THE FIRST ENCOUNTER

It was fine Saturday morning as I remember. Trees were shedding leaves as I was walked through town. Ron Pope was singing I was praying that you and me might end up together… on my phone. After ten minutes of walking I stopped at a book store to look at some books. I picked up a title by Murakami from the bulky stack of books sitting on different shelves, arranged systemically. I was skimming the book’s blurb when a scent drew my attention and distracted me from my reading. The smell diffused and lingered as it drifted down my throat, making me gulp down an ounce of saliva. It tasted manly. I found myself thinking. As I turned, hoping to find the right person, I saw a man approaching from my right side.

Oh god, he is coming my way.

He was tall. His physical build was hardly the kind to attract people but something about him hooked me, like an energy flow. I felt connected to him and looked in his eyes. They were almond shaped, as mysterious as the depths of ocean. They glimmered and glowed. A shiver shot down my spine.

‘Umm….can you spare some time? Could you help me out a little? I need some help. No one seems available. I felt like asking you in particular’, he said much like a soft whisper.

I looked around me, knowing very few people were in the back of the store.  That early on a Saturday morning most people would rather be warm in their beds, sleeping in, than wandering around a bookshop. I tried to look normal and betray the nervousness I was feeling deep down.

‘Su…sure, why not?’ I said, and trembled as I felt my voice breaking.

‘Are you from around here? I mean, I am new in town, only here for a short time and don’t have enough time to go through all the books. This store is huge, and I, I need a book… Could you please show me to the fiction section?’

Fiction? Fiction and guys are like winter and ice-cream. I can’t imagine both at a time. He must be a big reader.

I walked him towards the fiction section. Our walk was short. He walked gently with large steps. Mine were comparatively smaller and fast. His breathing was silent and slow, but quickly came to match my faster breaths, in a common rhythm that seemed to form a sweet tune -  ‘thak-thik, thak-thik’.

‘This is what you asked for…fiction. The entire world is here.’

 ‘Thanks…thank you…You like Murakami?’ he said looking at the book I was holding.

‘No, I don’t like him - I am in lu-uve with his works.’

Silence fell between us, except for my heart that is, which was beating so loud that I was almost sure he could hear it thumping in my chest. I could count the beats with ease, a stethoscope would have been wasted. One, two and maybe five. The moment was not one of those awkward-what-to-do-moments. Rather, we were there, but lost together in another time and space.

‘Any particular reason? I mean, why do you love him? ’

‘Why….hmm...He is different and I feel connected. We live in different parts of the world yet I feel he knows me, knows me somehow and writes about me. Like you know, he has been there in my life. Like he’s seen through what I’ve done and where I’ve been. Sometimes it touches me, in such an intense way. Well, he sort of messes with my mind and…..gets me to think and think more. I have read many authors but it feels like no one has successfully left the impact he has.

‘Yeah, I feel that way too...but not as much as you.’

‘Really? You do? Have you read him? I mean, you like fiction, but I didn’t see it coming.’

‘Four books in a row. I liked him too. The way he writes makes me feel, umm….how to put it…..yeah, that’s it! Empty and shallow. Partly because of the characters he has created.’ He smiled sideways.

There he knows how to smile.

One, two, three.  In just three seconds, a moment, a click in time and something like a flash of lightning passed, a thunder bolt hit right at my fist-sized heart. A nice well targeted shot it was. My blood rushed up, down and throughout. My heart rate soared, beating faster and faster. Actually, it skipped some beats, I think. More than words; something that words are not enough to express and explain. It was huge and vast. If as they say, it was love at first sight, then I would go back in time so I could feel it again, all over again.

He looked up and down for books; so good his focus was.

‘Dreams…Do you believe in dreams turning into reality? Tell me about your dreams. I don’t know but I feel like it’s the right thing to ask. Don’t get me wrong, I swear you are in safe hands. It’s okay if you don’t answer.’ He said all of a sudden, looking upright.

‘No, its fine…My dreams…mine..? Okay, but it needs to be fair, so tell me yours too in return.’

‘Good god…’ he said, mocking me.

It took me a while. I began, ‘There are lots of dreams. But, I have this one dream, from a long time back. I dreamt of becoming a writer, probably in ten to twenty years. I am dying to write something like Murakami’s, you know somewhat inspirational, motivational or something that connects people that makes them feel special. That sums it up pretty much.’

How did it come up? How? I don’t know. I just blurted it out, like my lips and mind were in sync. Something my girlfriends don’t know which I shared with an hour-long stranger who came out of the blue. That dream was beyond me and my imagination yet it was me in bits. Part. Me. Such is my dream that even after a year it is unknown to others but not to him.

‘Whoa…..that is a bi-ig dream. I am sure you’ll make good on it’

 ‘Thank you. Now, you…What’s yours?’ I asked.

‘Dream, hmm, I never seriously considered… I asked you because you look like someone determined and capable of doing something’, he said tossing the book in his hands back and forth.

‘So you are telling me you don’t have one? That’s unfair!’

‘No. Let’s make it fair then. I am a talented day dreamer and an even better night dreamer. I am dreamless when I am literally awake. That doesn’t mean I am hopeless. I have this bizarre dream of settling in a countryside doing farm work. This is what I have dreamt. There you go, I shared.’

We were so into our talk that we lost all sense of time. And did we talk. He said he had never had our kind of talk, or shared that way with anyone. He didn’t realize time could pass by easily. A step closer to confession and several other steps were made as he walked to the door bidding me good-bye. He turned back and smiled. That was the last picture I had of him, the last I saw of him. I close my eyes now to capture him, try to picture him. Blank. Blank. I can’t put together how he looked. We didn’t introduce ourselves. We skipped giving names. The first thing two strangers would do. But we didn't.

I hope we meet again, soon he said then. It took a year. Now, he is here standing right beside me, looking and smiling his precious smile, wearing the same scent that I adored so much. Some people talk about love at first sight but I guess for us it was love at first scent.