Short Story by Raconteuse

 "Childhood love stories are the proof of one's naïveté. Not calculated or augured. Just run by compulsive hormones- first, pheromones and then, dopamine", I say as I sip my Diet Coke through the paper straw. I hate the paper straws. I mean they are good for the environment but they get soggy really soon, as has happened with me. He has asked me so many questions about my job as an associate manager, my BBA and MBA, and how I liked the job in my present company. His questions and excitement thwarted my efforts to ask him anything at all.  Viaan has done the impossible- he made me talk about my feelings. I rarely do that with strangers. Yet, here we are. I am talking and he is looking at me with an inexplicable gaze. I want to look in his eyes. I want the time to stand still. But neither I can nor the Universe can do that. His eyes have a piercing look. Every time I try to look into them, I get shifty. I know as a matter of fact that I still don't hold a candle to all ...

The frantic knocking on the door made me reluctantly leave my bed. I spend most of my days in bed these days. It's been 3 months since that horrendous evening. I close my eyes and replay those two days in my head endless number of times. I always want it to end differently. I open my eyes and it never changes. Tears are my only companion. The pain hasn't changed. It still hurts.  On hearing the knock, I wipe the tears and try to shake the sadness away. I try, but fail. I go to open the door. It is my friends. I have been avoiding them for 3 months now. To be honest, I haven't been out at all. I haven't been to any open mic. I just work on my proofreading job at home and order food. These food apps have made life so much easier. I talk to my parents over call. After one week of that unspeakable evening, I told them that Mohit wasn't the one. They did try to reason it out but I simply said that I don't want anything to do with him. They didn't pester me any mo...

The late-lunch with Mohit went well. He made me blush and most of all, there weren’t any awkward silences. I have agreed to give him a chance. Why shouldn’t I? What am I waiting for? Isn’t it the next logical thing? That reminds me- I have to call Mom. She would be freaking out by now. It’s 9 and the last I spoke to her was at 6:15. I am impressed by the patience she has been keeping.  “Hey, Mom! I am driving back now. Sorry it got late.”, I say as soon she picks up. She just jumps to the point, “Were you with him this whole time? Do you like him? Should I tell your father?” I smile at her excitement and reply, “Yes, we left cafe at 8. I dropped him at his place and since it’s far and the traffic is erratic at this hour, it took me one hour. I just dropped him and drove a little farther from his place to call you.” She reiterated her concern again, “You didn’t answer me! Should I tell your father? Do you like him?” I can feel her heart pounding. I collect myself and draw...