.unwrite

Words hold a much deeper story,
when unsaid.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

Words always mean something. But what’s interesting and even more fascinating is that the unsaid words mean a lot more than the said ones. I used to dwell in words unsaid. I found comfort in them, knowing that what I wanted to say was out there in the open however no one ever really read between the lines. To be more honest I had never been good at writing, so when people failed to understand a normal story without any hidden words between the lines, I shouldn’t be too shocked to know that no one actually gets what I write. A part of me wants to convince me by saying that what I write is for me and not for the others, while the other part wants to find validation to the blatant truth that no on really understood or even read.

I continued to write, even after knowing that what I wrote never made any sense. But I always had this, lets call it inhibition that there would be someone out there perhaps going through what I am going through and perhaps will relate to my meaningless post. I could say that I wanted to reach out to people and convince them not to follow the path that I had followed and still seem to be following. It always gets darker and the light fades out at one point. Don’t get me wrong but in a way I am the one blowing out the last remaining candles with no match on me to light them back if there was something that could perhaps the change the dynamics of normalcy. I was so far gone that even if there was a light at the tunnel as they so family refer to, I would just ignore it and take a U-turn and go down the darker path.

No, I am not addicted to this. It is just me in general. When things happen, it sort of change people, I believe. Correct me if I am wrong. Experiences enriches people, they make them better, they enable us to make the right choices taking into account the innumerable wrong choices we had already made. Mistakes are a stepping stone and not something that crushes under its weight. The only problem with all the mnemonics is that it wold be all good with an effort made to learn from them, not if we let the weight crush us. And I believe I don’t have to explain where I stand in all this.

This had been getting harder each day. With things taking drastic changes each day, it just keeps getting more difficult to cope. And the byproduct of all this is that I have started to lose the habit of expressing myself. For one, I have found myself writing the same thing over and over and over again, and writing which one enticed me, doesn’t do that anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I still have a very high affinity for writing, but it’s just that the circumstances are not enabling me to the do the best, or even a word. This is hard. Because it used to be rejuvenating but now, I just can’t, even if I tried. The forceful writing was never my forte. I believe in natural flow of words because they are more genuine and are usually from deep within, and even if they barely scratch the surface, they are still ones own. The others have always been pretentious or even forceful and it’s not like I have a huge fan base eager to read what I am writing. Maybe there never was one because of that very reason. It does make perfect sense, doesn’t it? Well, that’s not the point I was trying to make. The point being that I had lost the art of writing, and metaphors which once kept me company in the lonesome nights and (un)eventful days, it seems to have found a new place of it’s own. Well, someone has to be doing better. If not me, then they. I am not a very hopeful person, but I will try to hope that there is still a chance for them to come back to me, well the whole writing in general.

______

.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

Normal

Celebration is as contagious as a warm smile.
-Enigma

The sun was just bright and  warm while the wind a bit chilly. The soft light dispersed rays danced to a distant hymn. The sound of the bells resonated in the sunlit room. There was a pleasant air that flowed so effortlessly. An array of colored lights played in a not so distant over the boxes covered in shiny wrappers. It seemed like a theme of red, white and green. The air was filled  with an aroma of  delicious food while a houseful of people immersed themselves in prayers, wishes and songs. The children ran all around in excitement waiting eagerly to open their presents. Songs played in the background resonating an ambience of a joyous celebration. The rejuvenating smiles warming the hearts with their pleasantries as the atmosphere turned festive with every passing moment.

______

The music was  loud, the sound repeating itself and growing louder with each passing moment. An alarm, perhaps which was clearly not being attended to. The sun tried its’ best to fill the room through the small gap through the curtain, yet it failed to brighten the room. The shadow was the shortest at this time in the bright sunny afternoon, and yet the room radiated a monochromatic ambience. The phone blinked with a few wishes scrolling across the screen, none of which was even read properly. The untidy bed and the dark room lay still in an otherwise bright sunny day. A door opened and the bright sunlight illuminated the alleged cozy room. A distant music made way into the dull somber room. People with bright new dressed happily greeting each other made their presence while the kids ran around with their new gifts. There was laughter, there was happiness and that joy that each one was radiating was extremely contagious. The atmosphere was festive. And then the people settled to sing the jingl… The same door was slammed shut. The  slowly brightening otherwise gloomy room now turned back to reflect the somberness. There was no light again. Just darkness and  a huge void.

______

Wishing you a very happy and prosperous new year.
Have a great one, like always.

Solitude

The world faded in vibrant shades of people, the commotion increasing with each cheer, a smile here, a hug there, a shout here, a fist bump there.  The crowd got a little more momentum when more people joined the celebration as the music blared in the background. The ground vibrated with the joy of people dancing in their highest spirits. The air was filled with the spirit of what the people shared with each other, the bond that was so unique, pure and selfless; Friendship and Love. There was just happiness floating all around, the warmth that radiated from the heart.

_______

He stood there amidst the crowd as the people swarmed all around him. The feeling seemed contagious as he too was transpired in the moment and felt part of that celebrating crowd, high in their spirits; happy and content. The stars glittered ever so bright over the dome of endless sky. He loved to see how people enjoyed, and celebrated life. The happy faces were a sight to watch, the feeling shared among them was worth a memory. He didn’t dance like they did, he didn’t have company like they did, he didn’t feel what they felt, but all he did was try to sink that feeling in, something that he never had the pleasure of.

The clouds slowly engulfed the bright specks in the sky as the crowd slowly faded away to their next celebration. As the music played its last beat, the only sound that reverberated was the sound of his breath in an empty field. Of all that had happend that night, he knew this, the feeling that the ground underneath had; empty, he knew it way too well; and the sound, the silence that spread across the vastness, he knew it like he craved for it. And as reality sink in, he walked back to his home, alone, to his solitude.

 

Impact Zero

How! How did I derail? How did I do this? What just happened? Why am I writing normal stuff? Why am I being so nice, I mean trying to be nice? What is happening to me? Why am I trying to be normal? Why am I trying to be sensitive to something as bizzare as this? Why!

Disclaimer:  Not Suitable For Reading, because no one is reading, duh! Don’t pretend you do. I would know if you did. It’s not a super power, but more of a calculated deduction.

Why do you read? Why do we read? Why does anyone read? Because we want to live a world that is a world apart from the one we live in. But mostly, we read to live the world of the person behind the book or even that small write up. It tells us so much, it teaches us, perhaps inspires us a little as well. And in retrospective, it gives us a chance to escape from the charades of life and immerse ourselves in something we can ponder over, and perhaps act as well, mostly how what we are reading drives us. But if you ask me to be frank, I never the same about the textbooks in school when compared to the fiction books I read. I would be glad if you agree as well, but otherwise, going well textbookaholic ( Yes, I create stuff occasionally).

Now, the more important question is why do you write? The analogy as to why would anyone write differs from person to person and well, to be fair each one has a different reason so as to why would they write. Let me tell you, writing is not easy, or may be it’s just me. Writing is not easy when you think of the elements. The elements range from people’s opinions to our own stigma or are they called our inhibitions? Amidst all, we write not only to express ourselves but it is what frees us, frees up from the charades of life, frees us from ourselves. Ourselves! Interesting, right? Well, yes! Because if you could  observe the broader picture, we are the ones who keep us from writing. We give excuses saying that it is the work, it is the life happening, it is this or that and the most common of them which not surprisingly I use all the time is “Writers Block”.

This brings me to the most important aspect that I wanted to discuss, or if you care to discuss that is : What would make someone read a post? A tacky title? A provoking photo? The few lines under the title, also called as an excerpt, giving a brief about the actual post, or sometimes it’s just the first 50-60 words of the said post. Or is it the name of the writer/blogger, who wrote the post? Because I know a lot of people just don’t read the post. I have come across a wide variety of people (by people I mean bloggers, some of them friends as well), or in general, a majority of whom just don’t read the post. WordPress makes it easy to navigate through the feed of the bloggers one follow. But then again, why don’t people read the post in their Reader feed? Is it the small excerpt that somehow leads to the possible neglect. Neglect is a strong word. I would rather say ‘Like‘ the post without actually reading it. Because reading would basically generate a thought, howsoever is not always favourable most of the time, but that is what the comment section is for – to understand the others point of view.

To give a better picture of what goes in the mind of a writer is a cumulation of a million thoughts, carefully formulated to make a logical sense of the topic at hand, and while at it address the various issues at hand and probably seek help from people reading, or inspire a little, if need be. Or sometimes people just want to be heard and see if others could relate, just to assure themselves that they are just not alone. But I guess that would be asking too much of people.

This brings to the realization that why I am stressing out on so much? Why can’t I just write the stupid stuff that I usually write and be done with it. Because in my time of writing all this while, I have come across people who are not perfect. Perfect!? Such a cliche word. So, let me rephrase : I have come across people who are imperfectly perfect, because we as writers want to be heard, no doubt, but at the same time we also need that shoulder to lean on or just be there, even if one can’t offer a shoulder. I always wanted to be that shoulder or to lend a hand or just be there, listen, or perhaps just read and tell them that “It is going to be alright”.

To the imperfectly-perfect people,
I just want to tell you and assure that I am here for you, anyday, anytime. I am not perfect either. so, bear with me, we will go through the mess together.
– Imperfect being.

And like my title suggests, I want to leave an impact. People usually look for a positive outlook at life, I fail to do so, at every word I write, ever letter I carve. As a matter of fact, I do the exact opposite thing, give the glimpse of the dark side. It is a purview of a person enduring most of it. So, it is also a concern that no one else faces the same darkness, and fight those demons alone. It is just to reassure that I can’t win that battle, but I have seen Spartan, Gladiator and the likes of it. I will leave it at that.

_____

How! How did I derail? How did I do this? What just happened? Why am I writing normal stuff? Why am I being so nice, I mean trying to be nice? What is happening to me? Why am I trying to be normal? Why am I trying to be sensitive to something as bizzare as this, comments (what now?), people reading my blog(Am I being serious now!) ? Where did all the dark stuff go? Where is my old fried, darkness? Why am I reaching for the light? Why!

–  Enigma

Help me help.

There is this sinking feeling, that drowns us into suffocation where we strive to breathe, that engulfs me into this embrace, a lot like darkness. Yes, darkness, my old friend. No matter what we do, how much we try to fight, we feel tied down, held down. But, but there is light, there always is. We see it at the end of the tunnel, a vibrant collision of bright and shining. We want to reach for it. We want to get out of this darkness, this suffocation, this struggle for life, this fear. And we see this light, so close yet so far, slowly diminishing, slowly fading. But we are drowning, sinking in this quicksand that pulls us down into this bottomless pit, struggling with all our might, yet feeling completely helpless, useless.

I am angry because I am helpless.
– Ξniɢma

I just read the other day another rape incident, not a day after that mass molestation. This is shocking. This is beyond normal. This is going out of control. And I am agitated. My mind is not in one piece. I was at work and I was trying to focus on my work as I wanted some things taken care of. I got distracted with the news that I came across as I scrolled the Facebook timeline. I tried to avoid it, like I have avoided all my problems, like every important thing that mattered I have avoided, I wanted to be that dumb guy who doesn’t understand what is going on when the whole group are laughing and discussing about something. I tried to be that asshole who would just scroll down without flinching an eye and passing a comment “Nothing new“. I tried my best to be ignorant like I had been ignoring the calls from my relatives. But I was drawn to it. Why? I had to know. Why was this pulling me towards it? I didn’t even go out to catch Pokémons while the whole world rejoiced on each Pokemon they collected. I was not drawn to the girl on whom I had crush on for as long as I can remember when she sent a text. What the hell was it, then? I did what I usually don’t know but do all the time – Psychoanalysis!

Was it the pain? Was it the suffering? Was it the inhumanity? What was it?  I am human after all. I too have a few weakness. I t was then I realized that I was drawn to the helplessness. I was drawn to them all – the pain, the suffering.

As I sit somewhat-comfortably in my almost-perfectly cushioned bed after have adjusted the pillows to my favor to rest my back and try to express what I am feeling, I may be telling I am angry, agitated, pissed, blood boiling and everything hyper, but in the end what am I doing? What am I contributing to the cause? How can this little-angry write up about my anger change something, someone?

It agitated me quite a bit to even think about it. We can debate all we want about the problems we have , the things we can do , the things we should do, go on candle light marches in remembrance, stage a protest outside some government institute, break a few windows, burn a few buses, or may be not and all this while we think we are doing a good thing, trying our part in bringing about the change that we so badly need. Or even better we write about the underlying problem, the cause, the reason and while we are laying out the consequences and what we should do, what others should do, what the government we  elected must do. We would go on and write about the problems of the country, the deranged people shouting in CAPITAL LETTERS for the emphasis and also because we are agitated and angry and pissed and outraged. We hope that the letters we write, the articles we publish and the stories we scribble with the carefully structured sentences and curbing the Fuck curse words will reach the people and somehow it will bring a change, somehow it will give them a question to ponder over their actions, somehow that story just might change the people.

But we are human. No, let me rephrase. We are assholes. We follow blind leaders and illiterate psychopaths. Have you ever wondered that IAS exams that we write are so tough to crack and you know what happens to the people who pass them? They work for some 5th standard fail politician. Even with all the aspirations to bring about the change on a small scale is just sidetracked. How are the politicians so illiterate. You want growth. Elect people who can take the challenge. Not someone who are looking to control and oppress. Oh, yes the speeches are always great because they have been drafted with a degree, a MBA one perhaps.

The underlying issue stays the same. We hope that people would change, the concerned officials will take control and bring drastic reforms in. But let’s get one thing clear, there are still a few assholes out there who can’t be changed no matter what you do. Don’t blame it on illiteracy. Everyone learns, in some way or the other. Just that one are hard core assholes who refuse to learn, who refuse to change their way. I don’t understand their stubbornness. They could use this stubbornness to do something good. And the problem still continues.

I am not doing a great thing here by voicing out my thoughts. And that’s what bothers me the most. I am not doing anything. I want to do something to change all this and not give people a chance to even talk about these incidents. But, I am helpless, utterly helpless.

Can you help me to help?
Please? 

__

Ξniɢma

The picture quotes are borrowed from Quotefancy

Realization.

You time is my memory.
_____

What is it called which hurts the most? What is that simple thing that makes you realize your gravest mistake? Why is it that, it being just in front of our eyes we want to ignore? There are a lot of questions that whisper silently yet screaming in the head. Pain ah, man’s ultimate solitude. A fortress that we build in the name of pain and its outcome. Without pain, there is no gain. Someone said it and that humble someone is probably right. But how does it fall into place? How does it know when to fall in place? Time, a morbid concept of reality, tricky yet precious, at the same time.

Let me start by first apologizing to the people who apparently think that I am not good enough for being a friend. For the past 24 odd years, I never had the liberty of having a friend, let alone a best friend. There might be a reason to it, but it doesn’t need explaining. At the end of the day, I am still the same person I was a day ago, or a decade ago. I may have grown up or old but I have done with only me, I alone. People are fascinating beings. When I have spent a major chunk of my life being in the company of myself, there comes a time when one realizes to look around and most importantly look at the people around. It is even more moving when some of these people actually look back at you and spend some of their time with you. Time, that precious chunk of one’s life that once spent could never be taken back or changed or bargained for. Don’t you think it is precious? I do.

I had the luxury of meeting some of the amazing people here on blogosphere. I agree that I am not one of the most charming people who has a way with words, or a witty one, or as a matter of fact not even normal. I am just a plain old boring soul. Having said that I have come across some of the people who are just too amazing. I know that becoming a friend needs to meet certain criteria, which I was hoping to meet over the course of time. So, it began. The conversations. Be it comments, emails or WhatsApp chat, I was aiming to meet their checklist, having already checked my only point in my checklist which read as “Time“. If they could spare some of their time for me, that in itself is such a big thing. But, I made a mistake of assuming.

I have traveled places all my childhood, not by choice but by compulsion. This should have been an added bonus, but this somehow shut be out. It is always not easy to adjust to the new environment, new people, their habits, their way of expressing. I have seen it all and have slowly adapted to each one. During all this, this coping and matching their tempo, the level of understanding, something in me snapped which made sure that I was uber cautious of the people around me, about what to say and what not to say. This dilemma slowly set to a conclusion that it is better not to speak than say something and make a fool of myself. This became quite difficult for people to adjust to me, and I to them. Eventually, I became my own company and the friendship days became just a namesake day to wish people whom I apparently knew also called as classmates, and vice versa.

Recently, I had met some new people – at work and online here through blogs. All of them are way too amazing people. Then came the first Sunday of August, which we all know what it is. So, I waited to check if anyone considered me in their list, whether I was able to cross off their check

.boxes. It was at the end of the day that I realized that I still have a long way to go. But, before this I did something. As I have already mentioned that my criteria has just one checkbox and it’s checked for most people. So, I made a post for them. It’s not one of those heart warming posts that you might think, but it is something I like to cherish by mentioning the few people who have been a part of my journey through blogging. I spent the whole night drafting and redrafting and finally rambling something. It is not a great post, but it wasn’t all that bad either. I finally posted it and waited.

The whole of Friendship Day I was on a lookout for people I may know or might have heard of me, or probably might remember me, which was rare, but hope is a pitiful thing, isn’t it? After a whole day of contemplation and exasperation, I have finally manned up a bit and decided to invade their “friend-time”, so I sent out messages to people from my office and emails to the people I have been in contact with. And boy, was I surprised to see the responses.

1. Who said I was your friend?
   A common courtesy of thank you would have sufficed. I didn’t ask for much. I was expecting anything more either. A simple “Thank you. Same to you too” could have just made my day. But well.
2. The courteous friend :
   Thank you to you too.
3. Validation :
   I guess I needed to be validated as well.
4. I don’t, really!
   So, I told this generous person to kindly read the blog post in which I have mentioned them, but who really cares anyway.

Probably, I got what I deserved. My sincere apologies for jumping into conclusions at the first sight of conversation. Hopefully, I will be more careful.

Leave me alone.

I’m lost in the past, drowning in the memories. It’s dim. It’s stale. It’s a flickering light of yesterday, haunting, a constant reminder. It’s dark. It’s a freakin’ nightmare.

The night fell into the silent abyss. The damp atmosphere hung in the air, that cold wind of the onset of winter blew. He settled at the end of the bar, contemplating, lost and deserted. His eyes were a million miles away, yet they spoke a story, sunk in the evening aroma of slow music and distant chatter. A thousabd thoughts exploded in his mind, relinquishing the past. the pupils dilated as the warmth of the drink slid past the burning throat. He never drank before. He didn’t realize he was drinking. He was too lost to care. His eyes fixated at the emptiness, still contemplating. Another sip. The past still resided at the peripheral. Another sip. The glass was empty. His ears caught a sweet voice, singing in the distant. He woke up from the past.

He was holding a glass, empty, a reminder of the past that was just forgotten. He eased his grip and let it free. “Leave me alone”, a voice shouted in his mind. The voice had been shouting to the pain that haunted. He got used to it like a lullaby, a painful one. Yet, it made its presence felt every day, every moment. The song became louder. It had been louder all along and he felt it’s presence with the words that surrounded the ambience.
“…Let me heal the scars of yesterday,

The scars that have dug so deep,

Let me burn away the pain,

For I’m the phoenix rising from the ashes…”

He felt it making its way through him, digging the skin and reaching for the heart. The constant voice that haunted faded in the melody. Before he knew, he was sipping again and it went smooth this time. He saw her among the crowd under the limelight, staring at him from the distance, staring at him naked, staring at his naked soul, the eyes piercing the very fragments of pain, the past he had hid so well, she saw it all, every detail. He felt that pain drain away, delicately like the touch of the sun to the sea beyond the horizon. But then, the glass slipped from his hand, smashed against the floor as he was left vulnerable with the thousand pieces it broke into. The lights dimmed, the song ended and she was gone. He stood up, in search, but in vain.

“Leave me alone”, his mind shouted again to the voices that haunted again.

Caught by the hook.

We feel trapped. We know it, but we won’t admit it. We actually like it somehow. But in the end it swallows us whole. We have known that all along, yet we haven’t done much about it. We didn’t want to. We were hopeful, that may be the tables will turn and everything will be all merry, just like you had imagined in your mind.

We all have crushes and people we love. We are sometimes scared to convey our feelings. So we keep them locked up. But we have that inhibition to show it, express it in any way possible. Eventually a possibility arises where we could do that. A phone call or a text message does that trick. You had been waiting for that text like forever and finally you jump with joy. It says your help is needed. You feel special, you feel wanted, you see yourself as the one saving the world (almost). And that is when we become numb in our minds and nod yes to everything they say. You are the savior, she had been waiting for, you say to yourself. And no matter what, you are ready to do whatever is put forth. Even if was something impossible, it’s a yes from your side. And try your best to make it happen. It is to show that you care, you could do what they ask for. And all you get in return is a thank you (sometimes) and a forgotten help.

The problem with this is under appreciation and taking you for granted. They never liked you as much as you had thought. They just knew you as a guy who could do thing(s) for them. Eventually, you will be forgotten and erased from the memory. But you would never forget that. You will save that text or that voice asking you for help. You will be hopeful, still. That someday they will realize what you had done for them. But what you fail to realize something really important.

And at one point you would snap out that delusion. You will lose all that hope. You will lose that secret admiration you had for them. You lose that hidden feelings you had for them.  But then you could do nothing about it. You are forgotten from their memory. You become nothing. And that deed you did for them, what deed ?

---

A kind.

He saw a girl today at the park, a little girl. She reminded him of his daughter. He hadn’t seen her in over a year. He misses her, very badly. She had meant the world to him even when she was just born. He could never forget that moment he saw her for the first time, her tiny face, her tiny arms. She was small, but to him she was much bigger, a world. I would do anything for her, he said under his breath.

The little girl in the park was playing with a friend of hers. She looked happy, giggling away and throwing sand at each other. He wanted to talk to her. But there were people all around. He didn’t know how to. He had lost his daughter a couple of years ago. Some freak accident, some natures’ fault, but he blame himself. He has never really recovered from that loss. The trauma had been painful enough for him. The little girls mother comes back to take her home. But the little girl didn’t wanted to. She wanted to stay and play. Her mother  has some important work at home and so she drags her back to her car and drives her home placing her weeping kid at the back of her car.

He wanted to confront her. He wouldn’t let anything happen to the girl, this little girl. He would never make her cry. He would take care of her, the best possible way.
The little girl was playing as usual. Her mother is talking to another lady whose kid was also playing in the ground. Eventually, it was time to go butt her mother feels bad for yesterday, so she looks at the little girl and lets the little girl play a little longer. And waits while talking to her new friend.

The little girl was a little exhausted and was panting a bit. He offers a candy and takes the little girl to get an ice cream saying that it will give her the energy to play more. She wanted to play more, so she obliges opening the candy excitedly. The little girls’ mother comes back and doesn’t find her. She panics, shouts,  screams, turns the playground upside down, checks every nook and corner. But in vain.

The little girl enjoys the ice cream sitting in the passenger seat of her new found friend. He takes her to his house, shows her room, his daughter’s room. It was pretty, pink, with ponies and stuffed animals and a million other play things. She gets excited and plays for a little while. She suddenly remembers her mother. She asks for her mother. She cries, cries for her mother. The cries become louder. He gets scared. He takes to the room in the basement telling her that her mommy is hiding there. And this was all a game they were playing. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, he wouldn’t let anyone take away from him, he says under his breath. He wouldn’t let anyone do any harm to her. He wouldn’t let the people harm this little girl. He is going to protect this little girl, his little girl. As she goes inside, he locks up the door behind her.

---

While having a discussion about the kind of people and ‘psychos’ in particular, with a friend of mine, she said ” A psycho with complex ,layered way of thinking. Their brains work in such complicated ways,we can’t even decipher. It’s idiots who don’t think. Psychos do. And since we do not understand the mechanics of their brain,we label them as PSYCHOS. ”

I did think that the complex layered thought process was for the geniuses. Like the real geniuses who see the world differently and make something extraordinary. But psychos? Come on. They never had a brain, did they? We don’t understand them, sure. It’s because they are mad and don’t know what they are doing. They don’t look into the future. They live on a whim, looking at things in their twisted way with no conscious whatsoever. They lack the empathy. I could go on and on. I label people psychos who don’t think about other’s, who don’t think about what damage they would do to others, what their actions might implicate.

Why did I post this? Because after spending quite sometime on writing this so called story, I didn’t get the response I was looking for in the discussion we were having. So, here it is.

Did you read this post? Do care to share your point of view? I would really appreciate it.

Unexpected.

She brushed her hand through his hair. It was lunch time and she just had hers and he was yet to go. He was lost in his work over an intermittent issue. He was pulled back to reality and her touch was a relief to him. He realized he was hungry, but a hunger of different kind though. She smiled and whispered “Hey” into his ears. He forgot about the work and was drunk in her sweet voice. He had feelings for her and she was his friend. Feelings, he wasn’t sure what they meant. He smiled back at her and looked deep into her eyes.

She anticipated that he was busy and gestured him to carry on and turned to leave. His hand almost reached for her hand as an involuntary response to not let her go. Almost. She walked away with her back facing him. He kept looking at her, hoping that she will turn before disappearing into her work. And she did. His happiness had no bounds. But he pretended calm outside, but a grin escaped his face. She saw that, yet she didn’t understand what it meant! He looked away from him and grinned just like he did.

A couple of minutes later, she went to the pantry to fetch some coffee still thinking about her last encounter with him. Was he really into her ? Or was he just being a little playful? Or did he like her? Then why hasn’t he proposed yet? Why is he taking so long time. She was having a lot of unanswered questions. But she was happy for something and believed that she would be optimistic and everything would turn up perfectly, hoping that he is waiting for the right moment. She assured herself that she could wait and felt content in that fact.

She took her cup from the cup tray and placed it in the small opening of the coffee machine and started pressing the buttons to select her kind of afternoon poison. While she was waiting for the machine to do its magic, she felta warm hand clutching her hand turning her around. She wasn’t mentally prepared for this episode not it was appropriate for anyone to do this at office and she almost screamed. Her face had turned red, her brows raised and her eyes screamed shock. And all that vanished when her eyes met his, soft, dark brown eyes. The kind of eyes that spoke love, desire and affection at length. Not only that, she also saw want, a hint of desperation, a little fear and a little hesitation.

He was holding her in his arm, she was a litle bent backwards. He tucked her hair that fell on her forehead behind her ear. With a little hesitation, he said in a low soft voice that turned on her somehow, “I .. Love you”. He confessed while he ran his finger across edge of her lower lip. Before she could respond, he looked deep into her eyes implying that he meant what he said and wasted no more time. A moment later his lips met hers in a blissful union of two souls.

He took her lips, pink, soft , luscious and blissful taste of strawberry. They were the most kissable lips he had ever seen and it was a no-brainer that he couldn’t resist. She was taken aback for a second at his sudden confession and advance. But she knew that she also wanted this to happen. Though what she had in mind was a little different, but this was fine as well. She tried not to think too much about it and enjoy the moment. So, she didn’t hold back. She was somehow smitten by that kiss, overcame with bliss, floating on a cloud and feeling exquisite. She mirrored his passion and poured her emotions resulting in a stimulating ecstasy. He had not planned for this to happen. But he had given about this a couple of times if it ever came to this, yet he wasn’t sure how to. And now as it was finally happening he wanted every moment to count.

He started kissing passionately, giving the hint of his tongue. It was new for him, for her, but both felt good. He was holding her face with one hand while the other one slowly crawled down to her curve and then slowly to her ass. He grabbed it as it was his own as the intensity of kissing increased a notch. It was getting really hot in the office pantry. She flung her arms around his shoulders running her hands through his soft hair, pushing towards her, to taste him, to devour him completely. His other hand which was holding her neck, slid down trailing the neck, the chest and then cupped her breast. He was hesitant but he had already taken that big risk. She was drowning in the passion of the moment that she enjoyed and couldn’t resist. Or perhaps she didn’t want to. Either way she could care less as she was enjoying every moment of it.

He cupped her breast pushing the cotton Tee down to reveal the gorgeously perfect soft breast. He took a moment to catch his breath, panting and his eyes digging into hers with passion. He looked at her breast and his heart melted in the sweet evanescence of perfection. He wondered how could it be so perfect and he overcame with lust. He couldn’t control his urge to taste them. He took it to a handful and started licking the nipple that was aroused by the emotions she had just felt. He bit it, licked it, teased and tasted every inch of it. Her back arched while she enjoyed every moment of this new found passion.

He grabbed her and lifted her onto the table, while still holding her breast and pleasuring him and her with his mouth.With in a swift movement, he pushed down the other side of the T Shirt along with her bra to reveal the stunning pair of perfection. He caressed both the breasts and squeezing them, licking them one after another alternatively. While his hands were busy with the breasts, he started trailing up the neck kissing and licking it. He was giving her the tingling sensations all over the body when he reached the side of the neck. He bit her ear and kissed the cheeks, the chin, the nose and finally settling on the lips. Soft kisses. Then going vigorous tasting her lips, the saliva and the dance that they made with he kissing, experimenting, enjoying , forgetting about the world around them. Oneof his hand kept massaging her perfect cups, while the other trailed down to the belly and unbuttoned the jeans she was wearing. He slid his hand through the opening as he stared into her brown eyes, mimicing her. She looked unsure but she didn’t stop him. Suddenly, she was worried that someone might walk in and catch them during the act. They were in the office for god’s sake and she just came to this realization after 20 minutes. The time in which she faintly forgot about the world around her. She wanted him to stop. But she wasn’t willing to. He slowly caressed her clit, gently, carefully. She felt the chill as his touch reverberated the hidden feelings, emotions, something she had never known existed. He slowly slid his finger into her still looking into her eyes, trying to understand her expressions. She closed her eyes and arched her back with his gentle touches. He slowly whispered into her ears whether she liked it. Her expression and her moans said everything he wanted to know.

There was a noise in the distance, of people talking as they walked close to the pantry. They suddenly realized that they needed to act quick and with in a split second they readjusted their clothes and tried to act normally as if nothing happened. When they entered, he was gulping the glass of water while the sweat on his face gave the impression that he has a long run but they were in an air conditioned office. She turned around and pretended to pour sugar into her cup wiping the sweet sweat before anyone could recognize it. He took out his phone as if he got an important call and existed first. A moment later she exited holding her cup of coffee. Both were lost in their own world, and were numb to the outside world.

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