I cannot express enough thanks to my team for their continued support and encouragement: Sanchari Das, my my right hand since the foundation of team monthly anthologies; Sreeja and Samridhi who helped ud with the cover designs. I offer my sincere appreciation for the expertise provided by my team.The countless times you all made an effort to curb out time especially for our team work despite your hectic schedules will not be forgotten.
My completion of this project could not have been accomplished without the support of our smart working interns Oiendrilla Chakraborty And Anjali Jha; and Rubal our designer for posters and certificates. Thanks to Shihab for curating works for us when possible.
To our guest authors and contributing writers
– thank you for writing for us and allowing us to publish your work. You deserve a trip to Hogwarts Land!
Finally, to the supportive team of bookrix: my deepest gratitude. Your support through the platform that you created and also your help when facing publication issues are much appreciated and duly noted. My heartfelt thanks.
-Sukanya Basu Mallik
What are the 5 characteristics of a short story?
They are true masters at combining the five key elements that go into every great short story:
character, setting, conflict, plot and theme.
The basic steps of a plot are: conflict begins, things go right, things go WRONG, final victory (or defeat), and wrap-up. The right-wrong steps can repeat.
A novel can have several conflicts, but a short story should have only one.
While we selected these stories out of a huge pile of submissions, some pieces stood out and clearly deserve a seperate mention due to their excellence:
1. Wine and Blood
2. I hope you never know
3. Pigeon
4. The Money Order
5. Eclectic Shorts
6. Enough
7. Irene
8. The Beginning of the End
9. Love in the Line of Fire
10. The Last Blink
11. An Adopted Dream
12. Zombie Train
13. Was She?
14. Platonic Love
15. paanch patthar
Some of the stories that we compiled were simply selected on the basis of the themes chosen by their respective authors.A theme is something important the story tries to tell us—something that might help us in our own lives. Not every story has a theme, but it’s best if it does. While some others were selected due toi the authors' style of writing.
The strongest stories have well-developed themes, engaging plots, suitable structure, memorable characters, well-chosen settings, and attractive style. Now you might argue that good writers often break rules—but they know they’re doing it!
So our biggest recommendation for aspiring writers is to read more, write often but most importantly self-edit ruthlessly.
Owing to the fact that we as a team aim to provide a platform for new a nd aspiring writers across borders, we named this volume -Blooming Tales. And now without further ado, we present blooming tales from our very talented writers.
-Sukanya and Sanchari
Yes, I love you a lot (Soujatya Seal –Kolkata) 4
"I have story to tell..." (Daveen Nivedha-Bangalore, Karnataka) 6
Rain(Praveg-New Delhi, India) 8
"Kids Rocked Mummy Shocked" (Aparna Vishwanath-Raipur) 9
God helps us (SANGEPU NAGESWARA RAO- Telangana) 12
Sagarika (Aarthi Sampath, Chennai ,Tamilnadu) 13
Wine and Blood (Krishna Ahir- Hyderabad) 18
Return of love (CH.MAHESH BABU- New vellanur, Avadi) 22
Curse on the Pious Love (Samira Rahman- Dhaka) 33
Suicide Attempt(Shobhit Gupta- Rampur, Uttar Pradesh) 35
I Hope You Never Know (Deepu Raghuthaman- Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala) 39
John(Lipsa Giri- Baripada, Odisha) 46
I Lost Her (Anjali Jha - Biharsharif, Patna, Bihar ) 48
Pigeon (Eeshan Ali - Berhampore, West Bengal ) 54
The Money order (Avijit Roy- Kolkata, West Bengal) 57
Eclectic Shorts by Pasithea Chan 61
Enough (Oiendrila Chakraborty- Enough) 68
IRENE (Oche Celestine Onjewu- Minna) 71
Between Two Numbers(Pradeepti Sharma –Nagpur, Maharashtra ) 82
The Storm(Anjum Wasim Dar-Islamabad ) 86
Standing alone doesn't mean to fall down. (Aayush Dutta-Bhubaneswar, Odisha) 88
The Beginning Of The End (Nisha Gandhi Fofaria-Bangalore) 90
Love in the line of fire (Riddhi Bhatti-Ludhiana) 95
The Bride of the Highway(Dr[Major] Nalini Janardhanan-Pune,Maharashtra) 100
Karma is almighty (Miss Kanishka-Jabalpur, MP) 103
While a “Balcony wala flat” is still a dream of many (Sonali Sharma-Mumbai) 106
The Last Blink(Prateeksha Suresh-Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu) 110
MY UNBORN POEMS (VITHURA.V.ASOK (ASOKA KUMAR)-TRIVANDRUM, KERALA ) 113
No Bed of Roses(Rakhee Pant-Mumbai (Maharashtra)) 115
An Adopted Dream (Deepti Ahuja Balani-Gurgaon) 122
Zombie Train (Ángel André Osorio-Cologne (Germany)) 125
Was she?(theramblingwriter-Bom-bae, Maharashtra) 129
MY LAST BREATH FOR HER(Dr. BRAJESH KUMAR GUPTA 'MEWADEV'-BANDA) 134
Someone In My Head(Anupriya-Kolkata, West Bengal) 135
The day God order to take away the Magic Boxes from Females (Samridhi Aneja-Amritsar, Punjab) 136
The Last Letter(Khushi Lakhotiya-Aurangabad, Maharashtra) 138
The bluestone(Stallone Christian-Chicago, IL) 140
Sohini Maitra guest author 143
GUEST AUTHOR (M Upender Reddy- Hyderabad) 144
Sanchari Das guest author 146
Devika Das Guest author 157
Author/poet Bikramjit Sen Guest author 161
Yes, I love you a lot.
Did I make a mistake?
Sometimes I feel, that I did.
But those over-pampered conversations with you bring everything back on track.
Yes, I love you a lot.
Sometimes, my sixth sense tells me that I have much more feelings for you than you have for me. Yes, it feels bad. But, crying won't help, so I smile.
And, when you smile back, I blush.
Yes, I love you a lot.
But don't I get hurt?
Yes, I do.
But, then why do I keep falling for you again and again?
May be, the reason is that if I fall for someone else, then I'll be fallen all my life, regretting my fall every time. Yes, I fell for you. But, you did not let me fall.
Yes, I love you a lot.
You ask me, why I chose you among the seven billion. I say, I wanted a best friend as my life partner. You are someone whom I tell everything. I don't hesitate to share anything with you. I want somebody who understands me more than anyone else does. And as far as flashback tells, when I lost everything, I found you. When those people, who are called my own, left me alone in despair, you were the one who stood by me throughout.
Yes, I love you a lot.
May be it was a GOOD decision, but was it the RIGHT decision?
Yes, it was. After all, you are all that matters to me. And I know very well that I would have been able to see you with someone else.
Yes, I love you a lot.
Whatever we are can’t be compared with anything or anyone.
I just want you to be with me all my life. Trust me, I will try my best to keep you happy every moment.
Yes, I love you a lot.
I wish, we always stay together like the earbuds of a headset. The best part would be when, on waking up, we would be found to be entangled. That's how I want us to be.
Yes, I love you a lot.
We had made a promise - a promise that we will always stay together. Just keep that promise and I will make all your dreams come true when you wake up.
Yes, I love you a lot.
So, don't I miss you when we aren't together?
Yes, I terribly miss you when you aren't with me. Some time ago, we could not meet because of our examinations. But everyday throughout the month, I made sure that I visit the place where we used to spend time together. Not caring about the examinations, nor bothering about what my parents said, I used to walk to that place as soon as the sun bid good bye. At a distance of about five minutes of walking, from my home was that place. A concrete plank beside the railway tracks, over the nearby tunnel - that is what it was. I went there and sat down on that plank for few minutes. Although I wanted to be with you, but just thinking of you, the stressful issues in my mind were killed. The philosopher calls this act of mine a stupid one. But, I don't care. You are so precious for me that I can do many more stupid acts to make your presence felt.
So, I love you a lot.
Yes, I love you a lot.
They woke up to a strange morning—mother, I'm sure, has probably never felt this uncertain before, and Aunt Emily seemed equally desperate for a new start, especially for mother and me. Three hours never could get any shorter than now, with such heaviness clouding on all of us.
********
When shame is the distance between a smile and a tear, I become my own worst enemy. And I must admit, being myself is the easiest war on the battlefields of the invincible; if easy is escaping the fastenings of the world's safest parachutes.
"Cynthia Emima Rose," and she pauses to give me a most bittersweet smile. In those few seconds of suspended silence, I prepare my mind for anything unexpected as she continues, "I have a story to tell, and it's about a girl. She wakes to a helpless confusion, lives her life within the breakable walls of her untold dreams, and sleeps vulnerably, through nights of victimising herself. This girl....is you."
Well at least someone has found the right words to describe me. Suddenly I feel warmly understood sitting on a cold chair before the psychologist. I solemnly enjoy this feeling as she speaks to me.
"I know you saw an entire childhood of cruel touches from your stepfather, but you need to learn that the only person who can best help you is you. Forgiving him and forgetting those harsh memories he created for you is by far the only possibility of helping yourself. You need to move on sweetie."
I sink back in the cold chair, feeling invisible. My mother has tried a lot to help me ever since her divorce. She fixed appointments with four counsellors in the past. Even this morning she told me about today's appointment with Dr. Ruth. And I couldn't help but wonder how different it was going to be. Because they all say the same things - forgive, forget, and move on.
As time ticks, my inner voice is heard louder than Dr. Ruth's -
'Forgive? I have done that. Move on? I've done that too. But can somebody please teach me to FORGET how naked my stepfather made me feel for seven years?!'
And for the moment, I wish more for somebody to teach me to turn a deaf ear to my inner voice, before my eyes flood, remembering the insecure.
********
My one hour session with Dr. Ruth would not be over had not a tall, blonde woman and a small boy interrupted us. There is an immediate change in the doctor's mood and tone as she cries out to the little boy with open arms to embrace him, saying, "Aww.....my baby Brad! How was camp? Wow, so that's arms big lollipop Coach Kelly bought you today!"
I turn to look at the big, red and green lollipop in the (probably) five years’ old's hand. Something isn't right about the way he is holding it. To win his attention, I caress his hair and he looks up at me just as I wanted him to. The depth in his eyes seems so familiar, and they match the feeble intensity of his helpless hands in the uncomfortable grip of his Coach Kelly. I catch sight of his coach and force and unwelcome glare at her. Once again I look into little Brad's eyes and recognize exactly what he is suppressing. I've known this feeling for seven years and I cannot be wrong about this.
I turn to the psychologist and address her, "Dr. Stefanie Ruth," and I pause to give her the most bittersweet smile. In those few seconds of suspended silence, I watch her intently and continue, "I have a story to tell, and it's about a boy. He wakes to a helpless confusion, lives his life within the breakable walls of his untold dreams, and sleeps vulnerably, through nights of victimizing himself. And this boy, is..."
I gesture within the length of an eyesight at her son, my lacrimal ducts heavy with tears, sigh and get up. I plant a sorry kiss on Brad's forehead and politely walk out the doors of the clinic.
I love the rain. He loved me in the rain.
I love the rain. We lived some more in rain.
I love the rain. We used to get drenched together in rain.
I love the rain. But now I stay inside and watch it rain. Yesterday I saw his muddy footprints going away from home. The day before, a couple of paper boats like the one he used to sail when it rained.
I love the rain. But I have not drenched since the day his school bus slipped in the rain. I wonder what he is trying to tell me
The first day of April (i.e; 1stApril) I think everyone is well acquaintances with this day may be for fool’s day or fun day or may be for any another reason(s).
But for us (me and hubby) this day has its own importance. We both wait eagerly for April 1st every year.
Yes, on this day my daughter came home for two months holiday after a long ten months gap, since she studies in boarding school. These two months are very blissful for us.
This year my niece also came for spending some holidays with us. My daughter and my niece are in the same school.
They both were happily enjoying the days by watching their favourite serial on TV, reading books,( J K Rowling, Enid Blyton, Sudha Murthy, R K Narayana are some of their favourite writers), sometimes by going mall, sometimes getting up late in the morning etc.etc. ...
I being a mother had always been swiftly ready in their services. But mother is mother.
It works icing on the cake when a mother is a Teacher too. So out of habit it was intolerable for me to seeing the kids enjoying twenty-four hours, the whole day without learning or studying anything. Using my so called great knowledge I frequently asked some questions or lecturing them in any topic in between their entertainment schedule thinking will work like Tempering.
In our Indian cuisine Tempering has its own importancy since it is not only a taste enhancer but it has health benefits also.
It’s always been running in my mind how to get them engaged in studying and learning something, not thinking this whether they would be feel happy or unhappy with this practice. At time my daughter use to tell: Mumma, do you know anything else other than two things (eating and studying). Everytime you only ask “read read read” “study study study” that's it.
Awww.....hh I took a long breath...
In this link out of my habit one day I had asked them about the earth and its surface.
At one, I heard that my daughter is murmuring something like Tala,Tala,Tala,Tala,Tala...... My so called intelligence and hearing sense arose out of curiosity and trying to listen what she has been murmuring.
I asked her Oh my baby what you are chanting share with me.
She told Mumma there are seven kind of down lokas down to our earth and their names are:
1.Atal
2.Vital
3.Sutal
4.Talatal
5.Mahatal
6.Rasatal &
7.Patal .
In one breath she spoke all seven lokas in a rythemic way.
Oh I see, I asked then in which loka we are living? My niece was also there and listening all the conversations very interestingly. She interfered and told, “Pinni (aunty) it's Bhu loka.” Appreciating them I said, “Very good.”
It is the impression of their school that they are having a sound knowledge of mythology and the reason of their curiosity for the mythology. She asked me “Pinni, then where is Swarg Loka?”
Hmmmm...... I took a long breath. A big question which I too didn't know very neatly. Then seeing her curiosity now it was my duty to quench thirst by giving answer to their question.
I started hunting for the answer and recalled up my philosophical, my mythological, my epic, and last, but definitely not the least, Google knowledge.
Due to my mother and my Appa (grandmother) I too have a little sound knowledge of mythology. As my Appa always used to tell us some stories or some chantings to make us sleep.
Any how altogether found out the answer. I explained them...see according to our Hindu mythology there are fourteen lokas in total. Among which seven are above our realm and seven are beneath the realm.
The below you already know The above seven are as follows:
2.Tap loka
5.Swarg loka
6.Bhuvar loka &
7.Bhu loka........where we live. And I explained them one by one who exists in all other lokas.
I said but in general we talk only about three lokas viz; Swarg Loka, Bhu loka and Patal loka.
“Oh, very nice, Pinni” she nodded her head with a pleasent smile. I was feeling proud of myself thinking.....Oh! I explained well. Yes, today my kids got some knowledge and tapped own back.
I turned into my household chores.
At once my niece came to me and asked “Pinni......one thing is not cleared to me...” I said, “what?” She told, “Pinni, as per your knowledge if a person did wrong deeds in his life then he would have been sent to the Hell..mean Patal loka and for good deeds in Swarg Loka. Isn't it ?”
I said, “Yes!”
“Why so? This is not right,” she exclaimed.
“What's wrong with this? These rules are made by almighty.” I again explain them about Chitragupta and other deities.
She said, “Pinni...all these okay but one dilemma !!!” “What?” I asked.
“After the death with good deeds a man goes to Swarg loka which exist only one layer after Bhuvar loka and if he commits anything wrong goes to Patal loka (Narkam) which is seven layer below our realm. Do you not think this is not right? A huge difference between punishment and reward,” she said.
I staggered, since I didn't know what to tell.
This time Mummy Shocked...&.. Kids Rocked...
I told them, “See, I don't know why there is this discrimination, but now what you people want? Good deed or bad deed.”
Swarg loka or Patal loka. Both were enjoying the topic and both together laughed and told whatever swarga is good only.
I too laughed and said, “Okay kids, tomorrow I'll be with a new topic.”
My daughter and my niece looked at each other as they happily accepted my offer.
Happy reading, Happy learning, Happy vacations.....
One day a Man and his teammates were constructing a building, mostly 10th floor construction was going on, but a man wanted tapi (a tool) at the first floor. He called the man on the 1st floor but the latter didn't respond, which he assumed were due to the sounds coming from the machines, so he called at him again but all his efforts went in vain until he dawned upon a great idea.
He kept slipping notes of Rupees 10,100, 500 and so on which accumulated at the 1st floor where the ignorant worker kept picking those, ignorant of what was actually happening.
Next he tossed a stone at the basement where the worker was now gazing back at him.
“Bring me the tapi”, he commanded.
Moral: God blesses silently, but we never recognize until things get violent.
Silence consumed Sarika. She wasn't like this before, she's like symphony; her friends would tease her, but not anymore. She’s watching the sea and waves rolling and roaring like her soul deafening with questions, gazing beyond the horizon.
Thinking about her college days, spending her weekend with friends going restaurant, modeling, learning new languages and their cultures felt euphoric. And her beloved Sagar, little brown, little taller than her, handsome and very soft spoken, whom she met through common friend more kind of dating. Slowly their friendship grew, she fell in love with him; she was his muse. He was thriving to be an author of bestseller that he's planning to release soon, while she was successful in her modeling career. Sagar was happy to help her during the day, and the nights he spent working on his manuscript. Most weekends they spend time alone.
Sarika was full of life when she's with Sagar: they walked the lonely streets, fingers intertwined; she would sing for him, he would play the ukulele, watching her sing and dance. Slowly their love grew. She told her parents about him and they accepted her decision; Sagar's parents were also happy for their boy getting married.
As their cultures and language differed, they chose for a simple wedding. Sagar took her to his home. It’s a small place far from the city—his home, overlooking a lake and surrounded by trees, was not so big but ideal for spending a weekend.
She was happy to visit his place as and spent the night with him. He took her to a small tour around the house and the lake where watching the sunset thrilled her. They kissed under sunset sky, as the cosmos witnessed yet another love story.
"Sarika, Sarika” someone shook her shoulder brought her to present. It’s Rishi, Sarika’s husband and Sagar's friend. When Sarika saw him she broke down; tears flowed blurring her eyes. It was the same twilight she witnessed, but there's no Sagar by her side. She felt lonely. Even though she's married, her heart still longs for Sagar. Rishi consoled Sarika and drove her home; the same home where Sagar lived and the past flashed before her eyes—the same date two years back. That night Sagar cooked for her, and both stayed awake and spend the whole night in his terrace sipping hot chai, with cool conversation about their life, and of starting family; about the fairytale wedding at a beach, with the sound of waves and under a blue sky, where he wanted tie knot with her, and about the places they wanted to travel. She asked him about the manuscript his working, but he denied to show that he told it’s a wedding gift. He then told her about having babies. Sagar loved babies; he wanted to have a baby girl just like Sarika, he even named the unborn child—formed by joining his and her name—Sagarika. Sarika saw the aching desires in those eyes when he spelled the name, and suddenly "Sagarika,” he called from the terrace loud and clear. They both laughed, he held her hands kissed her palm. He was laughing the whole time, never letting hand go off his grip. “Your name is kind of euphoric,” Sagar told her. Sarika was too shy to look at his eyes. “This love is overwhelming,” Sarika whispered in his ears, and she found solace in his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her, and she lay on his chest.
Next morning, he made breakfast for her; she was watching him cook, and gently wrapped her hands from behind and kissed him. ”Couldn't ask for more,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, breaking like someone is pulling her from him "Sagar, Sagar” she screamed which was followed by loud thunder that woke her up from the past. Rishi, who was sleeping beside her, woke up too and placing his hands on her shoulder, shook her. “What happened?” Rishi asked. She rested her head on his shoulder and started to cry, while Rishi consoled her and told her to sleep as it was past midnight.
But she could never sleep, her mind and soul unwinding past, searching for what went wrong between them. Though she was able to accept rishi in her life, she couldn't give herself to Rishi.
Her mind couldn't accept her as a husband. She’s like the old soul full of nostalgia of Sagar's love; she couldn't let go of Sagar as his touch was still wrapped around her skin, infused in her bones, every heartbeat, and smile reminded her of him.
Past
She whispered in his ears "couldn't ask for more.” He turned to look at her and his palm holding her face tracing her dimples, “Sarika,” he whispered in her ears, “let's marry now” and he kissed her lips. But she stopped with hands and smiled. Too shy to look at him, she buried her face into his chest for a while; reluctant to leave this moment, he hugged her tightly.
But they were interrupted when Sarika’s phone beeped. “Got to go” she said, and he kissed her forehead.
He drove her to the city; the day was too busy for Sarika and Sagar. He told her that he would meet in the evening and take her home.
Few weeks later Rishi married Sarika.
The same beach where she and Sagar had planned.
The wedding night was not the one she expected. Rishi was waiting for her when she entered their bedroom. He smiled and touched her. But Sarika started yelling at him and pushed Rishi away. She cried not to touch her and sat in the corner of the room crying. "Leave me alone, Rishi please,” she begged.
And he told her not to cry, wiped her tears, told her it's okay, and told her to sleep. And he was beside her the whole night
Present
Rishi woke up as the sun filtered through the curtains. He saw his wife Sarika sleeping beside him; he pulled himself closer and gently stroked her hair. He watched her sleep. “Sarika,” he whispered in her ears, and saw tears rolling down her cheeks. He wiped her tears, his eyes moistened too.
His phone beeped, he opened and saw a new message.
The message read:
"Sagar is serious, come soon."
Rishi read the messafe and couldn't bear this news. He started crying with a strange heaviness in his chest. He watched his wife still sleeping, got dressed and left a note for her:
"Will be back by evening".
He then walked out of his house, closed the door and locked it.
By the time he reached the hospital, Sagar's parents were waiting. Rishi broke down when he saw Sagar's dad, and hugged him. Sagar's father consoled him
Rishi entered ICU for one last time. He wanted to speak, but Sagar was unconscious, and the doctors were waiting to pull the plug. Rishi held Sagar's hand; his chin trembling, tears falling uncontrollably and shoulders heaved as he sobbed, and tears from Sagar's eyes kept falling.
Rishi whispered in his ears, "Sagar, I will take care of your Sarika.”
The moment he told those words, Sagar opened his eyes but there was no life in them.
The monitor left long beep, and then stopped.
Sagar died.
Same time in his house, Sarika screamed, “Sagar, don't leave me.”
Then she was awakened by some voice calling her name. But there was no one around. She read Rishi message. Her heart was beating out of chest.
She closed her eyes, but she couldn't sleep. So, she got up, opened the wardrobe, searched and found Sagar's favorite saree—the one he had gifted her. She wore that Saree and went to open the door but it was locked. She searched everywhere and found the key. She stepped out and drove to the city. She drove to the cafe where she first met Sagar through Rishi. It was not love at first sight but it was something beyond life, her soul connection. She ordered Sagar's favorite hazelnut coffee. She slowly sipped it thinking about him. Her eyes welled up with tears. She got up, paid for the coffee, walked out of cafe onto the pavement. She did a little window shopping and while watching the bookstore, she suddenly stopped as the book named "Sagarika" kept on display caught her eyes. She went into the bookstore and asked for the book. She was restless to read. Someone at store handed over the book, and she saw the title and the author name “Sagar”.
She was confused, asked them about the book. They told the book was released two days back. She bought the book and drove straight home.
Past
Sagar dropped her went to work. While driving he lost control and hit the median, and fell far away from his vehicle. People around saw him and rushed him to the hospital. The doctor told Sagar's parents that he broke his spine, that his hands and legs won't work like before; he can speak but chest down nothing would function, its Quadriplegic.
When the doctors spoke to Sagar,he cried for Sarika. The thought that he could never be with his beloved Sarika killed his desires; he cried for their unborn girl. He asked for his phone to hear Sarika's voice one last time. But as he lost his phone, so he told his parents to call Rishi. Rishi came to see him that evening and all discussed the situation. Sagar told Rishi and his parents, not to tell Sarika, for she can't see him like this; neither could he just leave her, so he asked Rishi to talk to Sarika's parents tell them that Sagar is not willing to see their daughter or marry her, that his going to marry someone else. Sagar was afraid that if Sarika knows about the accident, she will sacrifice her life, and Sagar doesn't want her to end up with him. Then he remembered to check his finger for the ring. It was missing. He asked his parents but they had no idea. And he never told anyone, and gulped the truth. He asked Rishi to marry Sarika, to keep her happy and have kids, that he wanted to fill the house with kids. And so he gifted his house to Rishi. But Rishi didn't accept it and told him gift the house to Sarika.
Sarika was Rishi's childhood friend. He always wanted her to be happy. So, he promised Sagar that he would never talk about this accident and would marry Sarika. They also planned to shift their parents’ home, as he knew that Sarika was not an easy person to deal with, and he suspected that she would come looking for him and feared she would visit his parents’ house.
Same day Sarika called Sagar but he didn't not pick up her call. She tried calling. She was waiting outside her office. Once he picked up but when she spoke there's no sound from his side. After a while his number was switched off. She called Rishi, but he said he doesn't have any idea about him. As he spoke to her, he saw Sagar's face, he was crying.
She tried calling him but no answer.
A week passed. She went to Sagar's home but the door was locked. And, as Sagar guessed, she went to his parents' house but it was also locked. She enquired with their neighbor and they told they shifted their house but nobody was able to tell where they went.
Sarika was shocked as there was only a week left for their wedding and there's no sign of Sagar. She believed he would come back before the wedding. With heaviness in her chest she went home.
Present
Sarika cried a lot when she read about his accident. Her eyes blurred as tears made eyes foggy. She kissed the page that has his name, and she read about the promise Rishi made. She now remembered that's the reason when she called Sagar there was no answer.
She screamed Sagar's name. Her head and chest was heavy like someone had hit her.
Past
Two days before marriage she was waiting for Sagar outside his home. The door was locked and dead leaves scattered all around. The whole day she waited. She called Rishi and asked him again. Rishi came to pick her and told her that Sagar would never come; that he had sold his house to him. Sarika was ruined. “He would never leave me, you liar,” she grabbed Rishi's collar and yelled.
But Rishi never spoke; he stood there holding her, as she fainted to the floor.
He carried her to his car and drove her home. Next day Rishi called Sarika's parents and told them that Sagar had cheated on Sarika and married some big shot.
Sarika's parents were shocked. But when they told their daughter that Sagar had cheated on her, she yelled at her parents. But they forced her forget Sagar and threatened that they will die if she doesn't marry Rishi. They were comfortable with him and knew that Rishi wouldn't question her past, and keep her happy. Sarika never believed and she slapped Rishi for gossiping about Sagar. But Rishi showed a photograph of some woman in bikini with Sagar in an unacceptable pose. She saw and tore his photo. She cried the whole night looking at the ring on her finger. She removed the ring and kept it in her bag. One last times she hugged the saree which Sagar gave her.
Next day was the day she and Sagar had planned to get married. But fate was cruel. It was Rishi who married her. Sindoor on her forehead and Mangalsutra on her chest, she held in her hands; she couldn't believe what just happened, everyone was happy, but they were unaware that a part of her already died unable to accept someone who's not her Sagar.
Present
When he entered the bedroom, he saw Sarika holding Sagar's novel close to her chest and lying on bed weeping. He understood that she knows everything except of Sagar's death. He was scared to tell her as he knows that Sarika wouldn't accept and he feared that the news would kill her. Sarika saw him and got up. She broke down pulling his shirt.
“What happened?, Rishi,” Sarika asked.
“What happened?” Sarika asked again, holding his face in her palm. In these two years she never saw Rishi like this. “Is it Sagar…?” she asked him, but Rishi closed his eyes.
Rishi sobbed into her chest and hugged her. “I am sorry,” he said to Sarika.
She again asked but he couldn't speak. Words choked him, “Sarika, your Sagar is no more”. She stood still. "Sarika, Sarika,” he shook her shoulders. But she fainted. He slowly laid her on the bed and splashed water on her face. She opened her eyes as tears blurred her vision. With chin trembling she cried. “Who wrote this?” she asked him, holding the book.
Rishi was shocked. “What do you mean?” he asked. But she swallowed the words, and opened the book to show Rishi the words she wanted to tell. Rishi took the book from her and read the page.
Rishi was shocked and book slipped from his hands. "Now tell me, “Sarika asked, “What happened to my husband? Please tell me Rishi,” she yelled.
Thinking about the marriage of Sagar and Sarika, he cried for both.
Early hours Rishi slept. When he woke up in the morning, Sarika wasn't in the bed.
She kissed the book title. “Sagarika” she whispered, hugging her stomach, but she couldn't let go. Rishi laid next to her.
A week later Sarika filed for divorce and asked Rishi to sign. But Rishi tore the papers and said that he wouldn't leave her. Sarika sobbed again. “Leave me alone, Rishi,” she begged.
And the rest of the life they lived as friends. Rishi lived For Sarika, and Sarika lived to keep her Sagar alive in her memories.