Fairy Dust

He nods a ‘see-you-later’ to his colleague after switching off his computer and dragging his chair in place. His palm lingers on the chair, a last glance at the warm black screen. Putting hands in pockets, he turns and walks out of the room, the floor, the building. She is waiting for him just outside the large sliding doors. Standing with most of her weight on one leg, a hand on her hip. Sheets of rain collapse every second in front of the parapet, just beyond the reach of her feet. Her hands are full of purse, umbrella, raincoat and a cell phone. A long painted fingernail taps the blank screen of the phone.

He walks out of the sliding doors to pause beside her. Honking cars flood the road in front of them. He takes the backpack off his shoulders, puts it on the smooth white marble between his feet, unzips it and takes out an umbrella. Her eyes skim his frame bent over the bag. She shifts a purse strap off her shoulder to unzip its hidden pocket and puts her cell phone inside. The wind changes direction. Strands of hair get in her eyes. Sharp, pointed drops hit miles and miles of stationary motored-metal. She takes off her purse and follows him in putting the umbrella on it between her feet. The umbrella slides off the black leather and rolls until he grabs it and straightens. She puts on her navy blue raincoat.

Aadarsh hands her the umbrella before she bends to pick up her bag. They reach for each other’s hands. Pop. Pop. The umbrellas open. As they walk into the evening pandemonium, rain shatters on the flimsy cover between them and the wrath of three million Gods.

Shahana's neck bends a tad forward, shoulders hunch, she tightens her hold on the umbrella handle. A smile she is not able to suppress springs out like a wild animal leaping on prey. The wind changes direction again, smacking her lower body with shards of rain. Her hand slips from his wet grasp. He is bending down, talking to the auto-driver. At his nod, she hustles herself, the dripping umbrella and her purse inside the temporary, fragile refuge of the auto. Rain-slaps are louder under the thick plastic roof. A giggle escapes her mouth. His thigh brushes hers as he scrambles beside her. FM radio blares a popular hindi movie song punctured by the hammering rain. Laughter bubbles inside her like acid. Before she knows it, she’s throwing up: a long unsteady stream of laughter. He looks at her with a frown: handkerchief in hand, wiping his face. She reaches out to the iron rod dividing their space from the driver’s and holds on to it. The driver is done tapping his feet to the music when cars move in front of him. The auto flaps in the wind as it speeds up.