Aastha's hair blew with the wind as she halted her motorcycle at a crossroad, the traffic signal emitting red light. Her feet on the ground, she scanned her surroundings to trace the source of the blasting songs. An involuntary scoff left her lips as she saw a black BMW.
She quickly tilted her head as she heard a bullet rev, and noticed the countdown to the green signal.
6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
And the woman speedily went ahead, her hair which she'd let loose, flowing against the wind. It was at the next crossroad, the next traffic signal when she had to stand next to the same black BMW which was still playing songs. But instead of scoffing or rolling her eyes, an involuntary wistful sigh left her lips.
This time, the song wasn't a Punjabi dance number. It was song which tugged at her heartstrings. It was a song which made her dance on the streets of aashiqui. It was a melody which made her feel like she was in a deserted alley as it poured mercilessly, standing with her lover under an umbrella.
yeh dharti, yeh nadiyaan, yeh raina... aur tum.
Aastha sucked in a breath as she drove speedily, just wanting to get home and hide from the moonlight. To escape the maze of her husband's thoughts. But, she couldn't. Even as the BMW took off, driving somewhere else, Aastha still heard the song the car sang to her. Aastha still heard the song the owner of different black BMW had sung for her years ago.
hum tum kitane paas hai kitane, dur hai chaand sitaare, sach pucho toh mann ko jhoothe, lagte hai yeh saare.
"Why does music yield so much power?" she mumbled. It took only a single verse of a song for her to go down the lane she'd promised she wouldn't revisit.
Ten days. Only two hundred and forty hours. And she'd reclaim her maiden name. She'd shut the gates of all lanes, all roads which she unintentionally wandered off to under the name of nostalgia, or...songs.
Little did Aastha know that it wasn't music that held power on her, it was the lover who held out an umbrella for her on rainy days.
______
Mumbai,
"Abhishek, can you go and call Sudha from her room?" Sara's voice brought him out of his trance. He tilted his head, nodding slightly. Without making a sound, the cricketer got up, making his way to the room down the hall. Abhishek's friends, Shubman and Sara had been graceful hosts while he stayed at their abode for two days as he got some plumbing work done in his house.
"Sudha?" He called out the couple's preteen niece who was as busy as a bee, working on a summer project for school.
"Sudha?" He repeated, completely opening the slightly ajar door.
"Yeah chachu?" The girl's pigtails swayed as she turned her head to look at him.
"Is that a radio?" He asked, amused.
"Since radios have been an important part of modern history, we have an assignment on radios for SST. Sara chachi thought that it would be a good idea for me to actually experience a radio before doing the project," she explained.
"I can't believe these two have a radio," Abhishek mumbled, "But then again, they're Shubman and Sara,"
In the brief moments of silence as Sudha went around cleaning the mess she had made: Newspaper cuttings, bottles of Fevicols, glossy papers...everything needed for a project; a melody played on the radio, which made Abhishek's heart skip a beat.
Bade acche lagte hai.
"Sudha, go wash your hands, I'll clean this up for you," he offered and it was enough for the kid to dash out of the room and go to her aunt.
As he was left alone again, a lone tear which was stuck in his eye finally freed itself, trickling down his cheek. He sat down on the edge of the bed, fingers clenching in a fist as a shaky breath left his lips.
tum inn sab ko chhod ke kaise, kal subah jaogi? mere saath inhe bhi to tum yaad bohot aaogi...
Abhishek's favourite song, a dulcet melody which always managed to find him peace, find him home, reminded him of heartache and heartbreak. Hastily and shakily, the man turned off the radio, shutting down the song mid-way.
The radio still played their incomplete song.
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first! let me know what you think, this story is just me trying to improve at writing emotions.
