~HAPPY BIRTHDAY SRIJA~
A/N - This story plot is inspired and taken from O'Henry's short story The Furnished Room but the words are mine. I have given two endings, the first one is the original ending that O'Henry had written and the second is my version of the story tweaked in the end to not leave my readers sad.
The Furnished Room!
It was just a light drizzle which had later turned into a heavy downpour, he clutched his coat over his head to avoid getting drenched but the rain was too strong and powerful to spare anyone. He increased his stride and ran as fast as his legs could carry. He was tired not only physically by roaming around the city the entire day but also emotionally and psychologically. He saw a number of guest houses in the lane which he had unknowingly taken and felt relieved at the thought of getting some protection from the raging storm howling like an enraged animal, a bed to rest his tired limbs and a warm bath to increase his lowered temperature. He passed a fleeting glance at the guest house that he entered; he simply didn't care much about the crumbling red mansion as long as he could only get the said things. He looked up at the sky once and he could feel the thousand raindrops hit his face like pointed cold needles and he immediately looked down. The sky was angry and definitely not in the mood to spare any one, not even a person in search.
He walked inside the old, worn out Victorian styled mansion, the walls were crumbling, the wallpaper was peeling and there was a huge scaffolding in one corner of the room, a large partly broken, dust covered chandelier which didn't work. The place was alit with candles, which seemed quiet strange and he thought of asking if there was an electricity problem or whether there was a power cut. He walked towards the reception area, an old lady stood behind the counter rubbing her eyes sleepily but as soon as she saw a guest she straightened up.
"Do you have a room?"
"Aye sir, we do. I just had one of the rooms vacant, please follow me." She grabbed the key to the room and walked ahead. Asad followed her up the stairs, the place was in dire need of some renovation but looking at the condition he doubt the owners could afford it. The pitter patter of the rain as it hit the roof above reverberated in the eerily silent guest house, the corners seemed to echo the noise magnifying the sounds. They stopped on the third floor in front of the first room in the corridor.
"Oh sir this is the best of my rooms, you are very lucky that it is quiet vacant. It never stays empty for more than a day in fact the earlier boarders left in the morning itself. Actors all of them. There's a drama theatre just around the corner sir if you feel the need for some entertainment, it can be pretty boring around her. Oh sir this room has some fond memories, those two actors got married here. It's a guest house and people have been in and out but I feel they leave a part of themselves behind here and if you sit quietly maybe you can feel that part left behind. Actors don't stay long here, they come and they go..." The old lady went on and on but he was not listening. He just kept staring at the room. The room was habitable, and warm, warmer than the icy cold environment outside. The furnished room had the atmosphere of pseudo-hospitality. There was reclining chair, a large bed, a polychromatic rug which had some stubborn stains on it, the wall had a number of photographers giving the viewer a crash course on the history of the person the photograph's owner.
Asad paid her in advance for a week's rent in order to get rid of her jibber jabber and walked inside the room. A sudden warm familiar feeling engulfed him but he paid no attention to it. He shut the door and the door shut with a sound that again echoed in the hall and he was afraid he would wake someone up. When he heard no one barging up to him and hurling insults for spoiling their precious sleep he sighed softly and looked at the majestic bed dominating the room. All he wanted was to sheath himself under the warmness of the duvet and fall in a deep slumber, he wanted to be cocooned in his bubble, he wanted to get lost in the world of imagination, the world of dreams but he couldn't. He was a man in search. In search of his lady, it had been a month since she disappeared and he spent every second of this month roaming around from one place to another searching for her. One month of wandering, one month of staying in guest houses, one month since he turned nomadic only for her. He sat on the bed and laid back looking at the ceiling, he closed his eyes inhaled deeply and thought of her. He thought of her eyes so deep he could drown in them, he thought of her face so glowing it could light up his world, he thought of her voice so sweet and melodious especially when she sang that he could hear her in the room. He snapped his eyes open, he was in the bubble of his euphoric dream he could actually hear her faint humming sound, she was droning her favorite song, the one she always sung when she was at peace with herself. He looked around the room like a demented lunatic frantically searching for anything that will make her presence known. But the room was empty with no one but him and yet the song of her euphonious humming continued.
"She was in this room." He was very certain of that, he felt as if he could feel her presence and yet was unable to actually see and feel her, all he could hear was her voice so sweet and pleasant he wanted to cry. It had been a month since he last heard her, since he last touched her, since he last held her in his arms, since he last saw her. With a determination to find any evidence of her whereabouts he opened the closet and rummaged inside it. The old lady's words ringing in his ears - "It's a guest house and people have been in and out but I feel they leave a part of themselves behind here and if you sit quietly maybe you can feel that part left behind."
He dug deeper into the cupboard to look for something, to look for anything but all he found was a bow tie, a few women hair clips, a dirty tiny handkerchief, a few buttons, a brochure of the drama theatre, a few cigarette butts and even a half-eaten marshmallow for heaven's sake. He stopped when he reached a black satin hair bow but he tossed it on the ground along with the other contents, the hair bow was too common it could have belonged to anyone. He looked around everywhere like a hound but he could not find anything. The song grew fainter and fainter and when he felt the music will end all together he dashed out of the room and ran downstairs taking two steps at a time.
"Madam can you tell me who lived in the room before me?" he asked breathless to the old lady.
"Aye sir, it was an actor couple, the one who got married, I told you that above. Before that was a young lady."
"The lady, did she have long straight black hair, medium height, slender, fair and a scar on her arm?" he asked impatiently.
"No sir, the lady was tall with a dark complexion and curly hair."
"And before the young lady?"
"Oh a group of travelling musicians, they were nomads, just like many people who stay here but they were poor living on the money they could collect with the help of their faithful banjo so they shared a room together. And before that an elderly couple, poor fellows had lost their way I had taken them to the railway station myself the next day and before that I'm sorry sir my faint memory doesn't allow me to think further."
Asad sighed sadly and walked back to his room and just as he entered he lost the connection he had once felt, the song was no longer ringing in his ears, he could no longer feel her presence, it was just a room, a furnished room.
oOo
"Oh I got another boarder for that furnished room on the third floor." Marie the owner of the guest house boasted proudly as she drank some wine with the keepers of the other guest houses in the lane.
"Marie you never seem to have that one vacant." Said one woman.
"So did you tell him what happened in that room three weeks back?" said another in jealousy but Marie simply shrugged and replied,
"Rooms are furnished for renting, we all have a living to make."
"You are right dear Marie, I remember it was last week I helped you get rid of the old duvet stained in red blood. Poor child, wonder what happened."
"She was a beautiful lass, her only blemish was the scar on her arm."
~ The End
A/N - This is the original ending of the story! Look at the comment below for the alternative ending for those who would rather want a happier ending.
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