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This is a continuation of a story I first wrote. I intend writing a long short-story. Hopefully, I will be able to develop further the core idea very soon.

Don't leave. Anjali's doe-like eyes pleaded. Flooded with tears that stoically refused to trickle, yet refusing to be placated. The soft rays of the setting sun entered between the bars of the window and cast a mushy glow on her that longed to be caressed and held in my hands.

I looked at my hands. Large, rough, hardened. My hands yearned for her soft palms, my fingers longed for her delicately shaped ones that playfully intertwined with mine. I looked at her, at the yellow chiffon dupatta curled around her neck and shoulders. How radiant she looked even in sadness! I stared at her for a while. What was it about her that pulled me away from my world into hers. Was it the curious mix of sheer brilliance of conviction admixed with the genteel charm she exuded? Was it the sharp contrast of her quiet disposition in the public against the opinionated and outspoke I knew when we were in each other's company. She always had and has this knowing look in her eyes, the quiet confidence that I quickly lost myself in. She would listen in wondrous innocence, like a child discovering the world; and then she could speak in a continuous gush of words as if there were no tomorrow.

What was it about her I wondered. I mulled. I hated confusion. I hated ambiguity. I hated this quagmire of not having my answers. And then again, I loved every second of this medusa.

to be contd.