The girl in the rain (Part 3)

Scene 7

Over years, she had learnt to hold back her tears. But years of practice seem to be failing her at this juncture. And she was surprised that an incident as tiny as this had managed to shake her from within. Or maybe, it was because it was coming on top of what had transpired in the past few days. She wiped her face and strolled towards the window. She could see the half moon gleaming in the distance. A sniffle found its way through her throat as she reminisced over how happy she had been the last time the moon had been that way. She crawled towards her bedstand, opened the drawer and took out the book that was lying in one of the corners. She wiped the dust off it with her hands, and gently turned over the cover page. A small note was stapled on the inside. A couple of sniffles found their way again as she went over the text – “Always believe in yourself, because I will always believe in you”. The note had a small subtext at the bottom – “From your best friend”. She threw the book onto the floor, mumbling under her breath –“But that is not enough”

Scene 8

As they approached the doorstep, he put the little girl down. Back on her feet, the little girl hurried into the house. Caught by surprise, the man bellowed,” What happened, princess? Where are you off to?” But no reply was forthcoming. The man followed her track, all the way to the wash-basin where he found the girl rubbing her skirt with water. “What happened?” he uttered, in part-surprised, part-pampering tone. “Ice-cream fell on my skirt. I don’t want to look shabby”, she cried, looking up at her father with an innocuous face. The man burst into laughter – “But why do you care? Who’s here to see your dress?” “I don’t want anyone to think I’m shabby, not even you or mama. Because I’m not shabby”, the little girl’s voice went into overdrive as she spoke the last sentence, and she started rubbing the skirt even harder.

Scene 9

“Tea?” I could barely hear my own voice as I made the offer, after the ten minute awkward silence had made me fidgety enough to trade that discomfort with the one I was experiencing now. She turned her head in my direction. The eyes were no longer prying. But I now realized that the awkward silence was a better deal than having been thought of as the guy who hits on girls on dark rainy nights. “OK”, her feeble voice broke the silence – an antithesis of what I had heard after the puddle fiasco. Some sound was better than no sound. We proceeded towards the tea-stall where the radio had been playing. I pulled out a chair, or rather a bench for her, as I motioned the sleepy stall-owner to bring a couple of teas. As I took the bench opposite hers, I noticed her wiping her face with a handkerchief. And it didn’t look like rain water.