Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Silent Endings...

He watched the city pass him in a hazy blur, as he drove along the main street. He had no clue where he was headed, nor did he want to know. He just wanted to drive because driving kept him sane.

He tried to focus on anything but her, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was her tear streaked face. He almost reached out to wipe the streaks of her reddened cheeks. But realized he was just caressing thin air. He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. How had he botched it up so bad?

He remembered her voice textured with velvety concern, soothing his tired senses as he crashed home after a day’s work. He loved watching her as she bustled from room to room chatting about nothing, yet making the house come alive. Once when they’d disagreed over something, which was actually his fault, she had gone out and purchased orange PJs on his credit card, knowing that he particularly disliked orange.

‘It’s because I know you will never say sorry. So here’s your punishment!” she had flung at his questioning glance. She had paraded the entire weekend in those PJs and he had made up his mind on that precise Saturday that orange was actually very cute. The make-up session then had taken them to the bedroom and ended up with breakfast in bed.

And then there was Radha. She was nothing like his wife. She boasted sculpted features and a translucent skin. Her almond eyes were fringed with thick dark lashes and her lips made the perfect pink bow. She was beautiful. And she was interested in him.

It was flattering. Here was woman the world would be willing to covet, seeking surrender in his arms. It was tempting desire itself. He had given in.

For a long time now, he had been thinking about breaking away from Radha. He did not love her, he not even lusted after her, it was just some twisted form of male ego that kept him going. Her tears could melt him, but they didn’t lash out like whips on his tender heart.

Like his wife’s. When she had found out, she had said not one word. But from the depth of the black of her eyes, rolled the torrents of betrayal, which her heart had found difficult to contain.

The blaring horn made him look around. He was parked, as usual, under the balcony of his home. Only it was no longer a home, because the homemaker had fled.


Wesley-Anne said...

Beautiful. I could picture the story, scene for scene - it pulled me in and kept me hooked. Good stuff, write more short stories Mi!!

Anushree said...

very well written.. agree with Anne's comment !!!

raj said...

Good stuff... I hope its just random thoughts and nothing more :-)

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