An Orkut Love Story: Chapter 12

Today is Day 12 for the novella 'An Orkut Love Story': This post is written as part of  Ultimate Blog Challenge for July 2014.

Chapter 12

I couldn’t sleep throughout the night and whiling my time away burning the midnight oil playing the game of flame.

Karan

Swagata

Flame= marriage.

I leaped with joy, jumping on the bed to do a somersault of sort that the bed almost cracked. Finally, I dozed off at 6 a.m, relieved that sleep is slowly engulfing me in its arms. I am woken up by the screeching bell which enraged me. It seems the universe is conspiring to give me a headache and deprive me of my baby sleep. I jumped out of the bed to open the door, ready to pounce on the moron who was hell bent to destroy my peace.

A short fellow sporting a Hitler type moustache and wearing Khaki is smiling at me. “Parcel Sir, sign Kijiye (A parcel for you, please sign). I am curious and wondering who would send me a parcel, thinking must be some prank of my old chums. I borrow the post man’s Reynold pen to sign my name.

I hastily open the thick envelope to find myself holding a book, ‘Brida’ Paulo Coelho, sent across the seas all the way from Hong Kong.  I wonder, ‘Oh! Brida is her way of surprising me. I flip open the first page and my eyes is is struck by a note written in pink. “Hope Brida will stay with you forever. It will remind you of me at every moment in life. We may not be always together but I want to tell you that every time I read your Orkut scrap, it makes me smile and my heart goes dhak dhak (my heart beats faster). Our relationship is beautiful and pray it blooms like the red rose…will meet in Mumbai soon.”

‘Love, hugs and kisses..Xoxo Swagata.’

I send her an sms, “1 4 3….Thank you for the surprise...” Swagata replies with a smiley, “Ya! Brida is the surprise you got it..btw, what the numerical supposed to mean?”

“Depends what you make of it.”

“In case, you are proposing, it’s a very lame way of doing since it was a stupid game we played in school.”

Swagata didn’t reply back and I waited for an hour but still there was no sign of her. Was she pissed off with the 1, 4, 3 which means I Love You. I rack my brain to wake up the genius in me. Come on! Be creative. Pull up a master piece, I tell myself.

I type, “3 reasons a girl stops texting back

1.      You said something that pissed her off.

2.      You started to get boring.

3.      You just fell asleep.

Her message flashes in no time with a smile and a “muah. May be all three of them! By the way, what were you doing all this time? Hitting your head with a bottle of alcohol to crack Da Vinci Code.”

I text back, “I was listening to a soft and romantic song.”

“Which one?”

“I can’t stop loving you….,” I hastily put the CD in the MP3 at high decibel level.

“Aha! No need to impress me and trying to act romantic, lover boy. I still wanna know what One, Four, Three means and it’s in your interest not to play game with me.

I flip through the pages of The Alchemist, struggling to keep the handset stuck between my right cheek and ear, desperately hunting for quotes.  Finally, I find it. “One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”

“That’s it?”

“This is what we call love. When you are loved, you can do anything in creation. When you are loved, there's no need at all to understand what's happening, because everything happens within you.” 

“Well, that’s your definition of love?” Are you scared to open your heart, dude?”