Poetic Sensibility

29- Curiosity And Burlesque

Hi! So there's been a lot of speculation about where the story is going and what's going to happen exactly. And let me answer that for you! The story is going forward. I'm looking to end it somewhere around part 45-50. However, I already do have another story in mind which I plan on starting soon! It will be a completely different theme (as opposed to Poetic Sensibility) and I'm super excited about it. Also, as for the end of Poetic Sensibility... do not expect a sudden twist. You'll be disappointed. While I do want to surprise the reader, I want to do it in a good way. Having a huge twist like someone being kidnapped or murdered isn't something that will happen here. This isn't that kind of a story. The end is going to be far more simple (and pleasant). I hope you continue to read and see the story to its pleasant end! Happy reading! 

      Samay was standing outside Romi's door, waiting for her to answer it. Honestly, he was a little nervous about being here. He had texted her earlier in the day if he could come over as he was hitting the wall when it come to the poem he was currently working on. But if he was going to be honest to himself, he knew he was here to know what she had to offer when it came to her work and her ideas and her inputs. He wanted to know her. And it did surprise him that no one else was all hot and bothered about this.

        Finally, Romi opened the door and invited him in. He walked in and took a seat at the cast iron table. Every time he came to her home, he noticed something new about it that he hadn't before. For example, today he could see the big red and brown rug that took up the floor by the couch that faced the wall-mounted flat-screen television. She sat opposite him as she set down a tray laden with coffee and biscuits.

"So what's up?" Romi asked him, a soft smile playing at her lips.

"Nothing much. Work. The usual. You tell me?" Samay replied.

"Have you finally decided whether you will be joining us for Paris?" Romi asked him.

        Samay looked at her carefully. He had tried so hard to see behind that blank, polite mask she projected. And it finally appeared as if he was seeing through the minute, microscopic cracks in that mask. Even now, as she asked him this question, she had that courteous smile but he could see her eyes shining with curiosity and anticipation. While her back was ramrod straight, her hands were tightly clenched in her lap; as if waiting for a positive answer. That was something Samay was only too happy to deliver.

"Yes. After a lot of persuasion and blackmail from both, Sarah and my brother, I have agreed." He tried to look as composed as possible and failed. He couldn't help returning Romi's genuine, wide grin with one of his own.

"Oh great! It'll be amazing," Romi replied.

"I know," Samay returned. "I've read your blog too."

        This surprised Romi but she recovered quickly. He told her what he thought about her trips to the United Kingdom and Switzerland. He lavished her with compliments when it came to her writing because he really did mean it. He was careful to notice how she would receive them. She was rather dismissive about it. So did she really believe she wasn't all that great a writer?

"So let's see that poem you've been working on," Romi said.

Samay, however, wasn't ready for that just yet. He brought up her blog again, just to get her to open up a little bit about her writing. He was starting to believe that climbing Everest might be easier.

"Why do you never accompany your blog posts with pictures? Don't you click any?" Samay asked.

"We do," Romi replied. "But that was never the purpose of the blog. I firmly believe that words can paint a far more beautiful picture than any photograph."

"Really?" This was interesting. "I hear that a picture speaks a thousand words."

"A picture is limited to a thousand words," Romi replied. "The words I use work their magic depending on how imaginative my reader is. They can be dull and dreary for some and hot and happening for others."

        Samay saw it again. That transformation on her face when she talked about something she was so passionate about. He wanted to see that side of her. What brought out the wild side in her? What did she want to encourage and defend with all that zest he knew she had in her? And why was she so keen on hiding it? This was when he remembered the first time he met her. She had spoken few words with big meanings. She had conveyed all that she had envisioned in those few words. But what did she filter and why did she filter it out was what he was desperate to know.

"So what do you want to see in particular when we go to Paris?" Samay heard her ask.

"The Moulin Rouge, to begin with," Samay replied.

Romi snorted. "You and Keshav would really get along. He, too, has a certain fondness for skimpy clothing."

Samay grinned and replied, "It's less about the women and more to do with the art itself?"

"The art of burlesque? I'm sure," Romi teased. "I had promised Keshav to give him a voucher on exotic dancing classes. I'll be sure to extend one to you as well."

She had that amused glint in her eyes that made her appear really, really warm. "So what do you want to see?" Samay asked her.

"I'm not sure," she replied. Samay had half expected this reply. It wasn't going to be easy for her to reveal something. And yet, he decided to wait. Silence, he knew with Sarah, persuaded her into saying things she wasn't going to say otherwise. It would probably work with Romi too. Except, it didn't. So five minutes later, he asked her again.

"Oh come now, there must be something you really want to see!" he exclaimed.

Romi took a deep breath and replied, "Hmm. I would love to see Bohemian Paris."

Her answer left him as ignorant as he was before he'd asked. "What is that?"

"Bohemian Paris," Romi said again. "The cross-cultured Paris. The Paris where it's more than just the Eiffel Tower or the shopping. I want to see the struggling life of an artist; or the graffiti project in an underground station; or the realism brought in by the jazz musicians to the city."

Samay was floored. Okay. What she wanted to see sounded infinitely better. But then he had an idea. "You know something," he said. "A burlesque artist might know about all this. Maybe that's your way of saying that you really want to see the Moulin Rouge too!"

Romi laughed huskily, "Oh sure. That's what I want to do."

They fell into a companionable silence as he finally handed his notebook to her and she examined the unfinished poem he had written. She was just about to say something when Samay, who could no longer bear it, finally said, "I want to see something you've written."

Samay saw Romi blink. She was surprised, definitely. Finally, she walked up to her shelf where she stacked all her notebooks. She lifted the first three and pulled out the fourth one. Returning to the table, she said, "Okay, then."