Thursday, June 21, 2007



This one, I uploaded online in May, 2005. I was writing at another site that time, and every single one of the writers there were having a dab at love stories. I kinda had to get on the bandwagon, and came up with this one. Am trying to clean up my desktop, and am recycling all the odd things I've written here and there. But this one, I really like. If i may say so myself, it smells strongly of smart-assishness, and I kinda like that :)

And here we go again

I've never written anything in this genre (if it can be called that at all) before, because its really hard to get away from all oft-repeated plots and say anything new and I don't think i'll ever manage to overcome that hurdle. Anyway, here it is :)

“Why”, she asked him, forcing herself to look into his eyes with what she hoped was a penetrating stare.
“Why do you like me ? I am a smartass, and not one of those pretty babes”
“Don’t kid yourself. You’re no smartass”
“Get your eyes checked. I am not a pretty babe either”
“ I see what you want and I am not going to give it to you”

She wondered if he’d known all along. If he knew how badly she wanted to reciprocate and how badly she detested the vulnerability that always followed an admission of love, even if it wasn’t going to be everlasting. She had never been vulnerable. She’d always detested the feeling of being weak in the knees, and the giddy feeling that she’d read in umpteen romantic novels, and had heard being described by friends. She for one had never let herself go there. She’d always found a reason to “keep standing”, she told herself. Yet, somewhere inside her, she knew it was all a farce. The fact that she had to continually remind herself to stand up straight, continually remind herself to ignore the flutter of the heart when an interesting guy smiled at her told her that she was no different from the rest of them. Perhaps she was even worse. Her only consolation was that she knew the alchemist’s trick. She could always turn her heart of gold into stone.

“No, I don’t want a big romantic speech about love, if that’s what you’re thinking”
“Let’s say it was. But I’m glad you don’t want it because I hate lying”, and he smiled.
“What are you so afraid of anyway?” he asked.
“What makes you think I’m afraid of something?”
“Because I am mostly irresistible, and I’d be surprised if you found me objectionable. I’m assuming it’s my perfection that’s actually throwing you off guard”
“I’m worried about the Cupid impersonators. The kind whose arrows will only ever lead to heartbreak”
“Ah! The smartass believes in Cupid and fairies and Santa Claus”

This time she couldn’t hide it. She let herself do what every cell in her body was demanding of her. She smiled.

“I suppose you think that since you’re smart you can discern every wrong arrow from the right one. But here’s a question. What if you’re not? What if you miss the one opportunity because you weren’t willing to let go of your shield and let the arrow pierce you”
She looked up at him, wanting to run away from there. She couldn’t stand there being exposed any longer. On that bright, hot, day she felt cold, unprotected and unguarded.
“What if you lose”, he paused and then whispered “me”.
“I noticed the dramatic pause. Work at it, will you ?”, she said and started to walk off hastily.
“I’ve decided after all, to make the romantic speech”, he said, rushing after her.
“Here’s what I’d like you to think about tonight. The speeches are cliché, but perhaps it’s so because no one has really been able to answer it, settle the debate once for all, and allow it to accumulate dust somewhere. Love is a matter of the heart. Do you really think you’ll be able to dodge it with your head ?”

She walked faster, not noticing that he had already stopped following her. Why did he think he could get her simply by reading her every thought? She looked back and saw that he wasn’t around anymore. Why did he have to be right , she thought and smiled more fully this time. She truly was no different. Hurt was what she feared. Hurt was what she had never felt. She looked back again to where he last stood when she was still capable of looking into his eyes and manage to hide behind closed doors in her head. Who was she kidding? The door had always been ajar, and he had unabashedly opened it wide and had looked right through. Somehow she couldn’t tell herself to push him out and shut the door on him.

Dear diary,

But it never works that way does it ?
Until I know the answer, I am going to have to lock these thoughts in you. In all honesty, I’ll only be half asleep tonight, waiting for a charming lock picker to come, open you and release me.

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