An Unending Story

By Eswar Tavva

Early in the morning, the bus stop was full of life. Kids with big backpacks stood in circles, talking and laughing quietly. Some grown-ups are reading newspapers with interest. A few kids were having a fun argument about a superhero movie, using their hands to make their points. Every time a bus arrived, people moved around quickly, some getting on and others waiting for the next one.

Vydehi, a 22-year-old woman, arrived at the bus stop earlier than usual. She looked stunning in her pink saree. As she found a quiet corner, she gracefully settled down, pulling a small, worn diary from her bag. The act was as much a part of her morning routine as catching the bus itself.

A few steps away, Eswar, a 27-year-old on his way to work, found his attention repeatedly drawn to her. Each glance towards Vydehi deepened his conviction in the notion of perfection. It wasn't just the visual harmony of her appearance that captivated him; it was something more profound, more intimate. And then there were her eyes—broad and expressive, which reminded him of the legendary beauty of Parvati as if the tales of old had been written in the depth of her gaze.

This woman, with her diary open on her lap, pen in hand, made him believe in the endless possibilities of beauty. His eyes lingered not just on her but on the delicate way she scribed her thoughts, her expressions shifting with the emotions of her reflections. It was challenging for him to divert his gaze, to not feel something that transcended mere attraction—something akin to respect and absolute wonder at her being. For Eswar, her appeal lay beyond the visual; it nestled in the quiet moments of her self-expression, in the unknown stories captured in her diary, and in the mysterious expressiveness of her eyes that seemed to hold worlds within them.

He had been watching her for the past week. But today was different. His eyes were full of love, and in that moment, he decided to share his feelings, feelings he had carefully poured into a love letter. Slowly, he approached her, the letter clutched gently in his hand. Standing beside her, he was ready to hand over the piece of his heart captured in words. Meanwhile, Vydehi was fully aware of his intentions. She sensed his interest in her, which secretly pleased her, yet outwardly, she pretended discomfort at his stares. Despite this, she couldn't help but sneak quick, stolen glances at him.

Unbeknownst to them, Meera, Vydehi's colleague, was observing Eswar's peculiar behaviour from her seat beside Vydehi. The moment Eswar stepped closer to speak and extended his hand to give her the letter, Meera stood up, her curiosity turning into concern.

"Hello, Mr.!" Meera interrupted Eswar; her tone laced with suspicion.

"Yes, Miss?" he responded, caught off guard.

"I am not 'Miss'; I am married," Meera corrected him, her eyes narrowing.

"Okay, Mrs…..," Eswar acknowledged, his confusion evident.

"What are you doing? I've been watching you for the past few days. What do you want from her? There are school and college students here. Is this what you want to show them? Behave like an educated man," she demanded, her voice rising with each word.

"I didn't do anything wrong. I'm just trying to express my love to her," Eswar said, trying to defend his actions.

"You're trying to express love?" Meera's voice grew louder, unbelieving. Without waiting for his reply, she reached out swiftly and snatched the letter from Eswar's hand. A quick glance at the contents confirmed her suspicions—it was indeed a love letter. Anger flashed in her eyes as she confronted him, "You think a love letter is appropriate? To a school teacher, and a married woman, in front of her students? Where is your sense of dignity?"

Her words, now sharp and accusing, cut through the morning air, drawing the attention of those nearby. Eswar, taken aback by her forceful reaction, could only stand there, speechless, as Meera continued to criticize him for his thoughtlessness and lack of respect. Stunned into silence, Eswar turned to Vydehi, who looked down and subtly nodded, confirming Meera's accusation of her marital status.

"I am sorry. I didn't know you were married. You don't need to think about me. But I can say one thing for sure: my feelings for you are genuine," Eswar said, his voice heavy with emotion.

Just then, his bus arrived. Feeling a mix of devastation and resignation, he turned away from her and made his way to the bus. As he boarded, tears began to well up in Vydehi's eyes, spilling over as she watched him leave.

Noticing Vydehi's distress, Meera said, "Please don't cry. These guys lack manners." She handed back the love letter Eswar had written. "You should show this to your husband. He'd know how to deal with such people more effectively."

Meanwhile, the school bus arrived, and Vydehi, wiping away her tears, boarded the bus alongside Meera. Once they found their seats, Vydehi carefully unfolded the love letter and began to read it silently, her eyes tracing each word, her heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. The letter was a window into Eswar's feelings, revealing the depth of his admiration in a manner both genuine and touching.

"Every morning, seeing you has become the moment I most look forward to," the letter began. "Your eyes, so expressive and full of life, have captivated me completely. It's not just the beauty that shines from them but the stories they tell, the kindness and warmth they reflect. You may not have noticed me, but I've been drawn to you, mesmerized by the grace with which you carry yourself and the effortless compassion you show to everyone around you. What appeals to me the most is not just your outer beauty, which is undeniable, but the incredible person you are, which shines through in every gesture and every smile. I felt compelled to share my feelings, hoping to connect with the person behind those eyes that have so enchanted me."

As Vydehi absorbed the words, a sense of happiness began to swell within her. The sincerity and depth of Eswar's feelings, his appreciation for her beyond just her appearance, struck a chord. For Vydehi, this was a moment of quiet revelation; never before had someone confessed their love for her in such a moving, poetic manner. The realization that she was the object of such pure affection filled her with a joy she had not anticipated, a sweet counterpoint to the morning's awkwardness. This was the first time someone had proposed to her, and despite the unexpected circumstances, it was a proposal that she would remember forever, a story she would one day look back on with a bittersweet smile.

That day in the evening, after her duties at the school, Vydehi returned to her home a little earlier than usual. With her personal diary in hand, a companion that carried her deepest reflections, she walked straight to her bedroom upon arriving. The events of the morning at the bus stop weighed heavily on her mind, urging her to document the feelings and experiences of the day.

As soon as she was in the privacy of her room, she opened the diary, eager to pour her thoughts onto its pages. But before she could start writing about the day's unexpected turn of events, her eyes caught on her previous entries. There, written with an openness reserved only for the pages of her diary, were her heartfelt musings:

"I got married at the age of 22, stepping into the world of matrimony through an arranged marriage. I had always dreamed of a love marriage, filled with spontaneous proposals and the sweet anticipation of love letters. Now, a month into my marriage, I find myself reminiscing about those adventures in love—adventures I eagerly absorbed from friends but never lived myself. My husband is wonderful, and our marriage is filled with love, yet there's a part of me that yearns for the excitement of those missed connections, the youthful romance that never was part of my story."

With this poignant reflection fresh in her mind, Vydehi turned to a new page, ready to capture the day's emotions—a day that had unexpectedly brought a piece of her long-held dreams into her present. As she prepared to jot down the morning's events, her eyes caught a small note placed carefully on the bedside table. Unfolding it, she read, "Dear, I'm sorry for reading your personal diary without your permission. I found no other way to truly understand your heart."

As soon as she finished reading the note, a knock sounded at the door. Vydehi opened it to find Eswar standing there, a cake cradled in his hands.

"Hi, Sakhi! Sorry, I was late. I went to buy this cake to celebrate our first love meeting after our marriage," he said, his voice warm with affection. He leaned in and gently kissed her on the forehead.

By Eswar Tavva