There is something so oppositely relatable about losing it to a complete stranger, something so audacious and brave but also regretful and horrifying at the same time.
Fast love is an inconsequential pursuit, not worth bothering about, not worth mentioning. That is something that must remain to yourself or if you’re nonchalant enough, then to the rest of the world, for that matter.
To the city I had been putting up in, you’d possibly be the one getting frowned upon by the people if you haven’t had an experience of what the nights of the city had to offer you, ‘the night life’, a complete new dimension to life. Forever curious about getting to know this ‘dimension’ for a better view and getting a somewhat sneak peek of it. I wanted to experience it. Not for the people to stop raising their brows at me or judging me for being too ignorant, but for my own answers to my questions.
Commencing with the exploration I realized that the people were right at some point. That was this hour of the day which induced responsive enthusiasm and rigor even in the most copiously weeping laments. The city which sees well suited people rushing their asses off in the day time, with deafening horns throughout the roads, is much more louder and quieter at night, so much more brighter and sparkling, so much more relaxing, where one may find peace and solace while losing oneself into the hustle bustle of it. While observing every minute detail of the ‘hour’ that made it so different a time, I realized that I seemingly looked like the ‘forlorn orchestra to whose piping no one dances’. Oh this H.H Munro line suited me so well at that time. Although I was in deep happy contemplation mode, I looked like one, apparently.
Out of all there was this guy, my ‘eye contact friend’, the one I had seen many times on the streets while crossing the roads. Only his was a familiar face. I could feel the warmth and comfort of the familiarity as the gazes intensified and grew deeper there at the bar. He was sitting at some distance to me, but close enough to have noticed the sexy slitty eyes piercing right into mine. He knew too that he had seen me before. With no awkward look away from the gaze, he smirked. Or maybe he just twitched his sewed lips to one corner of his face to which I thought he smirked and i smiled more prominently. He smiled and proceeded towards me. Placing himself in the couch next to me he offered me to buy a drink and followed up by introducing himself. I agreed and asked him what were we going to have. After a minute long discussion, we both settled in for the cocktail that bets to get you high owing to the great capacities we claimed to have had.
While sipping on the cocktail we discussed on how we were familiar in our unfamiliarity and i told him how I categorized him under my ‘eye contact friend’. The topic gradually drifted from the shallow and humorous ones to deeper ones, about the fantasies and the desires and of course the turn ons. As well perceived, the things heated up and yes the cocktail had to be held accountable, after all, such pep up talks cannot create such a gusto. At that time I felt like a sponge, wanting to assimilate him, intoxicated by his charm. Sometimes nothing else hit the spot. It can take the form of anything, for then it was a shared look. He walked me out of the bar and we landed up at his place, possibly, as far as I remember. A chill ran down my spine realizing that it was only him and me now, alone, but now there was no way out. “Whatever the set-up, be confident, be courteous, be open”, I kept telling myself, after all this is what I wanted since I had been long out of something serious, something taxing. In a sudden rush of excitement it soothed our appetite of ardor.
There is something uncanny about it, no worries, no strings attached, no explanations, no expectations, and in most cases, no regrets either. After that I never saw him again, not even on the streets. Maybe he shifted to some other place and I lost my ‘eye contact friend’. But that wasn’t much of an issue for me because I had this next familiar face waiting for just one more expedition into the other world. Women after all, it is clear, have transitioned.
Shrankhla Verma | Content Writer | DU Times
