by Shubham Awasthi
“Do you write a blog?” she asked. Her voice was soft and sweet.
“Yes, I do,” I answered, and then added, “recently started actually.”
“What’s it about? Your blog?”
“Fiction…science, cooking…” I made a wink. “Just anything crazy enough to be written.”
“But I don’t like sci-fi,” she said with a baby face.
I closed my laptop and turned my face to her. “Then tell me what you like.”
She smiled. She stood up, clapping her hands. “I like books with romance. The one that fill you with love.”
“Ahan!” I said. I wanted her to tell me more. To say more, smile more, clap her hands more.
Gladly, she obliged. “When love fills the air,” she said, “there is scent and calm.” She grinned and moved closer to me. “Write me words that twitch the bottom of my heart, please?”
“But I write a blog and not a book.” I felt guilty.
“So what? Your blog is about stories, right?”
“Yes.”
She chuckled. “Seems like a book to me.”
“Yes, but still I don’t know how to write about love.”
“Why?” Her eyes flew wide in surprise. “You haven’t been in love ever before?”
I shrugged. “I’m afraid my answer is no.”
“Really?” She looked shocked. “Don’t tell me! A writer without love? Practically impossible!”
“Ironically, in my case it is.”
“Hmm. Have you ever tried writing on love? Once?”
I shook my head. “No. Never.”
“I think it’s lack of inspiration,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Yes. You need a girl, and then only you can write about her. Right?”
I frowned. “Probab–“
She spoke in between. “Ok…so then who do we have? Tell me names.”
“I don’t know anyone.”
Her puzzled look came again. She started roaming about the room.
Then, suddenly, she stopped and looked at me. Her big, bright eyes were shining like a star now. “Me!” she said. “How about me?”
A pang of surprise hit me. “But –“
She cut me off. “Perfect! You know me. Try writing about me…in the most romantic way you can think of.”
She was jumping, excitement all over her. “You’ll write about me, say yes, please?”
I was quiet.
She stopped, face sad. “You won’t?”
“No, I’ll try,” I said at last.
She leapt about again, her joy palpable.
***
That evening, after she’d been buried, he got into his room and took his laptop.
He opened the story he’d written, his creation that he loved most.
He couldn’t hold back the tears as he read along.
***
Story by Shubham Awasthi, edited by DNB Stories.
Hmmm
Hmmmmm