My Story!

I have a story: she has a story; we both had a story.

I met her at an unusual place – a book cafe: a calm evening with dark clouds, the popular Julius Meinl coffee on the table, Istanbul and there she was searching for the book. I was looking at her and could sense her impatience for ‘that' book. I tried to keep my eyes away from noticing her – she was beautiful. I was enjoying my coffee, trying to write something, gazing at the clouds, seeing the dark getting darker, the traffic becoming silent, birds going to their babies, and that girl still searching for ‘that' book.

"Fuck this library!" she seemed to be exhausted. Despite being so technically advanced, the library still allows you to feel that the library that existed in older times: it lets you search the books without any digital intervention. She sat right in the chair opposite mine. "I think you should keep quiet," I asked her. She didn't bother to look at me and kept her head down. "Mrs Dollaway, is it?" I tried helping her by guessing a name. "It's Dall-o-way," she looked right at me and the way her lower lips moved away from upper lips while pronouncing ‘way' at the end, I really thanked the one who invented phonetics or pronunciation thing, "and yeah, I was reading that earlier and that went missing". I smiled, "Yeah! I have Dyslexia and that's why this Dalloway thing, am sorry." She seemed to be apologetic. It's so good to lie sometimes, I have no dyslexia, but who cares. "Hey! I am really sorry, I am just searching for a book but she didn't seem to be anywhere in this library and I don't want to go anywhere else," I was listening patiently. "Things fall apart," I tried another guess. "Fuck! Yeah! That one! DO YOU HAVE THE BOOK YOU NAMED!" She was thrilled. "Yeah, I have her. Do you want her?" Her twinkling eyes were enough to convey that she knew I love books like her because I addressed books as ‘her'.

"Yeah, yeah, I would want to. I was reading that book for the past 15 days and suddenly this book too went missing somewhere," she was a book lover and her love to stories was evident.

"Coffee? This place is loved for the books and the Julius Meinl coffee?" I told her and continued, "you are new to this book cafe, right?!"
"Yeah," She didn't have any further enquiries.

We sat, drank the coffee, looked at the dark clouds, shared stories, went for a walk, got to know each other.

Isn't it strange that the girl didn't ask ‘how did I know the books she was searching for; how did I know that she was new to the cafe, why she just went for the walk with me when we met for the first time, why she told her stories to me: so many whys.'

Her name was Aahalya, 25 years old, 5 feet 4 inches, brown, black hair, Civil Engineer at Foster and Wheeler, 4 breakups, love to find herself in the stories told by others to escape the reality, not a coffee lover, avid book reader, demisexual, and beautiful lips.

I saw her the first time in the library and I found her beautiful; I just wanted to see her talk, so I took or stole the books she was reading and kept it in my bag and pretended to write every single day. I knew she didn't drink the popular coffee so I asked for it, I knew she was new to the cafe. She wasn't dumb enough to figure out that I wasn't a dyslectic by anyway, the way I was typing, by precisely telling her the books she was searching for, and then asking her for the coffee which she hasn't tasted in the book cafe from the day she has come.

She told me her stories that evening, and I told her mine. We exchanged numbers, went on a few walks, kissed each other on a starry night at the back of the library, once in the library, and I gave her the one book she wanted (obviously! after we kissed), and the other book after...making love for the first time – I know it sounds cheap.

After listening to stories of each other, taking long walks, seeing the sunsets, dating, kissing and making love for around 7 years now, it is the time to get married. I am getting married to her. A simple love story that started by just wanting to talk to her, to marrying her. This is my story or my version of the story, she would be writing her own; and you would know my name then.

Date: September 17, 2020
Venue: Sumahan on the Water
Address: Çengelköy Mh., Kuleli Cd No:43, 34684 İstanbul, Turkey
Coordinates: 41.054085, 29.051807

We make stories that we want to – nothing happens by chance. 

"I am not a liar" - An ancient tale (letter) of love

Tithi (Date):-

Tritiya, Krishna Paksha

Magha, Vikram samvat.

“You’re a liar,” these were the last words that I uttered to him while he was leaving me, and turned my face away.

He was Aarit Vansh, the ruler of Brahmavarta in the west of Aryavrat. He was pledged to serve his kingdom till his last breath. A warrior, a scholar, an economist, a strategist, a noble man, revered and deified by his people. Never lost a single battle, never butchered a single woman or child, never partook, an idol to be treated as Lord Ram, a man of promise, words and a greater lover than anyone of us.

“I love you and will always do,” these were the last words said by him while he was leaving me after loving me so much. He was supposed to leave to Maraz, located in the north of Aryavrat: one of the two kingdoms in the entire Aryavrat left for him to unite, and as a symbol of allegiance he would marry the daughter of King of Maraz. He loved me, but why was he then marrying someone else: the thought kept pondering in my mind as he left it unanswered and I decided to leave Brahmavarta to move to a new city with a new life burying those thoughts there.

It was a difficult thing to do: not to remembering him, not to loving him, not to missing him. I did best I could but things were destined already. He came to the city to see me. He was dying and all he wanted was to see me. The unitation of kingdom of Maraz turned into a battle, which was a long one and it took a toll on his body: the injuries which were beyond cure. And yet he came to spend some time with me in his last days.

It was the day which I wasn’t waiting for or could have ever imagined in my life. It is horrible, it is horrible to imagine you or your loved ones dying, and if you come to know when you or your loved ones are going to die, life will be nothing but fear, and no one wants a life full of fear of death.

His head was resting in my lap and he was just looking at me with moist eyes and dry throat. I stood up to fetch water but he clenched my wrist and brought my face near to his, it was the closest my face ever had been to his. “This is love, your breath mixing into mine, your eyes looking into mine, your lips closer to mine, and the distance between us,” he said and brought me closer. He kissed me, and it was the first kiss of my life. “Or is this love…your breath in mine, your eyes shut and your lips on mine, and no distance?” He held my hand, “Is this love, holding your hand, caring for you,” he paused and he gently let his one hand caress my bosoms, “or is this love?”. His hands were magical and pure, the strength of a warrior and gentleness like a priest. ‘Was he making love to me?’ The thought came while he was pampering me.

“Love is the only word which is not defined but may be limited by the word ‘not’,” he marked his words clearly and they were bit confusing, but he continued, “I am ‘not’ going to hurt you, I will ‘not’ leave you,” he paused to take breaths, “The word ‘not’ defines the limits of love, but ‘I love you’ is not defined, I love you, I love my land and to serve it, I had to sacrifice one, and I chose ‘not’ to leave my land.” I was crying my eyes out as he was still caressing me and was ‘not’ ready to leave me this time. “I just want to tell you that getting married or being together is not the only meaning of love; leaving you, and keeping a faith to comeback to see your face is love, to ‘not’ leave you even after I had gone away is love, to ‘not’ losing the trust that you will be waiting for me is love,” he choked this time and spewed a blob of blood. “I just want to tell you that I love you, and I am ‘not’ a liar.” He rested and closed his eyes while his one hand still caressed me.

He left me with having ‘not’ a guilty soul of being called a liar, and defining love – love is ‘not’ defined by relations, distance, intimacy, but with ‘nots’.

Arshini

First & the only Queen of Aryavrat.