Viraha

Feels half painted

'Taking his own defeat he hugged his life, for the last time he saw down at her but this time with confirmation of love and fragments of regret.'

I pen down the ending of my yet another sequel of 'Pleasure of Pain' a brief story about an imaginative Indian king who lived up to his name- Aprajaya Suryavanshi. A man who never tasted defeat in his whole life. King of Aryavart ruled the Akhand Bharat.

I made this story on a whim, and to tell you the truth my subconscious was bugging me to pen this story down, and being greedy as I am, I refused to let go of such a historical plot. Although it's a story where the male protagonist was a jackass bastard, I still want to turn the course into a green character.

This was the first time I was writing a morally grey character, and it was fun throughout.

My thoughts came to a halt when my phone buzzed. My attention went momentarily to the incoming call as I tried to fathom why this person calling me at midnight?

"Hello?" I picked it up anyway.

"Mam, there is an emergency you are needed in the headquarters right now." Madhav's shrieking voice made its way to my ear.

"I'm not in Delhi, it will at least take me a day to reach there." I calmly explained.

"Where are you right now, your location? I need it!!" he seemed desperate.

"Meghalaya, roaming in my most favorite weather." I huffed and got up. My waist was cranked from sitting so long, but still, I made my way to the ceiling to ground ground-length window and gazed at the droplets covering the whole thing.

My gaze fixed on the specific drop which made its way down and disappeared into the course of another drop. There is something in the rain that seems to soothe my mind and control my heartbeat.

Even if this rain had made so many attempts to kill me.

"Can you fly to Pathankot from there?" his desperate sound made me snap into reality.

"No, I can't. The bad condition of weather had made all flights go suspended till tomorrow" My fingers grazed the window slowly. The red hue on my fingers made me frown.

"We need your help, Maya. You cannot neglect the work you had." He tried to scold me lightly.

"What about it?" I made my way to my desk again and opened the other ventilation I had in the room to make the breathing more bearable.

"It's about Raza Abdul. We-

"You guys had lost contact over him and now he is missing, right?" A yawn escaped from my mouth and I made a mental note to sleep my ass off till tomorrow noon.

"How do you know?" came his reply after a huge leap.

My gaze momentarily fell on the ground, the painting of blood with a man lying over it seemed too appealing right now.

The only thing that is bothering me is the stench of blood which is making me claustrophobic. But I think I got another prompt for my next story.

'I looked down on the blood pool as the guy's eyes screamed nothing but death, as in literal meaning. Because the blood in my hand matched with the blood in which he was lying.' Pretty cool.

I only write those stories which are somehow related to the reality that no one knows. Like this one, a man is dead in my hotel room and no one knows, maybe if I pen this down on a blank sheet it will make a bestseller.

Because real stories have more emotions than fictional.

"Maya, what did you do now?" he gulped audibly.