The Stoic
A Short Story
Author: Jansi
Hari’s mind was filled entirely with thoughts of her. He could hardly believe that it had been only a month since he had first seen her. In just one month, she had become as close to his heart as the parents and younger sister he had loved all his life.
Their parents had spoken to each other and even fixed a date for their wedding. These days, all he could think about was her. Even now, the woman riding on the bike ahead of him looked like her.
No, no… Would she really travel so closely with another man on a bike?
Before he could finish the thought, the woman on the bike turned around. It was her!
Sathya… Was that really Sathya? Hari could not believe his eyes for a moment.
What startled him was not that she was riding with someone else. He had always seen her with a bright smile lighting up her face, chattering endlessly about one thing or another, or pretending to be serious while teasing someone and suppressing a burst of laughter as she rolled those large eyes. He had never seen such confusion on her face before.
Something was wrong. His instinct told him so. After all, the woman he was about to marry was the one sitting there. Keeping a little distance, he began to follow them.
He had met her through one of his mother’s friends, who had been looking for a suitable bride for him for several months. He had been told that she came from a good family, was a woman of good character, and worked in a private company.
His mother had made her own enquiries and confirmed the same. So, on an auspicious day, he had gone to see her.
After that, he had got her phone number, and the memories of their conversations—day and night—rose in his mind.
Calling it a conversation between them was not quite accurate, was it? She talked, and he listened.
She was such a chatterbox. He used to smile to himself, thinking that perhaps she could even manage to listen if someone told her not to eat, but if someone told her not to talk, she simply would not be able to obey.
He was surprised at how she had changed him. Where had his old impatience gone? He used to become irritated whenever someone talked continuously. But now? Even if Sathya talked for hours, he listened with an unchanged smile. Sometimes he wondered whether, if given a chance, he would end up like the man in the advertisement who keeps saying, “Tell me one more time.”
If someone asked whether he had liked her the very first time he saw her, even though his mother had sent him to meet her, he would not know what to say.
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