The Blossoming Red Rose-Manveer OS :'(

I never saw his face, yet I know about it more than my own. His smile, his words will haunt me for the largest part of my life. Today I walk on this deserted road with light rain drops falling on my face, mingling with the tears which have generated without my permission. I met him two years ago, or shall I say we became acquainted two long years ago; because we had never met each other in person. He was my pen pal.

He was my pal, my guide, my friend and my first love, all combined. Yet I knew only the first half of his name; Uday. He never disclosed me his surname.

We came to know about each other through the pen pal section of a magazine, for which I used to write letters under a secret name. The memory of his first letter brought a immediate smile on my face.

He had written,

Dear rosebud,

You have a very interesting name. Do you smell like roses too? My name is Mr. Thorn and would like to know more about you. Foreseeing your reply.

And there was a sketch of rose with thorns over it. It looked like a 3 year old had drawn it.

I did reply and we disclosed each other our real names only after ten letters or so. That was the time all formalities had been shed and our real personalities had come out in open.

Some devil had prompted me to spill him everything about miserable existence. How in the world did I tell him that I was the daughter of an Ex-prince and that was my biggest mistake..that being born as a girl brought huge bundle of bad luck with it. Above that I was born on the day of amavas, under an unlucky star. The words I feared disclosing to myself, I had revealed it to him.

One year passed in a blink and we got even closer. Whenever anyone chided me or turned their nose at me for my bad luck, I'd remember his words of encouragement and the prick of humiliation would subside.

He became the single most important part of my life and I couldn't wait for the weekly letters that arrived without fail. One day he told me that he had spotted a potential writer in me, through my letters and the little anecdotes I sent with them; and I should consider taking up writing as a profession.

My instant reply was a No. though I wrote some stories for time pass; I wasn't good enough as a real writer. He would have none of it and it was his cajoling which prompted to pen my first novel, under the pseudonym Rosebud.

The day I finished my novel and emailed him a copy, he had told me the words that made me fly like a gay bird in the blue sky. He had fallen in love with me. I disclosed him my own feelings by dousing my next letter with some rose perfume and some shy, unsure words.

Those were the happiest days of my life. The days when the timorous bud bloomed into a flower and people began to notice it. Though I never saw him, I'd imagine him smiling at me and blush. He became the warmth of my cold nights and the sunshine of my darkness.

I'd close my eyes and try to visualize his face in my mind. He had said that he was dark, fat and had a big mustache with crooked teeth under it. None of this mattered. He was the single most handsome person in the world; my world that is.

A publisher accepted my novel by some luck and the copies made decent money. I was ecstatic. Now I had my own identity. I expressed him my gratitude through sincere words and asked him something which he denied and broke my heart for the first time.

I wished to meet him, see him for real. But he was reluctant.

His last letter is still etched in my mind. It had arrived with a huge bouquet of red roses he had sent. He had written:

Manyata,

As you read this letter, I'll be long gone. This country is not good enough for me anymore and I'm leaving it forever. I have no plans to return. I need not tell you separately that the communication between us will be stopped too. I'm sending the bouquet as a thank you gesture.

Take care

Uday

Two long years of towering affection, broken like a blade of grass. Had he ever loved me in real? I felt no tears or sadness in my heart. I had meant nothing to him. I had no means to contact him other than this address and an email-id; which could be fake too. I threw the bouquet into the dust bin with disgust.

I tried to hate him, despise him and succeeded to an extent until..

I was scanning through the newspaper without much interest when a young man's picture caught my attention. He was very handsome with fair complexion and a lovely smile. But the report beside his picture made my blood go cold.

His car had been hit by a cruel truck at night when he was returning from a friends place. The head-on collision had left him with a head injury and he had died just two days after the accident.

He was 24 years old, my Uday was also 24 years old.

The report listed his father's name as a certain Giriraj singh, one of the richest men of the city. The deceased's name was Udayveer singh, the lone heir to a 1000 crore empire.

The newspaper described him as a multi talented person, an avid book reader and much more but my eyes could not read anymore. This couldn't be true, at the same time I knew truth was staring at me in the face.

He had been gone to another place leaving me behind; where letters couldn't be reached. The place which was good enough for him..

I fell to the ground like entire life had been sucked out of me. The tear stained newspaper fell beside me.

I couldn't bear to be inside the house anymore. I began to walk like a zombie in the direction my legs carried me. So here I was on an unknown road, destination unknown. I looked around me and saw everything that I had been ignoring all this while.

The trees, the stones on the road, the walls of the houses stayed where they are, no matter how many people passed by them. Likewise, Udayveer was a beautiful dream I had had while walking on the path of life; I was not lucky enough to take him away with me for the entire stretch. A single tear came out and I wiped it off. He would not want me to cry; he had always encouraged me to smile, laugh, and celebrate life. Perhaps that was the reason he had lied to me about his own imminent death.

I would always live the dream that he had put in my eyes, with an occasional tear sometimes.

How many hated me for this story?😉 my sister did😆

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(Now before anyone asks why i didn't update CL, and posted this; let me tell you, I'm waiting for just one more comment on that..i'll post it immediately when i get it..😆😳)