Back to Present (24th April, 2020)
The muscles at the side of my mouth flex, and takes the design of a pleasant smile. My finger traces upon the five bold black letter C R U S H.
"Indeed he was my crush."
It is an undeniable truth.
Now, the main question which may arise is did I confront the truth. No, definitely not.
Never in a million ears was the secret coming out of my mouth. No special treatment would have forced me to utter a word. Not even any barbarous Nazi treatment! The answer was safely and securely locked in my heart. It was not to be divulged out in the public, especially not to James Black.
I was lucky enough because the sniffle had cut down my opportunity of throwing any random name of a celebrity who could be introduced as my crush. The little ach-cho acted as my rescuer, and shoved his questions aside. On an interesting note, James's worries concerning my infirmity were proved into effect. A series of continuous sneezes one after the other certified the possibility of me catching a cold.
The mere possibilities of the sneezes being an effect of allergy died down soon. The high temperature of my body assured the fact I had fever. Of course, continuously sneezes and a running nose also said I was accompanied with cough and cold: aftermath of getting drenched in an outpouring.
Who was the main culprit for my poor health: Adam Scott! Either directly or indirectly he was desperate to ruin my life.
My fingers curl into a fist as the fictitious images from the pages of history stations themselves before me.
I rasp, letting the words escape from between my gritted teeth. "I should have blown off his head with a riffle."
No no no! I shake my head furiously.
I've more important things to ponder about. He does not deserve the minimial respect to occupy the singlest inch of my brain.
The reflection of him needs to be ditched. I have outstripped him, and wandering around this subject is nothing less than a time waste.
I engross myself studiously in the act of studying my precious diary entries.
Dear kitten (the name by which I call my diary),
I swear being restricted to bed with a high temperature and running nose is the worst feeling. During the day all I do is stare at my ceiling or scribble down in my dairy. Slowly as the sun sets down and the lights of the noon fades away, my favorite time of the day comes by. I wait impatiently for the clock to strike 10. As the small hand of the clock shifts to 10, my gaze inevitably gets registered on the door. Is it my mind or heart who enjoys his company?
The question to which I had no answer. The question that I was afraid to ask him.
"I was his kitten." My gaze softens, and for a second, my eyes roots on the word 'kitten'. It has a special meaning in our relationship.
Maybe, the person who has successfully rebuilt my walls is physically absent here. He is in New York during this pandemic fighting. But we do have created a pool of memories in a limited time to drown ourselves into. Memories. Yes memories. A collection of beautiful pictures that stays in our mind and has a special place in our heart.
We never understand when the heavenly moments we spend with our loved ones gets transformed into memories. All we realise is that special person is no more with us. But he or she forever lives in our memories, sometimes for the good and the other times for the worst. A strong - willed person can always try to shake the unpleasant ones. At least, I could not appreciate shaking away the last segments of my beloved lover: our memories.
Memories of us holding hands, kissing under the sunset, counting the stars at night. Segments of clichés from those romantic novels which are nothing less than a box of treasure for me. The sky has witnessed it all - our marriage, our love, our fights, our giggle and us falling for each other.
I stare at the mysterious blue vault.
The soothing shades of the afternoon sky dwindles in the monochromatic dark clouds. The furry blanket of black clouds grumbles restlessly, disrupting the sound of my emptiness by the loud gregarious boom of thunder.
"It sounds like it is about to rain."
Cold fierce wind blusters outside, signalling the dawning of a violent storm. Booming and banging sound fills the air as the wind destructs everything which comes in its way.
I walk up to the window pane, and glance at the city through the translucent sheet of glass. Down below from the fourteenth floor, I notice the empty roads. No cars. No humans. The movements on the busy roads of London has been brought to cessation. It rains or snows most of the time in London but particularly the weather of 24th April is a bad one. According to the news reports, there is a high probability that citizens might have to encounter an uprising storm which can bring a lot of destruction.
As the clouds clash against each other the sound of another uproar blends with the air.
Drawing the curtains together, I shut the outside world for me. My eyes are drenched with deep exhaustion. Yet, I am deprived of sleep. Collecting my diary from the floor, I fall into a sort of luxurious sprawl, ready to recollect my first step towards being a self-sufficient individual. Though I have to admit, the starting of the journey was nothing extraordinary or expectional. It was an advertisement flyer which brought me to the peak of success, and help me to earn the title 'International Best Selling Author'.
So far a week had passed by. My ailment had caused in deferring the date which was scheduled earlier for paying a visit to Eric's house. Not that I was completely stable, but to the least my frail legs could support my body weight.
I requested James to allot a new date for the visit. An anxious James repeatedly warned me to rest for another week, but my stubbornness beefed. I was desperate to get rid of all the legal ties that chained my marriage with Adam Scott. The sooner the better.
A session of negotiation brought us at our place in monday morning. With James being dressed neatly in a black suit, I was sure with the fact that my poor look would have been the topic of discussion if other pupils were a part of the meeting. Luckily the meeting was confined to only two of us, and we were not seated in some conference hall of an office. His
choice of attire was reasonable. Tuxedo was mandatory for attending a formal meeting with his boss and other staffs in a venue like hospital.
James did not point out my shabby clothes or unbrushed hair, but little did he expected to see his companion in an organised form.
Sitting on the armchair, he stamped his foot with frustration, and repeated his same old love song. "You need to rest Amy."
"You're not understanding James. I am better now. I can walk, run, play and do all kinds of physical activites."
He said nothing. Not a word not an eye roll so as to show his disagreement. Instead, he utilised his penetrative gaze as a scanning weapon to prove the last part of my statement as a part of falsification. His crinkled forehead appeared so intense that for a moment, I assumed he was secretly accusing me of being a prevaricator.
I sat upright on the bed, and walked in his direction with small slow steps.
"I can walk!"
Narrowing his eyes, he replied with an addition coating of humour. "Eric is a slow walker than you are, and I am sure you can catch him once you recover completely."
"It has been a week. I have been down with fever, not pneumonia."
"Well good. Rest tight." He climbed up from the armchair, ready to conclude the conversation.
I shook my head derisively, and firmly commented, "The sooner the better.
Contested divorce matter takes ages. We need to file the divorce before Adam takes a step by lodging any false allegation in the name of his wife."
The arguments led to an elongated two hours session of negotiation. But we had come across a proper conclusion which favoured both the parties. James and I decided to head at his best friend's house the upcoming weekend. The sooner the better!
What worried me most was Adam's movements. He had the power to fight back if he wanted (he surely will) making use of all his wealth and well-known sources wisely. James unceasingly assured me concerning his friend's potentials. According to his words, Eric was acquired with a high knowledge about complications of marriages, and had ideas with how to deal with tough cases.
But Adam Scott...he is a pyscho.
My fret had casted a cavernous depression upon my face.
"Did I mention Kelly will be here in about half an hour?" James muffled underneath his breath while locking his briefcase.
Kelly! My face, emblazing happiness surged up automatically.
"Wow! That would be great. I haven't seen her ever since I got stuck with fever."
She wished to visit her aunt, but her demand was dismissed this time by the elderly figures. It was for her own welfare because the visit to my new home during the last week might had been hazardous for her heath. But in world of social media and internet, distance was simply a physical quantity. She would pin me daily to gather information about my recovery status. We used to gossip to such an extent till late night that James's suspicion had firmly established a strange notion: His ex-roomate was addicted to some guy over the virtual world.
Watching me squirm with happiness, he clambered up from the comfortable recliner, with his flat office traveler.
He commented with a little grin, "The little one misses you terribly."
"This aunt misses the little one as well."
I marched to where he was standing, and spoke while fixing his tie.
"Well, Mr. Black. Break a leg."
He coughed a little, not understanding whether his sarcastic companion was wishing him luck or praying to God for his accident. The first option sounded better to me. My smile clarified his doubt.
"You are good at this."
I giggled, and slightly bend my head to a side. "I used to do the same for my dad when I was a small girl."
Gently, I smacked on his broad shoulders as an indication of accomplishing my task. He grasped my hands, and took a step closer, closing the gap between us partially.
Our faces were situated only a inch away. With our noses almost touching each other's, we were exchanging air. The reaction to the action was instant in my body. My preliminary wobbled legs could barely support me anymore but it was not likely I would have bumped my head on the floor. Because his dark eyes adhered me to my place, binding us together with an invisible ribbon.
"I don't like this behaviour."
My hands were still confined in his grip. I twisted my wrists in order to free them but the effort went in vain. He did not like the idea of being challenged. His eyes grew lifeless as he stated with a smirk, "As a punishment, you need to give me a goodbye kiss."
The measure to discipline my senses was not the worst. Kissing him on any part of his body, other than lips would not be called as a sin. At the minimum, his wicked mind did not spin out an impossible task for me.
I pondered for a while around the question of how wicked punishment would sound like. Could be chop off my head with a hidden sword? Or might be, the worst of all was postponing the scheduled date of our visit?
"I'm waiting."
His demanding voice made me knock down the dreadful alternatives out of my mind.
"Well Well Mr. Black. What about we make a deal?"
"Following."
"One kiss on the cheek but before I take any step, you have to free my hands."
He dodged his gaze in another direction and flinched his lips.
"Any guarantees ma'am you will not flee? Most importantly, why one cheek when I have two? "
He is a smart dude! Just as I had thought.
I admitted his smartness, and promptly proposed an offer. "You discharge my one hand, and claim your one kiss prize. My other hand must come out of your grip immediately. "
"Prize?" He taunted again, "Prize? A gold medal, is it?"
"My misery is your pleasure and vice versa. Technically, my punishment should be a reward for your eyes."
Secretly, I was wondering whether Mr Fancy Pants had given Kelly the talk.
"Your mind is sharper than a blunt knife."
"Oh. Thank you for the compliment." I animated a wicked grin. It was not an appreciation. Rather, he was generalizing my wit with the general group of humans.
James caught a glance of his watch. Instantly, his eyes grew wide. It must had been time for him to leave for work, and not wanting to be late on an important day because of our arguments, he inclined his head in agreement.
Like a good boy, his grip retired from my left wrist, and it cratered down before our eyes.
He brought his penetrative stare at me.
"Your turn." He growled, growing out of patience.
I soared on my toes to match his level, and pressed my lips on his forehead. As soon as his reward had been successfully claimed by him, my another hand was dismissed.
Not planning to spend any more second here, he raised his hand half way to wave me goodbye, and sprinted out of the door.
"Careful...All the best!" I My train of howl followed him.
Isn't he a pain in the ass? What would his employer think if he mentioned our argumentstive session as an explanation for making a late appearance.
Mr Fancy Pants did not have the guts to mention this excuse. But if he did...what would be his boss's expression? Well, if the guy was married, that's all together a different case. But if not, James had to use his wicked mind to come up with an appropriate justification. The justifications which my mind had stumbled upon were so hilarious that it pushed me to the act of laughing to the point I had developed an aching belly.
Ten minutes of laughing had drained all my energy, making me go thirsty and hungry.
"Pancakes and a mug of coffee." My lips smacked at the idea of devouring a bite of the honey dripping hot stuffed pancakes supplemented with superfluous butter.
I strolled in my kitchen. The same place where a disastrous earthquake had occurred in my absence, as a result of which all the essential items were displaced out of their places. The only person to be blamed was Mr Black, who was assigned with the duty to cook the meals for past five days. My beautiful kitchen was standing in front of my eyes in the same state as his wardrobe.
My eyes thoroughly scanned in search for my favourite coffee mug through the racks of my two-shelved cupboard. As I had imagined, it was not at its place. Even last week, it was positioned at the right most corner in the second shelve. Oh no! My silly mind totally washed out the fact that a MasterChef from Italy was hired to dig the ground in here so that the mission of disorganising the tectonic plates of the earth could be accomplished.
After several rows of trials of hunting, and investing an ample amount of time in thinking of the possible places where the big guy could have placed the mug in his unmindfullness, I surrendered with a deep sigh. Being blessed with no other option, my hands slided the door of the cabinet containing crockery sets of crafted out of porcelain. The sliding door collided against the side frame of the cabinet, creating a loud thud. With my itchy fingers, I clutched a coffee mug composed of melamine (an expectation antique member in my collection) clothed with recyclable papers.
Though the article was wrapped with an outer cover, the design of the item was very familiar to my brain. So familiar that even I did not have to unwrap it to recollect the details. The expensive mug which was gifted to me by one of Adam's relatives on the occasion of our wedding was embossed with strips of rainbow design all over its body.
The christmas wrapping was gloomy and bland, serving as a great contradiction to the vibrant wedding gift. Details related to politics might had been engraved in black and white fonts over the advertisement flyer. That was my first guess!
While unpacking the covering, my vision landed upon the opposite side of the advertisement flyer: a multi-colored banner TALENT HUNT promoting some contest. Perhaps, a contest related to political affairs. It was not hard to predict the subject of the contest from the unattractive font styling.
To my surprise, my eyes twinkled as they were rooted on the prize money of the competition: 20,000 dollars.
Is this some joke? How can be the prize money so high? This must be some fraud.
Finding the topic hilarious, I unwrapped the advertisement flyer casing the coffee mug. I was interested in knowing which political party was sponsoring the competition. It had to be some debating contest.
The excitement increased with the trailing of my eyes on every printed letters. Well, the 20,000 dollars was for the first runner up.
"Phew! A huge sum of of money just for the first runner up." Literally, I cried out in the beginning. However, I resumed my reading.
Talent Hunt was a writing contest, inviting aspiring authors all across the country to be a part of the program.
I giggled at how silly my prediction was.
The officials of the organisation demanded to the interested authors to submit their stories along with an entry form before 5th November.
A writing contest is not that bad. Not that I used to be the most brilliant student in my English classes or have secured any gold medal in writing competition during my days, but giving a try in this Talent Hunt seemed like an appealing idea.
Now, coming to the prize money for the champion, it was freaking 50,000 USD. Money is always a motivation. But did not it sounded super crazy?
I could not believe me eyes, and began to count the zeroes after five a multiple number of times.
The second runner-up would be handed a sum of 10,000 USD.
"That can be called as the biggest championship of the decade!" I exclaimed hysterically with my heart jingling with joy. My hunger and thirst were quenched by the pool of eagerness which guaranteed my desire to enter the competition.
Minutes later when my heart stopped thumping badly, I tried to think rationally.
"This big opportunity must had been shut by now. The flyer looks old." My heart sunk down.
With a little hope, I examined the article properly to in search of the dates. Well, it did not consume much time because underneath the banner, the dates for registration were highlighted in caps.
SUBMISSION DATE: 5th September, 2018
DEADLINE: 5th November, 2018.
My fear was proven into reality. I attempted to console myself.
"Anyway, there was no way I would have the chance to be the champion." With the extinguished fire of my heart, I was about to throw the paper in the bin when an interesting sentence printed in italics below the prize caught my eyes.
An addition offer was available for the grand winner.
The lucky champion had an opportunity to publish their work under the same column as that of the International Best Selling authors.
I was rendered speechless. No words were sufficient to describe the euphoric feeling. More than claiming the prize money, having your book printed on the same list as the International Best Selling authors was a huge achievement in itself.
Well, Amy. The contest is now over.
My intellects reminded me. But was there any harm in reading the rules?
Quickly, my eyes scrutinized the rules.
•••THE RULES•••
1.)Minimum word limit for every submission is over 50,000 words. No maximum word limit has been set.
2.)Entries written in English can only be accepted.
3.) Excerpts are not allowed.
4.) Entries submitted should be not be copyrighted. The novel should be a hundred percent original creation.
5.) The contest is open for only romance genre. However, stories entering into other sub-genres such as mystery, thriller, crime, etc. will be allowed. Romance is the main genre.
6.) Poem or short stories collections will not be entertained. It should be a proper novel.
7.) Entries will be digitally typed, and submitted either traditionally in our office or online via our website.
8.) Every writer participating will hold the sole rights of their properties. But once a writer signs the form, he or she will have to promise not to publish their book in any online platform or in the market during the judging period. If the entry has been selected as the top three featured books, he or she will have to wait till the timing the final result is declared.
9.) Traditionally published or self-published books will not be a part of our contest.
10.) Strict steps will be taken against plagiarism.
11.) Glorification of rape, human trafficking, drugs like heroin, non-consual sex involving minors, and writing explicit sexual scenes are prohibited. Entries competing in the contest might display sexual scenes but that should be limited.
11.) Anyone who is found to be violating the rules will be disqualified.
"Well, let's dig in deeper."
My eyes followed the next paragraph on the judging process.
Once all the writers submit their entries along with a form, the judging process will begin. Our respected judges will go through each and every entry. Out of all the entries, the judging panel, comprising of fifty judges in total, based on some important judging criterias like uniqueness of plot, polish grammar, brilliant writing style will short list the top three books, which will demonstrate high potential to capture the hearts of larger audience. The list will be displayed on 30th November, 2018 in the website www.talenthunt.com. If a particular entry has been selected, the writer will be notified via a mail.
The first five chapters (as a sample) from the top three entries we select will be compiled into a collection of novels, and uploaded for free in all the famous and infamous writing communities across the globe. Out of three, the book which will recieve the maximum votes, and will be a new sensation of the year among the audience will be declared as the champion.
The three winners, based on the response of the audience, will be declared on 22nd December, 2018. Transaction will be made in between one week.
The champion will be contacted by our staffs so that we can work together as a group in publishing the new sensation book internationally.
"Tough competition man! Two rounds of judging is no joke." Now that I had read in details about the competition, my mind started to wonder why they had used the term lucky champion. The main judges would be the readers.
Well, that is what I thought when I had finished reading the entire piece. But I was proven wrong when on flipping the other side of the flyer I spotted the criteria for eligibility. The same black and white fonts which I had mistakenly considered to be some hot political topic.
•••CRITERIA FOR PARTICIPATING IN THE CONTEST•••
1.)The participant must be 18 or above.
2.) Valid e-mail must be provided in the form.
3.)A submission form needs to be collected either online or offline (from our office) with an exchange of 100 dollars. Online payment modes include net banking otherwise payment through credit card or debit card is accepted.
4.) Without the form, the entries qualifiing will be disqualified.
Underneath the conditions an address for contacting purposes was supplied by the organisation.
20 Cooper Square, New York, NY 100003, USA.
The prize money was tremendously high because of two reasons:
a.) An entry fee was required for participation.
b.) The WillFree publishing company, the most successful publishing house amongst all the other was sponsoring the contest. They must had taken the responsibility of publishing the best book.
"I believe, judges from the publishing house will be appointed as well. The entire process makes it tougher to crack the contest." I huffed, and dumped the flyer in the bin. Even if I had the opportunity, I would not be planning to enter. I was confident that wasting a sum of 100 dollars would fetch me nothing.
Probably, the payment idea would push away a couple dozen of interested writers, and many talented authors will not agree to miss the golden opportunity.
Shrugging my shoulders, I began to prepare for cooking. But the musings did not leave me.
My mind hovered around the competition. Earning the opportunity to share the same section with your favorites author is like a dream. However, the payment was a little high. At least it for expensive for a dependent lady like me. But this championship could be a key for a new life to me but they were some unachievable dreams of mine. Most importantly, the contest was over.
Two hours went by but Kelly had not arrived yet.
I pulled down my apron, and stared at the clock. The time displayed on the digital clock said that we had stepped in the noon. I did not have the urge to wait any longer. Like it was a cruel deed, but it was out of my control. My monstrous hunger would make me faint if I refused to take my meals. I served myself two plates of sizzling hot pancakes.
Even while eating, the pit of disappointment did not bother to walk away. The prize money had me evaluating, and thinking about the figures like a crazy philosopher pondering about serious questions like life and death. My deep thoughts resulted into a creation of a pecuilar habit. Occassionally, I would nibble the fork after gulping my bite.
"Well," my eyes lightened up all of a sudden as a strong determination washed me over, and my soul spoke out in a rich tone, "making writing as my career for the timing till I get employed in an office can help me to pay my rents. Surely, many organisations hold online competition."
With a dedication towards my goal, I rose up from my chair, and headed to my bedroom. Unplugging the charger from my phone, I leaned against the wall, and switched on the device.
My eyes widened at the crazy list of notifications from Facebook. Freaking sixty notifications!
I ignored them all. I clicked on the chrome. In the search bar, with shaky hands, I typed: online competitions.
Well...Well...COMPETITION! The best results were out!
A list of different kinds of events from photography to writing blogs flooded my screen. Certainly that is what happens when you don't contribute the supplementary juicy details for the internet to understand.
My fingers pushed against the alphabets of the keyboard in a vigorous rush. Soon, a refreshed list of events sharing the same subject appears on the bright screen. An unwanted message with the icon of Marshmallow pops on my screen.
"Obstacles on the way!" I yelled to express my emotions. I never cherished the idea of being provoked in the middle of conducting a deed.
Unwillingly in my subconsciousness, my forefinger, which was apparently acting as the pointer, nudged the Marshmallow symbol embedded in a ring like structure. The conversation springs up occupying three-fourth area of the screen.
Hi.
Hi.
Hi.
I scrolled down through all the text messages.
Hi
Hi
The spammed greetings had assured me with the fact that it was a creepy guy on Facebook who was trying to gain my attention. No second thoughts. I decided to block this ass straight away.
As soon as my finger hammered on the three dots placed in the upper right corner of the conversation, a list of options showed up.
• Block Ethan Jeffers
• View Profile
• More information
The familiarity with the username in this endeavour of procuring my friendliness was rather, uncommon. In fact, the concurrence of the guy texting me who happened to be someone I would relate to from my daily life was rare.
"Is it this same Ethan dude? The same Ethan whose offer was rejected by me?" The question hung in the air for a while.
Not quite sure if this guy was Ethan or not, I decided to ignore. He had not revealed his surname in the chit. The name Ethan, just like Jenny, was not foreign to the parents of the world. But then another message pops up.
Hello Amy.
Ok...not one. My phone vibrated twice soon after, indicating the arrival of two new visitors.
This time it was a smiling sticker.
The next message said:
Are you mad at you for asking you out for coffee?
"No doubt. It's him." I blurted out, thinking how much this Ethan guy was regretting after asking me to join him for coffee. The rejection might had injured his mental strength. He took in so much of effort to stalk me over social media which really had to be appreciated.
Manners prevailed forcing my fingers to hit the keyboard in order to type a quick Hello. Clicking on the send sign, I waited for his reply.
His online status was displayed below his name. There was a green colour dot beside his name, which signified the fact that he was currently active.
He was active, and continuously greeting me for the past few minutes. Yet my message was left on the reading mode.
I underwent through the history to find out the time of when first message was dropped.
The date travelled back a week ago.
I chuckled nervously, trying to think how weird it might had been for him to not get replies over a week. The blame could not be totally directed at me because I had never been highly active in Messenger or Instagram.
I stared at the message like a fool.
"Maybe a hello is a little bit awkward from my side after he has showered me with so many hello(s)."
Hey Ethan, how are you doing?
Send button. Here we go. The message was delivered.
This time the response from his side was immediate. A message popped up in my screen.
Keeping myself busy with the on-going Talent Hunt competition. I am appointed in the charge of designing blogs by my moody uncle, who is one of the organiser for this year's writing contest. Tell me about yourself, Amy.
Was he talking about same contest that I had read back then in the flyer?
I stared at the message for minutes, not even for once fluttering my eyelashes in between.
TO BE CONTINUED....