Mohammad Rafi’s classics in the background, I took a sip of my hot coffee. I stood facing a wooden bookshelf. A lot of classics. She’s really into classics, I muttered. I sipped my coffee in silence for a minute until Miss Aanchal elbowed my arm. 

“What happened Omar? You look surprised.” She fixed her specs and made a familiar gaze. 

“What’s your favourite classic from here?” I looked at her, hoping for a surprise answer. 

“The Count of Monte Cristo by French author Alexandre Dumas. It’s very good.” she shifted her gaze towards the book. “You should read it too.”she flashed a warm smile. 

“Very nice.” I sighed softly. 

“Enjoy some music, packed  dinner in the other room, just make yourself feel at home.” she patted my shoulder and left me on my own. 

“Miss Aanchal.” I called her name as she almost stepped in the other room. 

She flinched and looked back. Her specs again hung in the tip of her nose. “Is there something?” she curiously asked and walked back to my side. 

“Your play was very good.” I smiled and gestured an OK sign. 

“Oh lovely then. I am very happy to know that.” she put on a wide smile. 

“How many days did it take for the whole production?”

“Almost three months, Omar.” she chewed her lip. 

I waited while her thoughts began to hover for me to peer into. I asked what it was. She stopped her chewing and with no hesitation, beamed with stars in her eyes. 

“I enjoyed the making. I enjoyed the process where I could observe the slightest movements of my cast. They were so delicate yet so firm to exhibit a powerful performance. I am so proud of them, Omar.” she brought both of her closed fists closer to her chest as her gesture adored the reminiscence of her play. 

Earlier that day, there was astonishment in the auditorium of the state university of Guwahati. The play Macbeth by Shakespeare was beautifully performed and received awe struck appreciation and admiration above par. Miss Aanchal, an enthusiast of English drama and literature, worked very hard to perfect each and every line and motions of the characters. The successful display made her eyes brimmed with pearly liquid, however  she wiped it away with a proud smile formed on her silky face. She gleamed with happiness, embraced her cast and bowed down to the audience, thanking them for being the cheery and an encouraging crowd. She felt her world chime with rhythmic sounds, validating her hard work. 

1982 born Aanchal Deka was crowned with a milky white skin, nightingale voice and golden hairs. Her mother used to tie her up a ponytail and it fluttered in the air as she played chasing games with the neighbour kids . Her eyes, dark brown and shiny, meticulously observed her world; her world being the small village she took birth at. At the age of thirteen, she saw the big picture. The city. Her family moved into the city for her better education and there she discovered the house of books. Puthibhoral. The Library. Her fingers traced the printed lines thoroughly, cherishing the untold stories, histories and theories. This is how she was introduced to literature and its predestined  depth. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Virginia Woolf, Shakespeare. They kept her mind running with wild fantasies and yearning. What if I transcend normality and find myself in the room with these people? I will be so numb, I will forever miss the chance of speaking to them. 

Her personality, woven by tenderness, keeps a room full of people comforted and content. And a small gathering hosted by her couldn’t go unnoticed. As I lingered around the bookshelf for another passing minute, Miss Aanchal conversed with her colleagues and friends, conversations about opportunities and duties to perform. 

A house full of twenty polite and quiet people made it very hard for me to fit in. I wouldn’t consider myself as an extrovert, longing for a loud moment but I am not silent enough to feel my pulse throbbing. I checked my watch and made up my mind to return home. It was almost 9 pm. The next day was a Saturday which is a holiday in my university. I thought of driving around the city, going to my apartment, pouring myself yet another espresso and star gazing from the balcony. Fifth floor and it pretty much lines out the city lights and the starry sky. 

“I should get going.” I announced, leaning towards her ears. 

“Oh Omar, isn’t it too early?” she peeked through the curtains. “You can still see the sky absorbing city lights.” she frowned. 

“I guess I need the rest of the night for myself.” I pulled the curtains close. “See you, next week.” 

Her lips parted, a word to escape but there was this unknown pause. 

“Actually, I am going on a vacation this weekend.” she dimly said. But didn’t detail the vacation as she excused herself to answer one of her friends, in the next room. 

I stood there, unable to execute any action. Then I simply walked towards the living room to pick up my jacket and leave. 

I said my goodbyes and waited for a while to sight Miss Aanchal, however her voice was missing among the murmurs. 

The concrete pathway led me to the garage. I walked slowly with the hope of hearing my name to be called. There was this peculiar aroma in the nightly air, something escaping my heart. A feeling I couldn’t acknowledge. I got inside my car and started the engine. Her smile flashed in front of my eyes. What was it? I sensed my heart sinking in, struggling to grasp the mechanism. I turned on the AC even though it was mid February and the atmosphere had chills one couldn’t avoid. I covered my eyes with the palm of my hands. The smiles. 

It has been a year since I was introduced to her. Our paths often crossed for our departments being close to each other. Anthropology and English. Her soft spoken tone always gets me in a happy mood but this fact never enlightened me until that day. The mystery or simply a story, her smile craves for a discovery. A discovery of her story. I recalled the classics, neatly arranged on the shelf. I recalled the music she thought would be of great significance. Indeed it was. I recalled the dinner she cooked with much love and fondness. I recalled her face turning serious with the fact of my early leave. Who is she? Even though she was one of my closest pals, I never in my life had this strong urge of knowing someone. 

Dig deeper to discover the treasure. And the promise? 

I would keep it forever. 

Someone knocked on my car window and it rattled my senses. But it was her. Miss Aanchal adjusting her eyeglasses. 

I hastily opened the car door and stood outside. 

“I get lost in my own house sometimes.” She avoided eye contact. But eventually she focused her gaze at my brown face. “And about the vacation…”

“Oh yes, where will you be vacationing?” I asked, dodging the sound of the crickets in her garden. 

She smiled before answering. 

“It is a sacred place in Pondicherry. I shall not mention the exact name or the complete address but definitely I will tell you once I return.” she kept her smile. Serene just like the late winter breeze. 

“Happy Journey, Miss Aanchal. I hope you feel good over there.” I gave her a hug and loosened my grip from her as in letting her walk back to the lemony coloured shelter. 

On her way, she dropped something and it made a thudding sound. I couldn’t help but pick up on the sound. I glanced back to discover a diary, resting on the concrete ground. I called her name out but she disappeared into her house. 

I walked slowly towards it and picked it up. There was a note pasted. 

“I heard you calling my name but I chose not to act on it. Go through the journal. A piece of my life. I wouldn’t lie if I told you that I was in search of you. We are beings meant for another being. We just need the courage to cross each other’s path. Go on, Omar.”

My mind fidgeting, trying to get hold of my ground, I carried the journal with me and drove back to my apartment. My curiosity rose with each increasing acceleration. Earlier that day, I had a simple approach to life. The play ended, I cheered and after a moment, she grabbed my arm to yell in my ears about the invitation. Her excited voice against the deafening audience, I could only recognize the purity in her words. Everything was on the surface until everything was not. I barely remember the life I lived before that strange event of the night. The road seemed longer. Traffic descended, yet my car was still on the road to its garage, fighting against time. I needed to stop because my curiosity oozed out, mixed with my sweat. I was sweating. 

The wind from the ghat on my way, fused into my skin, calming down my soul from the inside. I took a deep breath and let out a sigh. I was not ready for something like that.

I walked along the shore of River Brahmaputra, adding my footprints to the sand. I spotted a suitable place to sit and walked towards it. My car in the parking lot cooled itself down with anticipation of my return. 

I slowly flipped the journal open. It had a scent of lavender. It had a few blank pages and the rest were all inked. I noticed the date of the first entry. My heart pounded faster, unleashing an excited cry. 

January 24, 2022

A young faced man with a smile so natural and delightful. 

Could he be the one, continuing the search for my soul? 

Omar Adnan, an anthropologist, recently joined our university and surprisingly, in the neighbouring department of mine. He is tall, has grey eyes and black hair. He speaks fluent Assamese and also adds a lot of English terms in his sentences. He puts his hands on his upper abdomen while talking as a sign of respect. He was nervous, his mindset displaying in his face. Talking to a senior teacher could be intimidating, yet he nailed the small talk. I could sense a connection. Giving it a year, he can be the one fulfilling my need. 

The melodic sound of the flowing water current soothed me while I found it difficult to comprehend the first entry of the journal. I asked questions to the river. It remained quiet. It could only flow just like the events flowing in the journal. I read the further entries. She, very diligently penned down our interactions in short paragraphs, describing her exact emotion shift. I still wondered what was the purpose behind the inked pages as she only observed my motions like I was one of the characters in her play. 

March 17th, 2022

The people in the magazine made him laugh. And I laughed at his gesture while he mocked the pointless advertisements in magazines. We both sat in the common teacher’s lobby. We waited for some paperwork. Mine for an approval and his for some verification. 

I learnt about his origin. A man from upper Assam and Kaziranga being his local park. I narrated a few of my Kaziranga stories and he chuckled at my stupidity. I didn’t feel stupid because I knew someone had to know me this way. Eventually, he was called for his work and I waited, tapping my shoes against the tiled floor. Spoke with some of my colleagues but everything in the world felt less fascinating except the person who just walked carrying a smile and affirming to me that his work is done. He didn’t know that I got my approval an hour ago and I just sat for a while to rest my hypertension. He is a grown man yet there are so many things for him to learn. A grown woman like me, can be in love. Second love is love too, right? 

May 27th, 2022

Fridays do have a work load, covering up things just to have a peaceful weekend. But you have to be careful with people you bump into. A week passed and I didn’t have an interaction with Omar worth remembering. Today, he approached me with a new self. I didn’t recognize it at first. He asked me if I could recommend any fictional novel for him to spend the weekend absorbing. I slightly smiled and felt knots in my stomach. 

I sent him a list of my favourite novels and in return, I got a promise. His promise to read one from the list and discuss with me. And I knew this weekend wouldn’t be only me and my bedroom but his thoughts and the eagerness of hearing from him. 

July 12th, 2022

Finals were held and the professors got their time off. I decided I would make a trip to my grandma’s house since I haven’t been there for like a year or two. I planned everything, however someone had a different plan. Being a 40 year old woman, I find it difficult to picture myself with a bunch of people in their 30s. Not that they are very weird or unsuitable for my existence, but it simply doesn’t reach out to my mind. The picture of my body around people who are young and whose life has nearly started, it makes me question. 

Omar dropped a message inviting me to his apartment for his birthday party. It caught me off guard as I viewed the message and saw him online. I was obliged to reply. I wished him and affirmed to him that I would surely come. 

I didn’t think that I belonged to his close circle or anything. I was rather surprised. 

I wore a navy blue, floral embroidered saree as I once observed his liking towards one of his colleague’s saree. I felt embarrassed at the same time for seeking attention from a person who doesn’t have a mere clue of anything. I smiled at myself. 40s can be someone’s 20s. 

Evening it was. He blew off the candles in the birthday cake, wishing for something I wouldn’t know. He turned 35. His face doesn’t say his age at all. His beards make him look young which is opposite in many men. 

He had two of his close friends over and five colleagues including me. His friends were sweet talkers, experienced and married. Their partners also weren’t any different. 

Omar interacted with me for some moments, asked if I liked the cake or the juice or the white sauce pasta. In one of the moments, he accompanied me to his balcony, showing me the ghats, the tall buildings and a park just a mile away. Couldn’t really peer into his mind but he complimented me out of nowhere. 

“You look beautiful, Miss Aanchal.” the exact words, still echoing in my ears. 

He is such a sweetheart. 

Aug 22nd, 2022

Voices arrived in my senses. I heard my dear friend Ipshita talking about a cultural event based on popular acts to be held at our university in February of next year. Another friend of mine, Manavi, looked at me and giggled. She was sure I would come out with an idea and produce an act. I wasn’t sure myself. The thought of the event really lingered around the whole day. It didn’t escape easily. 

But the hero of the day emerged in the scene. I was walking on the footpaths and after a bare minute, his voice resonated in the streets. 

Omar delayed his steps, walked very slowly with a grin on his face. I was a bit confused or maybe a bit nervous. Yes, I began to feel nervous around him but who wants to show it to a person with whom time seems irrelevant. Finally, he was beside me. 

“I heard that you produce excellent plays.” He gazed at me with surprise. 

“Oh Omar, it was a year ago. It was written by one of my friends and I got this chance to display it, you know.” I said, my hands in air, denying his surprise. 

“I am sure you are coming with something next year. I am eager to watch.” He smiled and focused on the path ahead. 

“Really?” I asked dimly. 

“Pardon?”

“No, nothing . Let’s get some tea.” I suggested and let my mind wander. 

With each sip, with each word that escaped his mouth, my mind got bloated with ideas and inspiration. I am doing something astonishing. I will be. 

Oct 25th, 2022

Lights are wonderful. It enlightens a place. A low-key diwali with my cousins and friends from home. Noises all over. I find it hard to soothe my mind with all the firecrackers generating loud cries all over the nation. These kids are notorious sometimes. Writing this amidst the noises because something delightful happened some hours ago. 

Exactly at 7pm, a car pulled over outside my area. I wondered whose Nissan it could be. Then I received a call. I answered and the familiar voice flushed my face. 

I went outside as he called me to receive something. 

“I had to ask for your address from one of your friends. And very sorry to drop by unannounced but here it is. Happy Diwali. A small festive gift from me.” Omar smiled and joined his hands to gesture a namaste. 

Nothing escaped my mouth around that time. I simply thanked him and promised to cherish this gift forever. 

It was scented candles, sweets and a Jaipuri handkerchief. I still carry it around. He doesn’t notice and I don’t mind. 

Birds chirped, sky turned white, undisturbed fog. Time felt irrelevant. I saw pujaris along the shore, chanting prayers, worshipping the sun to appear. I yawned for the first time. The journal still didn’t end. There were a few more entries to read. There were small ones describing my character, how I like my morning tea or my espresso, my favourite novel (the one she recommended) and our discussion, about my hometown and everything she shared about her life. After all, I knew Miss Aanchal better than anyone else, however I never paid attention to those peculiarities. She was still a mystery to me. I wanna read till the end. What could that be? 

Dec 15th, 2022

I arranged an audition for the cast of my play last week. There were brilliant students, yearning to learn and ones that knew how to learn. I selected some brilliant actors to play Lord Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, the three witches, Banquo, King Duncan and so on. We have to practise almost everyday and I would suggest they practise on their own in the coming winter break which will be over after Bihu. I am very excited and looking forward to seeing how it turns out. 

I was in the rehearsal room today.  His eyes met mine. A muffler around his neck, all seated in the upper deck of the room, smirking at my commands. He said that I look very focused while preparing for something like these. I couldn’t deny that because this is important to me. Something is meant to happen in a way we all wish it to be. I am gonna work hard on this. 

I noticed there were only two pages to cover and it was almost 6 am. I called out a vendor and got some tea to refresh myself. Sleep didn’t even occur to me. I had the motive to finish the journal and decide my next step. I wondered about Miss Aanchal, where could she be now? I flipped the pages and read the very last entry. A date closer to that day. I am nervous. 

Feb 6th, 2023

Hi, Omar. 

The time has come. If everything went the way I wanted it to happen then I think you must have read all the previous entries. A woman you met and considered her a good company and the woman herself is in love with you. I am older than you and these generation gaps make our mindset very different. You are an open spirit and I am a conserved one. You like watching movies, I don’t really know movies. You listen to recent music and I am still stuck with Mohammed Rafi. I am not that old too, just I am walking a bit slower and behind your generation. I’ve seen the world. I went places in India and outside of it. There are wonders all around yet my wonder is you. You have this strange sensation. A magnetic field, influencing every atom of my body. I am not only about Shakespeare plays, American literature and drama, and Gender studies. I am more than this. I am a human who had a life before meeting you. I was afraid of certain things. I was self conscious about myself. You don’t know how it feels to be 40 and still unmarried. Few asks and I reply about my lack of time in these things. But why do I think about you when I am working or doing my daily chores? I got time but it wasn’t worth spending on anyone until I met you. The instant realisation. I don’t even know whether you will find this fascinating or bizarre. Loving a grown woman? That wasn’t on your list, was it? 

The play is in one week. I would arrange a small gathering and I will invite you. And then I will disappear. Will you come looking for me? 

It should be exactly 7:15 AM if your reading speed has a pace. 

I boarded around 7 AM. My phone will be unreachable, maybe forever. 

Find me in the crowd or in the alleyways. Find me in the sand castle built by a kid on the beach. Find me and let me experience how it feels to be found. 

Goodbye, Omar. You are the star in my dark sky. 

My head throbbed. What did she mean when she said she will disappear? I was disoriented, unable to process the journal. She was in love with me all the time but there was something else more. Why would she need to be found? I got up from the ground and rushed back to my car. I ran faster, the sand pulling me inside. I didn’t know what I would do after starting the ignition of the car. But I decided to drive to her house. Traffic delayed my actions, my body was trembling. With no time to spare, I drove with no actions in my head. 

The middle aged woman answered her door. A cousin of hers. Observing my heavy breath and sweat, she asked me to take a seat inside. 

“You should get some sleep, Omar.” the woman said. 

“I am worried about her.” I rubbed my temples. 

“You know, I am one of her closest cousins. There were many shared moments between us. Yet, today I am surprised. My sister is so many things. I remember her mentioning your name once or twice but she secretly admires you. Very Aanchal of her.” She smiled, offering me a cup of coffee. 

“What should I do now?” I asked, fighting against my urges.

Part of me wanted to book a flight at that very moment and fly to Pondicherry and begin searching for her. And part of me was simply scared of the interaction we were gonna have after everything that happened. 

“She must be in Auro Beach.” the woman said, peering into her own clouds of thoughts. 

“Why? Is that her sacred place.” I asked. 

“She has a history with Pondicherry. And whenever I see pictures of her visiting that place, Auro Beach stands really close in those pictures.” She made a face. A silly face shared between cousins. 

“Does anyone live there?”

“Someone used to.” The woman hesitated before continuing. 

“Her old time lover.”

I knew where I had to be. My search should begin at Auro Beach as I shall be the chosen one. 

The oceanic blue, subtle waves, glittery reflection, gulls flapping their snow white wings and a poise silhouette. The breeze was cold but the warmth won over the rest. The warmth after finding a treasure. Finding her. I carefully stepped on the sand. Moist and delicate. My footprints made their way. I walked and walked. She was getting closer, the scent of her rosy perfume mixed with the ocean water. Salty and alive. Finally, six feet apart and I could hear her humming to one of Mohammed Rafi’s songs. And then she stopped. 

“You came.” she said softly. Her voice against the noise of the wind and the waves crashing. “You found me.”

“I found you.” I stepped closer. I put my hands on her shoulder. 

She placed hers on my rested hands. Warm and placid. 

With unhurried movements, I came beside her. Our arms separated by a thin gap. 

Her eyes, still fixed at the waves, the faraway ships and puffy clouds. I joined her too. It was something unexplainable, soaking up the moment. 

“Beaches resemble a part of our life. At a certain point, we don’t see the end. We could only see the horizon, separating our inner desires which keeps us from being someone we don’t know who. The waves, once high, once low but constant. Always in different directions, perhaps we all are directionless. Beaches bring me tears of joy like I could see my own life and how it proceeds. I loved how I didn’t see the end at an age but now I do. It helps me move carefully yet pain lingers as the thought of leaving everything behind settles slowly in my senses. Interpretations are self constructed pleasure. I love that too.” A smile glistened on her face. 

“It is beautiful.” I faintly muttered. 

“Oh, Omar.” she sighed and shifted her gaze at me. 

“Omar.” she laughed this time while repeating my name. 

“You are beautiful.” She grabbed my arms and rested her head on my shoulder. 

“Oh, Omar.” she paused. 

“Can we go back home?” I asked. 

“No. Let’s walk along the shore. Shall we?” Her eyes, bright like the sun, dilated with a sweet excitement. 

We walked as she suggested. Her hands still gripped around my arms. 

“ You came looking for me. Luckily, I started my journey from here. Where would you go searching for me, Omar? It’s a small world besides its large mass. Would you be able to?” she smirked, looking in my direction. 

“I would have followed my instincts. Your footprints. Your perfume. Your smile” I grinned like a child. “Why do you want to disappear?” I added my curiosity. 

After a quiet pause, she answered. 

“ Many years ago, a note asked me to find him. I found it right here on this shore. Follow the trails, he wrote. Follow the horizon. Follow the mountains. Follow the heart.” she grew silent again and started chewing her lips. 

“ I never found him and he became a mystery to me. Do I miss him? Yes I do. Do I think about him? Yes, I do. But I don’t have to anymore. I found him.” 

She smiled. 

“ It feels like a dream that occurred to me in my sleep. Unrealistic it can get. Somehow, the dream brought you to reality. I can’t remember his face but I remember yours. I can’t remember his voice but I do yours . I can’t remember his story but I know yours. You didn’t acknowledge your feelings and that reason surprised you as you proceeded with my journal. The universe creates and destroys. It made something which reality is now here in this very beach. Maybe, I fell in love with the universe. ‘Make him watch your dream play, Aanchal. You will find him.’ The note ended.” 

“I couldn’t find the one I lost. However, I did my part finding you. And today, it was supposed to be yours, finding your one. Perhaps, you came looking for me for that particular reason. You found a person who stays in her illusion, her fiction and her delirium. I am not perfect, Omar.”

“You are perfect, Aanchal.” I didn’t let her finish her sentence. “You are perfect in every way. I love how things led us here. I just want to be here right now, listening to these waves and feeling your palm against my hands. We are done chasing whatever we were chasing. I found you, Aanchal and that’s the end of the story. Isn’t it?” I curled the strands of hair falling on her face and tucked it behind her ear. She smiled calmly. Really the smiles. 

We stopped walking, faced the scenery and breathed the ocean. I was still comprehending everything but I decided that there were no definite answers. Her presence was everything over many things. I put a tender kiss on her forehead and she closed her eyes, inhaling the Earth. We faced the ocean, holding hands and breathing air.

The creator and the chosen one.

Waves rose and fell.

Moment of silence in our hearts. 

There I stalled with the fact of never finding the one 

And my soul was ready for none. 

The one in my hands, forever bloomed in my chest 

and the universe smiled at its end. 

Simply a miracle to trace down.