She radiated a field of energy around her which proclaimed strength, confidence and sass in capital letters coloured with the deepest possible shade of blood red. Especially her eyes. Transfixed on that stare, he had felt the vibrations of something deeper, the possibility that her way of thought wasn’t along the mainstream lines of rules and regulations laid down in the name of culture, but rather an evolving sense of self which was fresh and keen to spot opportunities, personal and professional.
Sins had spoken to her five times so far, each time hoping to continue for more, but interrupted by the strength of external peculiarities, like the fact that he was a stranger…still, and the lack of a common social circle meant he would always be the lesser of her priorities.
Not that he minded. For him, merely the fact that he had been acknowledged was enough…for now, because, by the strength of his content alone. by the finesse of his delivery alone, would he try and justify his companionship. In the meanwhile, he would continue as he had done before, nonchalantly seeking her out whenever possible and try to present himself to the best of his abilities.
Last night, he had lain awake for a couple of hours, wondering about the nature of the energy that she radiated. It seemed as if there was something hidden in that invisible force, as if something was calling him out, seeking him out, beseeching him to do something, which he had done. He had spoken to its source and presented a letter that highlighted what kind of a creature he was, a brief story of his life and a call to action, that said he wanted to take her out sometime. Sometime. A subjective word that signified nothing, a word without substance, only to be used and discarded away, like tissues.
Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, a strongest intuition signaled, he was convinced there was a connection. He had never felt something as deep and meaningful before, so much so that it sounded silly to him, because for her, he was just that, a..stranger. Someone who probably came across as someone to be amused by. Someone to be listened to out of politeness and forgotten about later conveniently. Someone to be laughed at as silly and unworthy. Maybe, someone to be casually treated as just one of the guys. Whenever, he had one of these thoughts, he felt like tearing his hair out from his scalp. “Not one of them!”, he wanted to scream.
His mind would wander at work suddenly, drifting off, checking his messages incessantly for no cause, reminding himself over and over and over again, that she was someone different, someone to be cared for, listened to, someone to be sung for, someone to write for…he wanted to do umpteen things, things that he would cherish because it was for her. He had never felt as strongly as this for anyone else, in such a short space of time. He just wanted to talk to her…forever.
He wondered if he was obsessed. Even if he was, he wold term it healthy because during the midst of their brief conversations, they had definitely understood each other, and he was sure he hadn’t come across as a whack, who only sought to be excited by her looks. They had connected, he kept telling himself reassuringly. They had connected. He was not crazy.
The last thing he saw before passing out for the night, was her figure, clad in sunglasses, top and jeans, riding atop an open roofed Porsche, giving him that stare of hers, as he lay down on the highway, and whisking past him at beck-neck speed.
Marijuana Maharaj 