As evening descended over the resort and the darkness outside intensified on an overcast moonless night, a certain tension began to settle in the air—unspoken yet palpable. I had spent the past hour or so pacing the relatively large confines of my room. I had invited Smitakshi, but something tells me I have an old intuitive connection between us—something I could not pin down. There, I felt an overwhelming feeling of love and affection towards her- what was the secret behind this feeling- I was unaware.
The bottle of Old Monk sat unopened on the table with the fully charged ice bucket. The bottle of red wine was still in the chiller—something I knew she preferred. The local cheese I’d promised was arranged neatly on a wooden platter, its sharp aroma mingling with the faint scent of the few pine trees around the resort drifting in from the open window.
When the knock finally came, I took a deep breath, mentally rehearsing the calm I wished to project, and opened the door. Smitakshi looked fabulous. She had changed into a soft grey sweater. There was something casual yet intimate about her appearance. And then I noticed she had combed her hair back, showing her antique-looking earrings. These were in a traditional design that I knew very well. The earrings immediately brought back memories that made my pulse quicken, and I reminded myself to keep my emotions in check. Her father was, after all, a Gen Stone Jeweller – so natural for her to have the best of the pieces.
“Come in,” I said, stepping aside to let her pass.
The room was large enough to leave enough space after a relatively large bed, a sofa-cum-bed, a working table and a closet. The dim yellow lighting cast a warm glow over everything, creating an atmosphere that could easily be misinterpreted. I had to remember the delicate balance one must maintain in such situations.
“Wine?” I offered, handing her a glass.
She smiled, taking it from my hand and settling into one of the armchairs. “This is perfect,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass before taking a small sip. “You know, I was surprised when you suggested continuing our conversation here. I didn’t think you were the type to invite a woman to your room on the first day.”
There was a playful tease in her confident voice. I could sense she wasn’t testing the waters or trying to gauge my intentions. Taking a seat opposite her, I chuckled. “I figured we could talk more freely here, away from prying eyes in this small place. Plus, I did promise to share some insights into my new novel.”
She nodded a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “So, what’s this new story about? Another mystery?”
I took a deep breath, knowing the story I was about to share was more personal than any fictional tale I could conjure. “It’s… complicated,” I began, pouring myself a glass of Old Monk. “It is not just a story, Smitakshi. It’s a piece of my past that I have guarded closely.”
Her expression softened, and she leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “I’m listening.”
And so, with the familiar warmth of Old Monk soothing my nerves, I began to recount the story that had haunted me for years—the story of a love that had ended in tragedy, one that I had kept buried deep within me. And the one which, on the days I felt lonely, frightened me as I cursed myself for doing what I believed I had to do.
“It was when I was young and happy.” I started, “I was in love with someone. Her name was Veerali Sisodiya. We were in college together, and I was a two-year senior. Once I started working and she passed out for some unknown reason, we lost touch. My letters went unanswered, and I was left in the dark, wondering what had happened to her.”
Smitakshi’s gaze never wavered her attention entirely on me.
I hesitated momentarily, then continued, “Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to go looking for her. Thus, I landed in Jaipur with an address I had written to and a desire to know what had happened. Finally, I located her house, and as I was almost pressing the bell, she saw me from the window and signalled me to leave, telling me she would come out and meet.”
“She finally did, and when we met, I found she was… different. She told me that her father had arranged for her to marry a powerful Rajput politician from Rajasthan. The groom, her senior at school, harboured a one-sided love for her. His parents had come asking for her hand in marriage, and the situation was such that her father had no option but to accept the proposal. She said that if the groom’s family found out she was meeting me, it would be dangerous—for both of us.”
She promised to come the next day and spend some time with me.
I paused, the memory of that fateful day resurfacing with startling clarity.
“We met one last time in my room. We made love. And then we went for dinner at a restaurant she chose for exclusivity and privacy. It was supposed to be a simple lunch to say goodbye. I was still adamant with two fight tickets in hand and asking her to leave with me then and there, confident that once we were married and some time elapsed, the father and the politician lover boy would relent. But as we were leaving… three gunmen appeared out of nowhere and opened fire.”
Smitakshi gasped, her hand covering her mouth. I could see the horror in her eyes, but I had a story to finish. “I think Veerali realised what was happening… and true to her name and the love she had for me… she stepped in front of me. She took the bullets that I believe were meant for me.”
The room fell silent as I struggled to keep my composure. “Just before she died, she told me to leave, to get out of town before they came for me too. She said her death would be in vain if I stayed, and they killed me.”
I looked down at my glass, carrying with me guilt and shame. “And so, I ran. Like a coward, I ran. I ran to my hotel, picked up the bags, and did not even wait for the planned flight. I left Jaipur on the first train I saw on the platform. ”
For a long time, neither of us spoke. The weight of my confession hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. I didn’t dare look at Smitakshi, afraid of what I might see in her eyes—pity, disgust, or still worse — indifference.
But then, she reached across the table, her hand gently covering mine. “You’re not a coward,” she said softly. “You did what you had to do to survive. And Veerali… she made her choice. She wanted to protect you. There is no reason for you to feel guilty.”
“You should not suffer from the peephole mentality. There is merit in having a peephole as there is merit at times in being bold enough to close the peephole and kill the uncertainties. Stop regretting the past. And when you do so, decide which side of the door you are standing. remember everyone has secrets”.
Her words, simple as they were, brought a small measure of comfort. I looked up at her, finding only kindness and understanding in her gaze. “Thank you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.
I heard her say something but was unsure what she meant by it. She said, ‘I know someone you should meet, and maybe I will help you meet that person… but that will take time.”
She diverted the conversation to lighter things in life and shared her plans for the resort, complimented me on my earlier and upcoming novels, which lifted the mood.
Then she dropped the bomb. The next day, she was leaving for Lansdowne. She wanted to see its beauty and maybe even visit places that were supposed to be haunted, referring to a blog she had read on ‘Ghosts of Lansdowne’. She loved such adventures and secrets.
I was surprised; we were on the Kumaon side of Uttarakhand, and Lansdowne was an overnight journey. It never occurred to me that it could be a trap- was she not reading the book ‘The Lilies Leftover of Lansdowne’ or was this a coincidence? I decided to join her if she could delay her trip until the day after. I did not think twice when, in my opinion, she immediately called up the resort at Lansdowne and not only pushed her booking by a day but requested them to book a room for me.
Though the tension from earlier had faded, replaced by a warm camaraderie, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between us. Perhaps it was the intimacy of sharing such a deeply personal story, or maybe it was just the natural progression of our growing connection.
Whatever it was, as the night wore on and the last drops of wine were consumed, I knew one thing for sure—this evening, with its whispered confessions and shared secrets, had brought us closer in a way I hadn’t anticipated. And though the nature of our relationship remained undefined, I couldn’t help but wonder what the future held for us.
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Here is Chapter 1 – Rainy evening in a resort at Mukhteshwar of the story with an undisclosed destination. Chapter -II. The beaches and whispering Mukhteshwar. and Chapter-III Mukhteshwar encounter, Chapter IV- Shadows of a Dream. and Chapter -V Opening Gambit-e5.
It started as part of the @BlogChatter event #BlogChatterBlogHop where I started weaving a story based in the weekly word prompts suggested by them. After the 5th prompt- they took a break but the story continued to develop based on the prompts I got on my request on social media. I look forward to more work prompts for the next week. This week’s prompts were Wine, Secret, Fire, Weather, Tension, Cold, Known, Intimate, Love and Guilt I have been able to use 7 out of 10 to in this chapter.
