thing. It turns up when you don't really expect it. It's like one day you realise that the fairy tale is slightly different than your dream. The castle, well it may not be a castle. And it's not so important that it's happily ever after - just that it's happy right now. I'm happy that I never met him because maybe my life would not have a fairy tale ending, he would be unhappy and so would I. 

See, once in a while, once in a blue moon, people will surprise you. And once in a while, people may even take your breath away. Like you have today, ... thank you for the coffee which I'll pay for as my gratitude for listening to me ramble on about some silly thing like this. But thank you and now it is time for me to take my leave but before that I hope that you find what you are looking for Coffee Man. 

So using your words and my poetry I hope that you remember and cherish this rainy night in this coffee house, like I will. It's my turn to make you smile and so here goes:

Uddas ho? 

Pareshaan ho?  

Ya Naraaz ho?  

Kya Hua?"  

Years will come, years will go but with each passing season I will always cherish this moment. Whichever way the road may bend, Coffee Man will always be a good friend. I won't forget you. Ab toh muskarado.   Best wishes, Zoya."

Zoya had written a lengthy response which made Asad sad. A frown appeared on his face and her words stung him as he finished reading her reasons for her sorrow. He recalled his own words when he called his mother to cancel the meeting with the girl she had chosen for him. He wanted to correct his actions so badly and explain to the Lonely Girl that he was the one that had caused her grief, that he was sorry for causing her grief but before he could voice his emotions, it was too late. He looked opposite him, the seat where a few moments ago ... where she sat - was now empty, she was gone. 


The Lonely Girl Zoya had already exited the coffee house, he could see her on her motorbike fastening her helmet and in no time she started the engine and took off with furore, the rain pouring even harder than before. He ran out to stop her but it was of no use, the back light of her motorbike disappeared into the darkness of the night.  His world stopped moving; everything seemed frozen in time except for the harsh and relentless cascade of rain showering down on him and memories came flooding in. 

End of part 2

© Fatima B Lunat 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Fatima B Lunat.