Short Stories Collection

Forget Me Not

Flashbacks are in Italics.

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Neel looked at the assorted bouquet of fresh roses in his hands. She likes ONLY roses. Last evening when he had got her a bouquet of imported Calla Lilies, she had made a face. His own tired face cracked into a smile as he remembered how cute she had looked with those impossibly twisted expressions. She has one helluva expressive face, not to forget such soulful eyes. Today too he was coming here directly from his office after making a pit stop at the florist like he had been doing since last three months, every evening. Balancing his blazer and bouquet in one hand, he rang the door-bell of her opulent mansion with his free hand.

"Sir, please come in," the elderly servant welcomed him opening the door with a huge smile like he did every day. "I'll go and inform the Miss that you have come," he disappeared after seating him.

A few minutes later he heard soft rhythmic sound of anklets approaching him. He stood up and turned to see her descending from the stairs. She was wearing a white churidaar suit today, looking exceptionally beautiful. Her hair was let open, just as he secretly liked. He smiled, trying to spot in her eyes any sign of joy at seeing him. But his hopes were dashed once again. There was none. He collected himself and scanned her approaching face to see if she was at least waiting for him today. He comes here every day for crying out loud. Just for her. Her face was resigned. Does she have no heart, his heart cried. Her indifference was killing him a little every day, but just like every day, he did not let the facade of smile slip from his face.

"Namaste Neelji," she greeted him with a formal politeness.

"Good evening Nandini. How are you today?" he asked.

"Fine, you?"

"Same. Here, these are for you."

"Thank you. They are beautiful," she accepted the flowers with a genuine smile.

They proceeded with their evening like a routine. Him telling about his day. Asking about hers. Him asking her out on a drive or dinner, her refusing like every day. Him trying to find some warmth for himself in her countenance and her suffering his company like a punishment. Today she was even less responsive, busy cradling and smelling the roses lying in her lap after not so nice Calla Lilies yesterday. Neel Thakral suddenly felt jealous of bloody roses. She had brightened up seeing them like a thousand watt halogen bulb, and him, she hardly smiles at him. You deserve it, his aching heart reminded him.

His fiancee of seven months, Nandini Singhvi, was suffering from amnesia after an accident and of all the people in her life, she had forgotten him. Just him.
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Neel Thakral was the elder son of Ranjeet Thakral and Anita Thakral. He had a younger brother, Nirvaan, eight years his junior. Twenty-seven years old, a Harvard Graduate, handsome above par and first-in-line heir to Thakral Industries, life could not have been kinder to Neel. He enjoyed his fair share of attention from fairer sex as well, till the day an arranged alliance for the only daughter of Mahesh Singhvi came for him. Mahesh Singhvi was a rich investor hailing from Rajasthan settled in Delhi, who had made his fortune by investing in other peoples profitable businesses. He had taken an immense liking for young Thakral heir whom he had met a few times. It did not take Ranjeet Thakral another thought to agree to this alliance and make his family agree to it as well. Thakral's were rich, but Singhvi's were richer. The fact that twenty-three-year-old Nandini was a simple well-mannered beautiful girl was considered a bonus by him. But Neel had waved a red flag as soon as he came back after meeting her for the first time.