Have you given thought to Mr. Khandelwal's son?" Alpana inquired as soon as Khanak came downstairs for lunch.
"Mom, I think you already know the answer. How can you possibly expect me to absorb all that has happened recently? And that too, so soon," Khanak was polite, but quick to reply. Clearly she wasn't unaffected by dear Mr. Khandelwal's son.
"Well, you've had over 168 hours to ponder over things, organize your pretty little mind and remind yourself that the world hasn't come crashing down! This is but a thing every girl dreams of and I'm sure your Mills & Boons won't have kept you away from such matters."
A young girl in her early twenties was seen closing her eyes momentarily, to drain some of the anger that threatened to explode the dining room in the reasonably well to do London apartment. She then took out a chair and sat down to eat quietly. There was no point in arguing.
Her mother was right, but so was she. And it is common when both parties in a dispute are right, that every argument seems justified but every opponent is not understood. In this case, however, Khanak knew somewhere in her heart that her mother was right and that there was no denying that Khanak had had her own fantasies of her Prince Charming like every other girl. And this was precisely why she wouldn't accept this proposal as it was. She wasn't going to sign off her life's dreams like any other business deal.
Business deal? her mind asked.
Did she actually think her father would treat his daughter's marriage like yet another business deal?
Dear Shaantanu Khandelwal
As I write you this letter, my mind beckons me to ponder whether publicly receiving your phonecall is any more obvious than the household seeing a letter addressed by a Shaantanu Khandelwal in the pile of mail. Anyhow, as things stand right now, a letter would be manageable.
There. She was done with it. Short and to-the-point.
As if on their own accord, her eyes shifted to the parchment sitting besides her wooden penholder. She counted the lines; they weren't shorter than the ones she had written. Relieved, she closed her eyes and sat back on the chair, her head resting on the back of it.
Thousands of thoughts swarmed her brain. She had been particular to write few lines so as not to sound too eager to talk to Shaantanu but her letter was shorter than his, now that she had compared the two.
Does it make me look uninterested?
Or, if not uninterested, then impolite?
Does it imply that I am unhappy with his letter?
Am I unhappy with his letter?
Will he think that I have analysed his letter?
That I am too eager to sound unaffected?
Will he laugh at my futile attempt to sound indifference?
Or scoff at my miserable attempt at high-handedness?
Her eyes shot open. This would not do. She could not simply go on thinking about a man and his thoughts. A man whom she had met just a few days ago. A man whose existence she did not even know until a week ago.
Whatever he thought, or will think- her mind reasoned- Khanak you will never find out. You aren't a mind reader.
So, the best thing to do would be to seal that letter she had written in her cursive scrawl and post it to his address. Whatever he would make out of the letter, she would find out in his reply- if a reply ever came that is.
Edited by ABlank90 - 22 June 2012 at 10:52am