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Photo fiction: The White Bench and a silent love


 

 

The picture belongs to my friend in UK Chavan and sent to me by Whatsapp.

The countryside was deserted. The silver water wore a stillness, echoing the marooned lovers escape in the garden. Windy breeze chimed past the steps in the valley trawling on the heels in distinct direction to the unknown. Nightfall obscured the foot traces disappearing in the flick of dust.

Deepti sat on the white-coated wooden bench and admiring the blue colored basket, hanging on top holding roses and plants. The happy place dissipating her worries at night and in the sunny afternoon, peace flowed and soothed the senses. She cherished sitting on the bench and fingers caressing the paint, exuding happiness and sensation running deep inside her vein. It was her way of making peace with everything, the lack of love and uttering no words, just still and smile coruscating her face.

No words make for seamless conversation with colors, plants and dazzling beauty surrounding the soul. One evening, Deepti sneaked away from her house and saw something which took her heart away. She fumed, “How dare he! Who told him.” Jealousy wore thin on her face and seething with rage. The sight of a dude, dressed casually in blue denim and white shirt, splaying on the favorite white coated bench was too much to take. She turned away and left. He spotted her and flailed his hand but was speechless.

It didn’t stop Deepti from flocking to her favorite place every single day and longing for the guy who stole her bench and space last night. On days, he came and she hid behind the foliage, watching him silently. He longed for the mysterious and beautiful girl. There was something intriguing and he craved for her sight,

Destiny smiled one mist evening. Eyes met and smile concealed. Deepti nodded at him. He traipsed slowly to sit on the favorite bench, separated by a closing distance. Fawny eyes and sensation dripping inside the skin. No words were exchanged yet hesitancy and awkwardness became a sight, longing for each other, fiddling with hands. Lethal silence hurt harder than the tipping point of the arrow and knife’s edge, killing them every second. The bench and plants mushrooming witnessed the craving, disappointment and bruise when one of them didn’t turn in time.  He was excited and wanted to ask her name. Frantic heart beat and she was dying to pop the question, wiping the tear with her finger, dreading the day when the wouldn’t see each other’s sight. This thought killed them every second.

He was besotted by her charm and the ease with which she flitted to sit on the bench. She smiled and winked behind his back when he walked, pretending to feign her presence. Days and months, taking them forever to walk together when the wind blew and branches fluttered, the rendez vous time.  Hearts bloomed in silence and not a single word was exchanged. They flowered the single rose in the basket, sowing the seed of love.

 

Post Script: The picture was sent by my good friend Chavan from UK and he sent me this one for the blog. The idea of fiction cropped and the amazing shot of the white bench turned into a silent love story.

Love

V

 

 

Author:

Work-in-progress, seeker and bundle of contradictions. Stubborn and Refusal to grow up and constantly in search of myself, I blurt it out on my space. Drop in and share some love. Indian by choice.

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