The Writer!

In the circle of many fans, admirers she was shinning bright with her winning smile, as that evening her book launch was a success. A crowd of people, both genders, young and old were eager to get their copies signed by her, and she loved it. On each book she wrote a personalized note in the name of the owner while hearing their loving and kind compliments about her writing skills, charismatic personality or her previous books. Some were wishing her luck with her just-launched-book and upcoming books. She was all smiles. He appeared from within the crowd and came near to her, he had no book-to-be-signed in his hand but a small business card; “I am Kamal Hassan” He said in a made-up husky voice. She gave him a short glance, as a lady with red scarf had all her attention, as she was signing her book, “With Love” she wrote, as she noticed the bold red lipstick on the lady’s lips, he spoke again, this time a bit louder “I run my own digital and marketing firm” she felt annoyed as her attention was deviated from a beautiful sight--- all RED. She tried to look at his face and he continued “I personally appreciate creative people like you, specially ladies” he smiled sheepishly and continued “I strongly believe in women empowerment” he chewed the terminology, “I have many projects in the pipeline, if you need to excel in the field, while promoting your writings, or even if you have plans to make a movie based on any of your books..” He presented his card to her “here is my card, would love to hear from you soon, maybe we can meet for a cup of coffee?” she ignored the question with a less brighter smile and deliberately indulged her gaze and being in the next copy-to-be-signed in her hands. She felt he was gone. She felt relieved.

After the event came to a happy ending, she was walking towards the main gate of the venue, with the business card still in her hand. Tania came running from behind and gripped her shoulders “Oh my my! You are a super hit ma’am” she pretended an incomplete bow. “Who was he?” Tania’s eyes were on the card, “I don’t know!” Zunaira replied “Wow, attitude madam! I wish I had such  handsome admirers” Tania was full on in teasing mode. “Don’t” Zunaira twisted the card in her hand and threw it towards a dustbin “Just don’t!” she stood firm on her feet with a WARNING message in her eyes, as displayed on the boards with a danger sign immediate before a deep, dark and un-walled well. Zunaira stepped out of the gate and disappeared in the darkness of the street, Tania was puzzled. A car screeched its way out of the parking and moved away.

Driving swiftly on the wider roads of the capital, Zunaira felt irritated, which was quite contrary to her own idea of driving back to her home that evening. It was her 4th book launch, a success, well appreciated by press, fans and critics, she should be happy, but no, here she was all irritated. Why do these men come up with their fake accents, pseudo egos and mask printed with “we support women empowerment” while all they do is to prey to satisfy their chauvinistic souls. They know the tricks to woo the creative minds, beautiful souls and blah blah while their fat unmannered wives, drenched in sweat of kitchens or gyms are waiting for them back at home, either expecting or planning their next baby… “What was his name?” she mocked in her heart “Mr. Alligatero Elephentino or Mr. Boar De Crocodile, whatever, they are not satisfied, they can never be satisfied… all they can is RUIN A GOOD EVENING”

It was not the first time, suddenly a face appeared in her mind holding a card in his hand, but no book-to-be-signed, his small yet shiny eyes flashed in her memory “Hi I am Nadeem Shah!”

She parked her car on the left side of the road, she can’t drive with that vivid memory flashing and sparkling in her mind, she still can’t be careless towards his memory, that’s blasphemy. It was a similar evening six years ago, she sighed while watching out of the car’s window, and it was her second book’s launch. He approached her in the same manner, similar conversation, a bit change of words here and there, but his big, dark full lips captured her attention, so much so that she forgot for a second where she was. His strong masculine voice brought her back to the real world. She still gets amazed at that why all she could see in him was his lips, weird. The only difference that evening was that she held his card firmly on her way back home, almost six years ago. She doesn’t clearly remember how the conversation started but she still remembers their first meeting at a posh café. The smell of fresh and hot coffee and that taste of the soft and well baked brownie was still fresh in her senses. Not once or twice but many times they met, chatting about all the topics of the world, universe, skies, oceans, people, Paris except her books. She loved it anyways, she loved him and he admired it. He appreciated how she was a strong woman, yet was eager to see her at the most soft moments of her being, and he did, with all the strength of his own masculine being. Not once or twice… but many times. It was all magical, till a phone call gave her a wake-up call, it was his wife, abusing her in Punjabi, wildly selecting native slangs and loudly blaming Zunaira for destroying her house. Zunaira was shunned, how could she tell her that it was not only one but two houses she brought at the verge of destruction, other one was her own. Tears ran down her eyes, she came back to the ticking clock of present. It was already late. She drove fast towards the quite narrow lanes of the posh sector, turned towards an open main gate into the porch of a bungalow. Azfar Hussain was waiting at the front door, but watching the car turning in; he wore a sudden look on his face as he just came out to have a look at the sky, probably. How can he let Zunaira think that he is a conservative worried husband? Or worst he had any doubts about her. No he cannot afford that, he has an amazingly successful and beautiful wife, well appreciated by all the “who’s who” of the social status he moves in. Azfar always used to pretend, almost, blushing against his dark skin, when anyone would give him all the credit for Zunaira’s successful career as the writer. “Thank you so much, I am honored, she is wonderful herself, I am just a proud husband clapping on every step of her success” he would smile with his barely seen lips.

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Typed this Short story on 6th July 2017 12.30 am... The flow of thought was THAT Vivid.

This Short story is inspired from an instance my eyes picked at a book launch I attended almost 2 years ago, If you are wondering, I am the lady with the bold Red Lipstick, Tada!