Romantic Short Stories, Week #6, The Road to Salvation

A big Hi! to all my awesome readers. I hope you had a blast over the weekend, and here comes another Monday. Jump start the week with this beautiful love story of lost mates from my immense pool of romantic short stories.

There’s a subtle touch of paranormal in this love short.

Remember Twilight?

This is the first time I’ve written something that’s beyond this world. I hope you like reading this as much as I liked writing.

Week #6

Title: The Road to Salvation

The forest reeked of wet grass and vegetation. Trees swayed in the gusty wind. Norma ran through the woods. She didn’t understand what made her run. All she could remember that she was asleep in her room. And then all of a sudden, someone carried her on his shoulder and laid her on the wet grass.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself gazing at the moonlit sky. She felt frail, each bone of her body asking refuge, pestering her to lie down. The coldness of the dewy grass made her shiver. The wind blew hard. She felt like as if her body was slowly transforming into rock ice, her feet freezing. She pushed herself to a sitting position. Her eyes darted around, early morning sun rays seeping in through the dense foliage.

She stood up and ran until she noticed a lake. The stream glistened under the golden sun. On the edge, there was a boy, with his back to her, teetering on the rough edge of the river like a pendulum swinging freely from a fixed point.

“Hey! Careful lest you’d fall.” A barely audible whisper escaped Norma’s throat.

The boy turned around. A frail smile swam on his dry lips. As Norma neared him, she noticed the boy’s pale skin sparkle with thousands of stars.

“Aren’t you afraid of falling into the freezing water and dying or that was your idea of having water fun?”

“Living without you is like death.”

“What?”

“You don’t remember anything, do you?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m not apart from you. We’re bound together.”

“Don’t trick me. I know there are bullies, on loose, tricking girls to fall prey, but I’m not going to give you a chance.”

She turned around and what’s that – the boy was standing in front of her. She turned around to face the river and again saw the same form.

She couldn’t work out whether it was a mere delusion or reality.

Vague images floated around her head. Voices, she often heard in her dreams, echoed in her ears. Her head ached with the most traumatic kind of pain. She felt herself transitioning back into the past.

Romantic Short Stories, Week #6, The Road to Salvation, www.mariyamhasnain.com“No matter how many bodies your soul inhabits, it will yearn for its mate. You’ll keep on reincarnating until you’re united with me. The path to salvation goes through several cycles of birth and rebirth until the soul achieves its pure self. You’ll never be free from the sufferings neither do I until our souls achieve their goals.”

Norma’s headache subsided. Faint memories flooded her mind, memories of her previous life.

“I can’t bear this pain anymore.” Her eyes glistened as she recalled the traumatic end of their relationship. They had to pay the price of being in love within the same clan. A sin, regarded as incest by the community.

The lightning struck the couple as they united. The whirlwind carried the twin souls to their ultimate abode, leading to the state of being free.

*****End*****

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~MH

Romantic Short Stories, Week #5, It’s Never Too Late

A big Hi to all romance lovers out there. It’s Monday again folks but keep the blues away. Feel romantic, feel inspired with yet another flash from a pool of short romantic stories.

Today’s flash is all about love, loss, and hope.

Week #5

Title: It’s Never Too Late

She would sit on the bench at the bus stop. The same stop from where I used to catch my bus to my workplace, a computer hardware repair shop.

Gracefully dressed in a flowery dress, with her burgundy-dyed hair tied in a neat bun, an umbrella in one hand and a book in other, was she waiting for the bus?

No. I could say that because I had observed her one whole day.

It was Sunday evening. I visited the bus stop out of curiosity, to see if she was there or not. And she was there.

People came and went, but she didn’t go anywhere, just kept on sitting there.

The sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds, and a few moments later it started raining heavily. I couldn’t see her umbrella. Perhaps she forgot to bring it that day, but luckily, I had mine.

Crossing the road, I reached the bench. She smiled at me.

“Hello, miss.” I sat next to her, covering both of us under my umbrella.

“Radha. You can call me by my name.”

I hesitated to call her by name.

“Oh. Don’t mind. This is the problem with this young generation. I have a niece of your age, and she calls me by my name.”

“Oh, okay, Radha. So, how are you?”

“I’m fine, young boy. Can’t you see—healthy like a horse.” A toothless grin wrinkled the corners of her eyes.

“Where do you live?” short romantic stories, www.mariyamhasnain.comI asked, looking at her while she drifted her stare from my face to the rain-swept road. Water droplets played pitter-patter on the flimsy tin roofing of the bus stop as the evening crowd thinned and people ran to shelters.

“Just a couple of blocks away, down the road.” She gestured towards the left side.

“Great. I see you here every day. You aren’t planning to go somewhere, are you? I probably can help you. I have a bus timetable handy, on my mobile phone. Do you mind sharing with me where you want to go, and I can tell you which number bus goes to which place.”

“Oh, son, I’m waiting for someone.”

“Waiting for someone? Who, and how long are you going to wait?” I asked, looking at the almost deserted road.

“Till the sun goes down. He promised me he’ll come with the moon.”

“Come with the moon?” I couldn’t understand, and shot another question. “Do you wait here every day?”

“Yeah.”

The comforting tone of her voice piqued my curiosity.

“How long have you been waiting?”

“For the past forty years.” She cleared her throat.

I couldn’t ask anything else. We sat there for a while in silence, gazing at the wet road.

The rain subsided. I requested for the old woman to keep my umbrella, and promised her that I would take it back the next day.

On my way home, inconspicuous thoughts about the old woman and the person she was waiting for clustered my mind.

“Excuse me.”

I heard a male voice, footsteps approaching. I turned around and noticed an old man walking in my direction. He stopped at a hand’s distance from me.

Head covered in a leather flat cap, wearing a raincoat, he smiled, looking at me.

“Hello! Young man. Can I walk with you a couple of steps?”

“Oh yeah. Sure, of course.”

For a moment, I hesitated, but then started walking along with him.

After talking about inconsequential things like where I live, and what I do, he asked, “So, what did Radha tell you?”

“You know her?” A thousand volts of electric current hit me like a thunderbolt.

“Yeah. I used to love her. In fact, I still love her.”

“Oh, so she was waiting for you?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“She was waiting for my brother, whom she loved, but he cheated on her, and married another woman, rich and spoiled, who later cheated on him. They divorced after a few years of their marriage. He regretted cheating on Radha, and couldn’t muster the courage to face her. He couldn’t face the reality of life, and killed himself by overdosing on his antidepressants a couple of years after his divorce. The coward.”

“And you?” I smirked.

He inhaled a deep breath and blew out slowly. “A coward too. I could never express my feelings to her, just kept on seeing her from afar.”

“Cowards never confess their weaknesses to others. Perhaps you waited for the right time. Perhaps now is the time.”

“Yes, you’re right. It’s never too late.”

And with that, he turned back and left the street. I stood there, smiling, hearing his thumping steps of triumph.

~End~

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Romantic Short Stories, Week #4: Time Drain

Happy Monday Fam! Here comes one more flash from a pool of short romantic stories.

Do you often get late to work? Are traffic jams your worst enemy? Read on to know how traffic jam inspired June to do something creative.

Hope you like it.

Week# 4

Title: Time Drain

“Oh, shit, I’m late again.” June curved her lips, looking at her golden wristwatch. She desperately slammed the stairs one after another with the pointed four-inch heels of her sandals as she entered the small yet elegant twelfth-floor office of BB Advertising.

“God, please, save me the one last time. I can’t afford to lose this job.” She pushed open the door of Robert’s room, muttering under her breath.

“What a pleasant surprise, Ms. Pinto. You broke the record. You’re only forty-five minutes late today,” Robert drifted his stare from the documents lying in front of him to June’s sorry face, a mock sternness in his eyes.

“Actually, it’s the traffic jam. The city is getting overpopulated. With so many people giving birth to so many kids, the traffic is going to increase a hundredfold in the coming years, and you have to definitely think about the option of allowing your employees to work from home.”

“Well, thank you so much for your suggestions, and I really appreciate your logic behind the traffic jams. Anyways, we’re all set for the next meeting. Hope you’re ready with the presentation and the explanatory videos about the product.” He sauntered across the room and approached the door.

“Oh, yeah, I am. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” June stammered as she caught her breath, wondering whether she had put the pen drive back in her purse after completing the work, or just forgotten it at home.

“Great! Hope it’s short romantic stories, www.mariyamhasnain.comnot your last day with me. Perhaps the approval can save your life.” His face turned stiff as he pulled open the door. And the next moment, he was gone.

“Shit. The PD is not here,” June mumbled, as she checked her laptop bag and purse for the final time.

I need this job. I have to do something.

Think, June. Think!

Yes . . . I know how to do that. I hope Robert won’t find it offensive.

Perhaps he will. Perhaps not, if the client is impressed.

I don’t know.

 ***

When she reached the conference room, she noticed Robert, busy discussing the project details with the clients.

“Please, Ms. Pinto. I think you take charge from here. The stage is all yours.”

And with that, the bright blue LED screen welcomed her onto the stage.

Reflecting confidence, June defied her mental turbulence and walked across the room to reach the place where the LED panel was mounted. The cold air of the central air conditioning gave her chills in the sweltering heat of August. Her eyes darted to the TV screen and then to the sea of faces. All eyes were on her as if she was not human, but an alien descended from an obscure planet. Not even Mars. At least humans knew about Mars.

“A very good morning to all of you. I hope you all enjoyed your travel from your home or office or wherever you live to Big Bang Advertising. I really appreciate you all reaching here on time and conquering the traffic jams. I think you guys must be listening to Radio Mirchi traffic updates and wisely choosing your routes.”

“Ms. Pinto . . . come to the point. Put on the presentation,” Robert mumbled, his lips pursed and his broad jaw becoming even broader as anger and stress crept onto his face and creased his forehead.

“Oh! Yeah . . . I totally forgot why we are here. So, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to show you something you’ve never seen before. Any guesses?”

Utter silence in the room.

“Here comes a rescuer for all women’s hair problems—Silk And Shine hair tonic. No matter who you are—a college girl, a working woman, a housewife, or a latecomer like me, Silk And Shine keeps you on time even when you don’t have time.

“Apply it on your wet hair, dry hair, or morning hair, and be the charm of everyone’s eyes—use Silk And Shine, and Be On Time.”

The blue LED screen still shone behind June’s back, with the AC sending cold waves to her body.

“We’re expecting the video and the presentation, not a live act. But it was good. We liked it. I think we can work on this.” A middle-aged, short-haired lady from the client’s panel smiled before clapping and nodding her approval.

***

“Good, you did it well.”

“Thanks, Robert. I hope it’s not my last day in the office.”

“I want to see you on time.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“In the evening. Six. Sharp. At Lamps.”

“What?”

“Be on time, Ms. Pinto. Be on time,” he gave a chortle, before entering his room.

~End~

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Romantic Short Stories Week #3: Ex-flames

Here come’s Monday, and the time is 11:30 IST. And now as we march to a new month, here’s another short romantic story. This week’s flash is about rekindling the lost love. Hope you like it.

Week #3

Title: Ex-flames

I sit on the sofa and gaze out the window. Thick Gulmohar trees laden with the new foliage sway under the golden sun.

Today is going to be my last day in Vivek’s house. I’m going to embrace a new life. He did not react much when I mentioned him that we need to separate our ways. Anyways, he does not want kids yet, and I wonder if he just wants to remain in the second stage all his life.

Chirps of sparrows play a soothing serenade. Thin white clouds shift in the sky as the cold morning breeze blows in through the front window of the living room. A pair of pigeon perches on the window sill, one holding a dry twig in his beak.

“Life has four stages – the first stage where a person is completely dependent on others. It is the childhood stage.

The second stage is where a person discovers himself. It’s a stage of trial and error. He tries, learns from his mistakes, and makes choices. He starts believing in himself but also believes in materialistic success to be happy – money, wealth, accolades.

The third stage is when an individual thinks about leaving a legacy. It could be anything – a breakthrough innovation, an extraordinary product, or a happy adorable family.

And finally, stage four which is all about holding on what a person has achieved.”

I still remember these lines of Mr. Mathews. He used to teach us Philosophy in college. He was a character. Long hair with streaks of silver. The overgrown beard that he rarely used to trim. Irrespective of the trends, he would always wear beige colored baggy pants and a loose T-shirt. He perhaps was in his late forties, but his attire and appearance made him look ten years older than his actual age.

short romantic stories,mariyamhasnain.comThe fragrant wind blowing into the room caresses my cheeks bringing back some more old memories. Memories – I try to forget, erase, burn but even after so many years, they are still fresh in my mind.

As soon as I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of the couch, a pair of deep dark eyes shines in the abyss. Teenage love is not easy to forget.

His name, image, touch everything remain so fresh in my mind.

It’s been more than ten years being married to Vivek, but there has been something always amiss.

I wonder if rekindling the lost love is a good idea. Anyways, I won’t be having Vivek with me tonight.

I trace Ray on Facebook. And, within a couple of minutes, he accepts my friend request asking my whereabouts.

He never married. I can’t deny I still love Ray and so he. Oh my God how we have so much craving for each other even when ten years have passed. The flames of unfulfilled love still burn our souls, and we don’t have to convince each other of anything or reason anything. We just want to be together.

********

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