COFFEE?

He saw her. Chatting with her friends, throwing her head back in laughter, just as he had seen her before. Riviera 2009. He remembered exactly what had happened. Wasn’t her hair a lot longer then? 

Turn away, he admonished himself. She has caught you staring. Self-consciously, he looked around the place, as though looking for someone. From the corner of his eye, he knew she was still staring at him. 

He flipped open his phone, and called his friend to strike a non-conversation. Something that would allow him to look at her now and then, and observe what she was doing. Now where was he? 

It was just before his band was due to go up on stage to set up. He had seen her, throwing her head back, laughing about something her friend had just whispered into her ear. And when the convulsions stopped, their eyes had met and held. The next moment, he had tripped like a fool on the steps leading up to the stage. His cheeks stung as he recollected the embarrassment. He had simply not let himself make eye contact after that. But his head had clearly marked the latitude and longitude of her position in the audience. He won’t look her way, he had decided. She was still staring at him. 

And he hadn’t. He had managed to play decently, AND he had managed to avoid eye contact with her for the first nine minutes of his performance, despite stealing glances at her whenever he thought it was safe to. She hadn’t given him too many chances to do that. But he hadn’t known for sure if she was looking at him, and not just in his direction. Either way, he couldn’t have taken the risk. God. She was still staring. 

When their performance had ended, resounding applause had threatened to bring the roof down. His name had met with the most hoots and whistles. This time, he had to look, to see if he had her approval. He couldn’t say if he did, because she hadn’t been clapping. She was sitting back in her chair, a faint smile playing on her lips. And then, by the time they could clear the stage, she had disappeared. 

Now she was right in front of him, still staring. It wasn’t a lewd appraisal, nor was it a piercing psycho-type look. It was just a curious observation really. Was she interested? Or was she simply sizing him up? He couldn’t tell. He hung up on his bewildered friend, and fiddled with the settings of his phone. He remembered her so clearly, because he had run that scene in his head a few million times in the last few months. There was nothing else he could do really. He didn’t even know her name, to try and find out who she was, or what she did.  

Finally, she stopped staring. Instead, she put her head down, and strode purposefully. In his direction. He gulped, and attacked the settings of his phone with renewed concentration. Play it cool, he told himself repeatedly. Act nonchalant. 

“Umm… hi.” 

He looked up at her, a vague, preoccupied expression deliberately fixed on his face. She was smiling. He noticed that her eyes crinkled when she did. “Hi?” 

“Adit. The guitarist from Loyola.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. “I am Sam, from Stella.” 

“Oh.” Before he could think of something to say next, she went on. 

“I first saw you perform at Saarang. You play quite well.” Wasn’t it Riviera this year? He was sure it was. But he couldn’t tell her that, could he? 

“Oh.” And he tried to smile. 

“And then I saw you play at Riviera.” 

“Oh.” He was beginning to feel like a parrot now. But what was one expected to say in such situations? Saarang before Riviera? He hadn’t noticed her then… 

“Actually, I knew you were going to play at Riviera. That’s why I came.” 

Whoa. Some balls that would’ve taken. Especially the way she said it. It wasn’t giggly flirtatious, nor was it an uncomfortable forced confession. She said it matter-of-factly, not in the least bit ashamed. He had to ask. 

“Umm… How exactly…?” 

“After Saarang, I googled you, and your blog came up. You had mentioned that you would be playing at Riviera, and so I turned up.” 

His mouth opened and shut. He just didn’t know what to say. No. She still didn’t sound desperate. Whatever she said seemed so… right. And she seemed to be about to say more. 

But it was his turn now. All defences down. He was going to say something. At least now. 

“Umm… do you want to go somewhere and grab a cup of coffee?” He smiled apologetically. “I think we should … I don’t know…” 

A heart-stopping couple of seconds. He squirmed. Should he turn around and run? 

Finally, a hint of a smile showed up on her face. 

“You beat me to this one.”

 ————————– 

First attempt at fiction. And God. How embarrassed I am about it already! But thought I’ll put it up anyway. Zzz. Had thought of a couple of more serious fiction ideas first, but decided to do this fun thing instead. I am SO desperately in need of doing something fun. 

Sort of inspired by that book that I read, at least parts of, every goddamn day of my life – Erich Segal’s Love Story. Had initially obssessed a lot over what the guy should be – a singer, a guitarist, or a speaker or whatever. And what the setting should be. Then I just thought to hell with all that, and came up with this. So I really don’t care for objections such as Riviera and Saarang happen at the same time, or guitarists from Loyola don’t perform at Riviera. And as for real Adits from Loyola and Sams from Stella, its all purely coincidental.