As I walked down the street, the familiar white pillars of Connaught Place came into view. A few drops of rain fell and long dark stains appeared on my dark colored shirt. Within minutes, the rains came lashing down, straight and silvery, like a punishment of steel rods. I ran for cover, removed my glasses and wiped them in order to have a clearer view. I crossed the busy lane and reached United Coffee House. I sprinted up the stairs to the first floor.The ambience was magical and it always reminded me of the good old old days that stirred up my sleepy calm.
I took a seat, rested my elbows on the table, clasped my hands in front of my face and looked at my wrist. She had given me this wrist watch, this fragment of my past. I smiled and touched the watch, running my fingertips over it. Memories of our daughter overpowered me for a split second and then I got transported back to reality. As I waited for her mother to arrive, my gaze rested on the trays of tired muffins and sandwiches glowing under the light at the display counter. I slowly shifted my gaze from the counter to outside through the glass. The sky had cleared and the sun was calm, refreshed by the rain. A pair of butterflies drifted over the hanging flower pot which was meticulously placed over the top. The soft, gentle movements reminded me of our whirlwind romance in the past that had illuminated our days together. “Projapoti” in Bengali symbolizes love, bonding, marriage and togetherness. What started as a casual chit-chat on a friendship day thirty years ago in United Coffee House turned into an eternal bond of marriage. The landline started ringing often, the coffee dates became more frequent and I would think about her when we weren't together.
The scenes stayed for few moments, shimmering, so real that I could almost touch it, but then the waiter spoke and it vanished.