Unfriendly overtures

She was single. They surmised she was available. The married man, bored with his insipid life; an art director, unable to appreciate the distinction between life and art; the maverick entrepreneur, who thrived on challenging status quo.

It was a great high in the beginning. Much furtive texting accompanied with the promise of clandestine trysts and the glow afterward. She was charmed by it all. But not without being plagued with a recurring set of questions that she never got the answers to.

What is built on a flimsy premise rarely lasts a season. The conversations held a singular motive, that of physical and mostly sexual intimacy. There was nothing said of long, casual conversations leading to nothing, no spontaneous chats over compelling sunsets, no sitting on the stairs and staring into nothingness. It was always about getting entangled. And rarely with words.

She loved all the attention, not the intention.

She appreciated the honesty. She was also slightly shocked. The directness, the intentions were a revelation. To go ignored, unnoticed in a roomful of people was also a pricking revelation.

Each of these ties invaded her personal space. Emotionally, physically. Left her clouded with self-doubt. But she was stubborn. Held on that transitory high for the longest she could. Often stretching it to rationalize her actions.

Harassment wasn’t just limited to the words she read on the pages of the daily newspaper. It was being asked to loosen up and be a willing participant in an extra-marital affair, albeit he was shy of using that term. So much for audacity!

She wasn’t as outraged as she thought she ought to have been. There was just a lingering sadness and a sense of despair. At not being able to snap out of this rigmarole. She wanted the friendships. But not the sexual undertones that accompanied them.

Perhaps she’d need to sever them all. At least for a bit. Like you rip off a bandage in an instant, rather than prolong the agony. 

One day, she promised herself!

“Love me for today; tomorrow, we’ll deal with tomorrow,” she texted him, switched off the radio and turned her back to the world to bury herself into her blanket.



  1. vijitha85

    Very well put – well thought through, and very aptly captured, as always!

    I’d also been wanting to write something along similar lines – but just managed a very short story.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s