Under the red umbrella

I have always been apprehensive towards strangers offering me help for no reason. It always meant a bad experience and then an even worst day. And Mumbai was filled with strangers, strange strangers. I just shifted to the city and it is a perfect place to be named as "mayanagri", it was difficult to figure out real from fake and fact from fiction. There was nothing, absolutely nothing I knew about the place and yet I was mesmerized. First week to the new branch of the company was going eventful, I had a presentation to make and it was getting onto my nerves real bad. The late bus added to my anxiety. And then guess what happened. IT RAINED, the Mumbai rain. In other days I would have danced under it like crazy, but not today. i was busy protecting my costly blueberry A-line skirt suit.

"If you don't mind you can share my umbrella."

I looked up and found myself looking straight in to the darkest ever eyes. They shone in contrast to the red umbrella he was holding over his head.

"No thanks." 

My apprehensions won over my logic. He did not push and I was very grateful for that. He stood there, right beside me, under his red umbrella. He was quite, said nothing, did nothing, and yet somehow I was constantly aware of him. His presence was compelling. I was getting drenched and so I decided to couple myself up with my logic this time.

"Excuse me, can I still share your umbrella?"

He smiled a most welcoming smile. I don't remember how it started but by the time I realized we were comfortably in a conversation. And then two buses came side by side. It was like a madhouse suddenly, everyone running. And I lost him somewhere in the rush. He dominated my thoughts. In his eyes were some unsaid stories, unwilling to be discovered. He felt....I don't know how to explain.

And next day we met again the next day, and again and then again. That bus stop was our hangout, and the office hour our meeting time. Holidays suddenly seemed worthless. We never asked about the contact numbers, nor did we felt like meeting somewhere else. It was a strange connection between me, him and his red umbrella that he always carried. He became my emotional trash bin, and my guide. But even after so long, I knew about him almost what I knew the day I shared his umbrella.

This became a trend, we would meet at the stop, talk, and walk off our own ways only to meet again. He became my escapade from pain and suffocation. He became the reason I fell in love with Mumbai.

It was until one day when he did not show up, I got really bothered. The day went worst than burning in the hell. I missed him like anything. And the next day was same, in fact even worst. I missed him, I was desperate to see him. My nights turned sleepless, and days breathless. It was then that I realized I was in love, with the stranger. Even when he was such a stranger. A week passed. But the hope to see him stayed alive. Everyday I gathered courage to open my heart to him, and everyday I would break down as the day ends.

And one day he came, he was there, with his red umbrella. I was the happiest woman alive. I half walked, half ran, unable to wait anymore. I had to tell him. It started raining. Suddenly, a lady, moved close under his umbrella, her palms wrapped around his arms. He laughed at something she said, and then planted a soft kiss on her forehead. I was taken aback. It was sometime before I could contain myself. We met like old friends. His eyes looked different, darker, but glittering, as if some shadows were gone.

The lady was his fiance. They met here at the stop, the day she joined his office. And the rain and his red umbrella played a crucial role in getting them together. As he happily narrated his love story my heart broke into million pieces. And then she fell ill, she had been fighting hemophilia. He had been going through a hard phase and then, to him, I came along as a relief. With me he relived their moments together and that helped him move through the time. And now she was back where she belonged, with him.

I kept my heart to me. And we stayed friends, strange friends.

And with this, the sunday is about to get over. I await Monday and for the only reason-Him.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda