Taste Of Fear chapter 1 in English Fiction Stories by Vicky Trivedi books and stories PDF | Taste Of Fear chapter 1

Featured Books

Taste Of Fear chapter 1




Copyright © Vicky (Vinod) Trivedi

This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.


The speeding red Elantra screeched its tires to a sudden halt, as instructed by the woman in the back seat. She did not stand on ceremony to wait as usual for the chauffeur to attend the door for her, instead as soon as the car halted the rear door was flung open and she stepped out, this figure of a lady, charming, clad in a black leather jacket and skinny tight jeans. She paid no attention to the people staring at her, instead made her way towards the building across the street with a single-minded focus and unchallenged determination.

She did not bother to instruct the chauffeur any further, he was left confused as to wait or to leave but as she began making her way across the road, the chauffeur had driven of trying to understand what he had seen, the woman had a look of tension that curled her forehead, he thought to himself the car is not as fast as the thoughts of the lady as he made his way back onto the city streets.

She stood at the gate of the large building darting her eyes onto a sign with white font and blue background, her face relaxed as though the sign had given her some relief, yet she was scarce on time and didn’t complete reading the sign, all she saw was ‘Ram Manohar Lohiya’ not confirming it was followed by the word hospital.

The Doctors hurried the patient from the operating theatre to the Intensive Care Unit accompanied by armed guards alongside the patient’s gurney. Worry was evident on the faces of the Doctors reflecting the tension they felt within, the armed guards, however, had a blank and unconcerned look, as their duty was only to stop any would-be attacker. They must have found their post amusing, as the patient was in poor condition giving the impression he would not survive, who they wondered would dare a silly risk to threaten the life of the patient that may die at any moment.

“How can an I.P.S. officer such as my superior be such a barmy person?” one of them murmured yet still remembering the strict orders of their superiors to protect the patient.

The peace the Hospital enjoyed previously was no longer to hold as the violence and tension between the journalists and police were reaching a fever point. The halls were crowded and rowdy; an elderly doctor was almost pushed down the stairwell by the crowds of journalists rushing in to hear him give the diagnosis of the patient.

The doctor with a tired and slightly choked voice spoke out “My colleagues and I have tried out level best, but if he is to be saved the credit will go to God, as neither my team nor I have any right to take credit.”

The words of the doctor were positive only from outside as they suggested that only God could save him. A riot of questions ensued; the doctor stated “No more comments” and rushed to the ICU to arrive before the patient ignoring everything including his old age. The police had to keep back the journalists who had tried to follow the doctor.

At the reception counter stood the figure that had emerged from the red Elantra, “I want to see the patient” she said to the lady behind the receptionist counter at the hospital.

The hospital had more than a thousand beds and patients in them all yet ‘The Patient’ was sufficient description for the receptionist to understand whom the lady referred to.

“Are you a family member?” asked the receptionist without looking up at the lady.

“No, but…”

“I am sorry. No visitors, he is in the ICU,” said the receptionist interrupting the lady’s words.

“Madam, I am…,”

“Not even the prime minister, only family members, and a girl named Archana. I have received special instructions,” she looked up at the lady with regret shading her face.

“Archana...” whispered the lady chuckling under her breath as she dragged out the identity card she had in her jeans pocket.

“Prove you identity at counter no. 8,” ordered the receptionist as though she had heard the lady whisper the name “Archana.”

If the lady had got passed the reception desk, she would have no more hindrance as the guards knew her well, she ran with her identity card in hand knowing it does not state ‘Archana’, yet understanding that she could bypass security with this name. As she ran down the hall a trio of people emerged from an office on the left of the hall she almost dashed into them. She knew the old man with the grey beard and moustache wearing a Punjabi Sikh turban, the woman with blue and green streaked hair of the same age as her, the third person she did not recognize a 30-year-old gentleman who she assumed was the doctor.

“Can you save him?” the lady frankly asked.

The lady with the blue and green hair spoke up “No Hope...”

“I have no hope…” the man that seemed to be the doctor spoke up, “but...”

“But what?” sharply exclaimed the lady.

“Dr Verma is a very different type of person he never gives up hope, so long as there are breaths and heartbeat Dr Verma maintains hope. The patient chanted the name Archana even in his state of half insanity so I believe there may still be hope for him.”

“I want to see him,” she said as they walked towards the I.C.U, the guards at the door of the I.C.U came to full attention at the sight of Sardarji. The lady rushed into the I.C.U as the doctor opened the door. The room was as devoid of beauty as she was of hope. Its walls were simply cream, not peeling or dirty, just cream and the floor was simply white.

“No one must be allowed to enter the I.C.U without my permission” Sardarji ordered the guards, and then the blue and green haired lady and Sardarji left.

The lady saw a vacant bed and then another on which the patient lay under treatment. IV’s, heart monitors and oxyzen tank were attached to the bed.

She approached the patient, she observed the oxygen tubes running into his nostrils, and both wrists riddled with intravenous tubes, his eyes were swollen and closed. His face was very pale against the white pillows. Even in repose, his face seemed sad. The lady was looking at the innocent boy he had met months ago. The lady remembered his courage, feelings, his love for Archana, his keen interest to find Archana.

The lady had loved him and was still in love with him but it was wrong to feel so because he loved Archana and he loved her still, yet the lady knew there was no hope left in the search for Archana. The lady had no means to find Archana, but she knew if Archana were to be found her love would go unrequited, but she believed in justice and as per justice he was to belong to Archana only.

The lady turned her glowering countenance upon the doctor, eyes brimming tears, “let me know when he…”

She could not complete the sentence instead said, “What will happen?”

She was sure he would awake, if not for her then surely, for his Archana, his obsession with finding her again would not let him die.

There was no hope of finding Archana the lady suspected, and therefore felt from the deepest corner of her heart that her dream would be fulfilled, yet she felt a deep guilt as she had no will to steal her love from Archana, her conscience would not bear it.

She reached among three probabilities after all her efforts were lost in vain.

The first one, being the possibility that Archana was in the memorial.

The second, Archana was alive and there was some obstacle that prevented her from letting Shyam knows she was alive and prevented them from being together.

The third, Archana was unable to communicate with Shyam, perhaps she was in an area without any communication with the outside world, and she mused.

She felt she had done no injustice to Archana with the first two musings, and the third was an unlikely option.

She leaned over the patient, pushed back her hair, and whispered as though a solemn prayer, “I don’t know if you can hear me, I don’t know if you can understand my words, I Love you. I am waiting for you,” she continued in a hushed and sobbing tone “do not disappoint me.”

She exited the I.C.U, her tears now rolling over her cheeks already reddened with sorrow, to the guards who had known her since many years back, were dumbstruck not knowing what to make of it.

It was taken as universal truth that she is never down; she was by reputation a happy and jolly person, a lively and life loving woman with never a long face.

The barely conscious man laid faint on the gurney, perhaps he didn’t feel her presence, perhaps he didn’t understand her words, but through a dim, misty haze of semi-consciousness, the voice sounded familiar to him. He thought he had heard Archana’s voice, but he knew that could not be. She was dead. He tried to let out an inaudible murmur, “Archana”… “Archana” but the effort was too great.

His lips hadn’t moved, in fact, he hadn’t the strength to speak nor open his eyes, yet he tried, all he could see were blurred shapes of lights and shadows forming a sort of puzzle for him to solve.

The machines attached to him were quick to alert of any movements other than that of the heartbeat and breathing. Those instruments were limited they could not tell if his mind was present, he had been born too soon to experience the benefits of modern technology where they could detect mental activity.

His mind was as chaotic as the streets of Delhi, thoughts like taxis changing directions, taking new routes and stopping randomly. He began retracing memories of his past, while his legs and arms still bled but less than when he had been admitted. His thoughts drifted recalling a day, he walked home with a nervous face, and it was Archana’s birthday. He was certain that Archana would quarrel or be upset with him after receiving his gift to her. Glimpses of Archana’s countenance reflecting different moods passed through his mind, he saw her smiles, tears, angers, her joys and he recalled the way she looked at him, that look of love that her face beamed with, she would say nothing but gaze at him and smile a smile of pure love, …when she thought he wouldn’t notice her, he did, keeping it in his heart, Sometimes visions of Preetu looking upon him, with seductive eyes.

His thoughts turned again, he heard a loud gunshot, Charmi had shot someone, again a gunshot, and the fierce pit bull ravaging him was stopped dead by the bullet of Charmi.

He had veered into another thought, he was sure she was either Rosy or Christy but was uncertain which one of them she was, but it made no difference as he intended to kill them both.

Another turn on the streets of his mind as he recalled his earlier days working hard only to eat cheap and tasteless food, but he did eat and great quantities until his belly was full, swiftly he was overcome with anger as the vision changed into that of a female’s corpse hovering before his eyes, he strained his eyes and memory yet in vain, he could not recognize her, who was she Archana…, Preetu…, Charmi…?

His memories were fading, his mind was foggy; he could not recall the face of the man, only peppering him with bullets.

Sirens filled his ears, as the ambulance approached, he heard talking “Don’t let him lose consciousness he will go into a coma…You can’t fall asleep you are brave and need to be so a little longer…stay awake”

He wanted to give up he wanted to say goodbye to the world he couldn’t bear the tearing, piercing pains, he wanted to be at rest.

He kept chanting his mantra of “Archana... Archana…Archana…” a voice said to “Archana is here she is sat beside you in a pink shirt, he could only see the red of the blood on his eyes. He tried once again to remember but he couldn’t, even in the air-conditioned I.C.U rooms, drops of perspiration began to trickle down his face. The attending doctor’s face glowed with sudden encouragement on seeing the perspiration.

The near corpse laying on the gurney was unaware of the number of bullets that had pierced him, the doctors knew how many they removed, the mind wandered once more “Did I move” he questioned, “what would have happened if I had moved” he could not remember, Victor attempted to flee, he saw Charmi lying on the ground, no this could never be it’s not in Charmi’s character to give up only after death could she quit, so what was this?.

Victor was escaping, he was alone now, he understood that everyone must die alone, he saw the faces of Archana and Charmi, he heard the voices of Shlok and Rani unborn to this world cry out for revenge. Victor will also die alone he thought. He picked up the gun checking how many bullets were left, only one. He had faith in the range and accuracy of the weapon, his vision was blurred by blood, he closed his eyes inhaled swelling his lungs to capacity.

Beep, beep the alarm had sounded the patient had opened his eyes, the nurses called out over the P.A. System “Dr Verma, report to I.C.U,” the doctor walked hurriedly towards the I.C.U while his team of younger doctors ran.

The Journalists overhearing the announcement on the P.A. System, charged the doctors demanding, “Has he said anything?” Sardarji replied to the journalists “He is conscious now, but the doctors will not allow us to speak to him until he is stable”

The lady upon hearing Sardarji raced to the I.C.U.


Chapter 1

“Hey please slow down, I am unable to walk as fast as you…”

He stopped on hearing a voice; he turned back in the direction of the voice to find the person behind it. He walked up a narrow lane, the lane ahead of him split into three. He looked around to find the voice, he saw on the left a home being built, it was lacked roof trusses and framed windows, on the right a hilly path paved originally by footsteps then laid over by concrete rolled ahead, he had cradled in his arms an infant no older than 10 months, the child was slim, yet had plump cheeks; and light grey hair. He had looked at the lane on the extreme left, he had found the owner of the voice, yet the mist covered her face in a haze, as he strained his focus to see her, his eyes opened and the dream had passed.

Lying on his bed he hoped the heat of summer had peaked, he contemplated if it would subside, he’d filled the water reservoir of the cooler, up to maximum capacity the night before, he knew it would be at a minimum when he woke, a foresight born of experience. Turning over to get out of bed, switching off the cooler, grabbing the phone and illuminating the screen, all in one elegant and fluid move, certainly a practiced skill, he remembered reading somewhere, “if you wake from a good dream in the early hours of the morning you should not go back to sleep, as it gives the dream a greater chance of manifesting.”

He would go to bathe putting the dream aside from his thoughts, he had just finished his daily worship as his, the students he tutored, began to arrive. He would finish the first tuition by 10:00 AM he thought, when a voice interrupted this, “Good morning bro, Papa wants to see you.” It was the youthful, sweet sounding voice of Anirudhdh also known as ‘Papas’ pet’.

Shyam took in a deep breath and steeled himself for the possibility of a strong scolding, and began the small, yet ultimately dangerous trek, he approached cautiously. His father was in repose that hyperbolized his stoicism, firmness of character and his, speculated as innate, lack of tolerance for any form of humour. The serious man by all accounts was about to ’discuss’ with Shyam the usual matter, Shyam’ bane, his marriage. Satyam, the eldest brother had already declared “I would marry only after completing my PhD perhaps being the eldest entitled him to some privilege, that would keep happy and free until then, or perhaps it was he followed fathers’ footsteps, but his turn would still come Shyam took comfort. Thus being the second son, felt as though he were just livestock to be bartered in his fathers’ eyes, as his father was the head priest in the village, this was, a position of great societal prestige and source great discontentment for Shyam as it frequently brought marriage proposals from well-respected families. This was a matter he had been dodging over the past six months.

His father spoke, “Satyam wants to marry only after attaining his Ph.D., and what is it that you want…? “

“Proposals from reputable families are streaming in…?”

“How long do, I reject them…?”

He paused after every question affording Shyam the opportunity to not answer.

“Your maternal uncle wants to have your cousin Shilpa married and your mother wants to have a bride in the house”

That was the last reason he stated in his case for his marriage which he, in essence, argued that he is, chattel.

The boy replied, knowing that he would not, yet merely to discount the certain scolding, eventual quarrels, and probable victimization.

“I will do as you say.”

In a manner and tone, that could be described as a humble, meek soldier facing a General accepting an order.

“There is a girl” his father spoke sounding more at ease.

“Ha, I fooled him!” He thought.

Shyam’s inward smile was further fueled by his father’s statement. “Of course it would be a girl I marry; father is stating the obvious again”. It was essential not to let any outward sign of his amusing thoughts show; this was a difficult task as his father had a habit of peering into peoples’ eyes when addressing them. To be discovered would lead to a wrathful and stern scolding.

He focused again on his father… “the girl is a native of Tharad and now lives in Ahmadabad, she studies M.B.A, I will inform you once the matter is fixed”


He replied and took his father’s leave.

The issue with marriage, Shyam contended was the ‘Sata’ System, this system enforced the arrangement, that should a boy marry, he is to give the bridal family a female relative to marry a male relative of the bride. The benefit of this was that both couples and families aspire to keep the marriages lasting and fruitful, the disadvantage was that should the one couple separate the other couple will be forced to as well, by familial and societal pressure, even against their own will.

Now, the victim of such a system, and Shyam’s ‘case in point’, was, the family house servant. Margha was married obliging the ‘Sata’ system and give her brother to the sister of her new groom. After Margha’s marriage, the husband and she lived peacefully and harmoniously, in Ahmadabad. She had lived well, as her husband had worked for an International Bank. Beautiful clothes, jewellery, access to luxuries as, furs, limousines, a large house, and influential friends and by her report a pampered lady.

Her brother was once a successful businessman, he had consulted for a prestigious international law firm, prior to opening his own company, he’d specialized in business law. Some evening he returned home visibly terrified and quivering, he walked directly to the liquor cabinet as it were the purpose of his life, he reached in and liberated a bottle of 25 year old single malt scotch, poured himself a peg, and he had never stopped. He lost his company, his investments all his financial resources. He always found a way to afford liquor, his wife soon left him. After his wife had left, Margha was kicked out of her home child in hand by her husband in order to avenge the dishonour and repay the insult.

Margha lives with her ageing mother and teenage daughter Gopi, in a clay hut at the poorer end of the town. She would often, after completing her household duties, converse with Shyam and regale him with tales and experiences of her own life. Another reason he was against the system was, the photo that was stuck to his bedroom wall this was his most bitter reason.

Now he had tuition to render, the area he would be in was called ‘Golden Park Society’ he had two students there, a female student of the ninth standard and a younger male, of the sixth standard. He would be teaching from 9:30 until 11:00 AM, he enjoyed teaching those students he esteemed them as clever and proficient in their studies. They often chatted about their lives to one another, being respectfully friendly to their teacher. His lessons were given in the usual manner, only hurrying to exit due to an overdeveloped appetite.

He hurried home on his ‘Platina’ bike at 11:30, lunch was ready, and he’d decided to have it in his room upstairs. He had no work until 4:00 PM, now he would rest. He switched on his laptop and listened to the music of it, a song played from a Hindi movie entitled ‘Satya’ the lyrics “Sapane me milati he kudi meri sapane me milati he…” triggered the memory of his earlier dream.

Who is this girl? He thought who was the infant, was it mine? Was that my wife? he began to view his thoughts as amusing and laughed to himself, the infant resembled me, he thought. Why did she speak “I am unable to walk so fast as you…”, Suddenly the playful look on his face turned dour, he recalled the girl in his dream she was like Kajal, he morosely gazed at her photo on his wall. He picked up the volume of the music to drown out the miserable memory of that tragic incident he turned his gaze away from the photo, preferring any other spot on the wall and slowly dozed into a sleep.

He awoke to a voice “Sir please get up, we have arrived” it was Jayesh a lad in his mid-teens, a student of Shyam, now awake his facial expression suggested he pondered something.

“Sir, you were dreaming in your sleep, weren’t you?”

“Yes but how did you know..?” replied Shyam, surprised at the observation by Jayesh.

“The look of fatigue suggests that you were dreaming,” said Jayesh, his innocent face and toffee brown eyes staring at Shyam.

“What is the relation between dreaming and facial fatigue,” asked Shyam.

“When we dream, the body reacts as though it is actually taking those actions and movements, and becomes tired this reflects on your face” answered Jayesh.

“How do you know all these things..?” Shyam asked Jayesh. The student was in his mid-teens yet had always poke maturely and of mature subjects.

“Sir, do you use the Internet? Search dream interpretation on Google, all the information will load onto your screen.”

“So...”, Shyam exhaled.

“Yes, Google has many answers for any question” Jayesh hurried to say, “What was your dream about..?” enquired Jayesh.

“I will tell you once I have freshened up…” was the response from Shyam. Shyam had gone into the bathroom, when he returned, his other students had also arrived. His lesson until 6:00 PM, Jayesh was the only student left behind, “Sir, What was the dream about?”

Shyam knew he would not relent on this matter. He narrated the dream to Jayesh. “Sir, I hope the dream girl is charming.” he chuckled.

“Hey, you should respect your teacher at least in such a matter.”

“I am like your younger brother don’t feel hurt, tell me how beautiful the AUNTY was?” he stressed on the word aunty intentionally.

“I don’t like to be uncle and never of a mischievous lad like you.” Shyam smiled. Jayesh’s parents and Shyam’s parents had a close relationship and thus he was well accustomed to Jayesh and his attempts at mocking him.

“I saw her last night, also today afternoon but I can’t remember her face.” Shyam was flustered.

“Next time look carefully and remember her face.” laughed Jayesh packing his bag. Jayesh left the room.


Shyam had returned home after the tuition class, it was almost 8:00 PM; it was time for dinner with the family. The table was dressed, with an abundance of food, as though a vegetarian’s horn of cornucopia had been over turned onto the table. There was a variety of Shyam’s favourite foods, Lady fingers, Egg Plant, Dal (Split peas), Millet loaf, all on copper serving dishes, with the usual accompaniment of assorted pickles. The meal was presided over father, on his ‘Throne’ as the children had nicknamed fathers seat at the table, his chair was ornately decorated, with studded leather upholstery, and a raised back higher than the other chairs surrounding the table, there was no fixed seating other than father’s, their mother along with them would sit wherever was vacant. They Had their meal discussed their day, their work and activities they laughed and giggled but were always careful what words would escape their lips, as not to upset or anger father, who was in his natural stoic repose. Satyam was similar to his father, the same stoicism and firmness ran through him, he was also a priest. Shyam took a moment and thought to himself, “what a simple and happy life I lead.”

Later that night as he sat in his room he revisited the idea, Jayesh had given him earlier, he typed into his laptop ‘Dream Interpretation’ the results displayed many websites, after reading a few he had taken interest in one. Continuing reading “dreams deliver omens of the future, the subconscious mind receives and interprets events that happen all around us while awake, processes, then speculates the outcome in your dream”. Further reading relating to how to interpret dreams, stated that every detail of your dream was important even the most minute detail, also of ancient cultures using dreams to divine the future. But he thought to himself ‘this seems to happen only to foreigners’ as there were no local cases. As he scrolled down the page he unintentionally navigated through a link, trying to click on the scroll icon on the bottom left of his browser, he clicked another awkwardly positioned icon, and a new page opened ‘MarryMe.com’.

It was 9:00 PM, he knew he would not get any sleep for a while, the temperature was 35⁰ degrees Celsius, at the peak of summer, his ceiling fan wobbled at full speed above him, the windows were opened and wide as the framing would allow. To pass the time he decided to find out more, by filling in the registration form, he was unaware fate would use this site as a goading stick egging him closer to fulfilling the dream which had begun his enquiries.

He filled in his details as required by the site, his name: Shyam, age: 24, height…, weight…, complexion.., hobbies and more personal information. He had no sooner completed the registration, then a new page washed his screen, with the title “5 possible matches found”, he scrolled through:

Name: Location:

(1) Reshma Surat

(2) Asha Mumbai

(3) Archna Sonipat

(4) Hetvi Bhuj

(5) Suchithra Hyderabad

He thought to himself, I know Surat and Bhuj are cities in Gujarat; Hyderabad and Mumbai he had also heard off, he hadn’t heard of Sonipat.

He read…. “Name: Archana” …“Age: 22”… “Location: Sonipat”. He decided he would pass the time since he hadn’t heard of Sonipat he clicked on Archana’s profile, almost instantly her profile was on his screen. He clicked a link ‘About me’ the following description popped at him.

‘I am a handicapped girl. I always ask myself whether any normal boy will come into my life.’

A strange feeling descended upon him, was it curiosity, sympathy, was, it more? He thought of his beautiful Kajal again his laughing, playful Kajal. His thoughts turned back to Archana, who is she and what has she done to me? This feeling he had encountered he could not fathom, he reasoned it out as sympathy uncertain it could be more. He remembered her statement and accepted it as a sad truth, who would accept a handicapped girl and if so how long would it last. He had become deeply moved by this person.

He was now convinced that this wasn’t just passing time and became more aggressive in his pursuit to learn of this Archana and what she had planted in his heart. He searched her profile for a contact number or an email address, none were to be found, how would, he contact her. To some relief, he noticed a rectangular icon on the bottom left of his screen with the text ‘Send Interest’. He clicked on the link.

He turned off his laptop and put it aside. He lay on his bed still miserable from the persecution of the summer heat, he drifted into wonder…She had no picture on her profile, all he knew was her name was Archana, she was 22 years of age and she lived in Sonipat. Yet this knowledge was the only fact if the profile were genuine. His mind had begun to leave him behind following thoughts of Archana and Kajal, words like cobblestones on a poorly maintained path were hopped unto, “Papa, I am Going….”, “whether a normal boy will come into my life…”, “I have no disappointment with you…”.

Shyam tried to depose his musings on Archana yet his mind would not relent, he could not fall asleep now, He continued to muse posing himself questions:

How does she look…?

What type of personality did she exhibit…? He compared her to characters in his memory.

Perhaps she would be as the lady in ‘The Girl with the Dragon tattoo’ would she be silent and introverted like ‘Lisbeth Salander’ the protagonist?...he thought “No…I wouldn’t like that”…perhaps…like a character from the novels of Ashvini Bhatt, would she be similar to ‘Lajja Sanyal’, a film actress, she was a beauty to behold, always concerned about her career, she was a fearful woman but when time came to be brave she didn’t shrink from the task?”…’Niraja Bhagrav’, dark in complexion, careless and lustful after men …?”…’Ashaka’, a proud girl from a royal family?” then he realized he would not want her to be like any of them, Tina! The character from the movie ‘Barsat’, she was a loquacious character that barely stopped to breathe between words or sentences for that matter, she would often flirt with all the boys at college...it would be fun he thought…for a while, but he knew he would quickly tire of it.

At last, he thought she would be like Pooja, from a Hindi movie ‘Fir Teri Kahani Yaad Aayi’ …Stubborn and crazy, silent, stubborn, reserved and a little insane. Somewhat like Kajal… It was 1:00 AM, he had no care for a time, yet his sleep descended on him as gentle as a morning mist, unknown to him.


Shyam had awoken with tight and sore muscles; he attributed it to his lack of sleep. He exited the bathroom at 7:00 AM, still a little sore. Shyam didn’t take to the habit of tea or coffee in the mornings, he would study directly after his morning worship, which was at 9:00 AM. He would study until 12:00 PM; his eagerness to graduate drove him to study devoutly. He studied B.Com, in an open university, he preferred it, no time limit on studies, and one could study and take the exams when one felt prepared. He would begin the second year of study in June so his study was becoming more diligent.

It was now 13:00 PM, he had grown tired of reading study material, he turned on his laptop endeavouring to check his mail, something had caught his attention, were anyone observing him they could tell by the expression carried by his face, he was intrigued and excited. He had received a mail from ‘MarryMe.Com’, Archana had accepted his proposal of interest, the message had a link to the original one sent by Archana, all he had to do now was click on it and log in to view the message.

He with disconcerting eagerness opened the message, it read “May I have your contact number please?” Shyam with a subtle smile replied with his contact number.


To be continue.....