The Unventured Passions

Strangers in the Dark ❤️

Six months ago...

It is said that the dark is the cradle of the light-angels, the promise of regeneration. And that lightless night wasn't any different.
It was a new moon night, a night for the moon to rest, leaving the earth in it's dark veil of longing... longing for dawn, for light, for life!
The night sky too, was devoid of any stars, only the polestar playing hide and seek with the black clouds. And, the whistling breeze of the Ganga river added to the extracelestial ambience of the night, it had tuned perfectly with the slow soft melody of a distant flute whose notes, very familiar, had travelled to the marbled banks of the river, ruffling the long open traces of the hourglass silhouette standing there in silence.
It was an old Scottish ballad... the tune, and the woman had closed her eyes as her lips automatically hummed the words.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne!"

The flute has abruptly stopped for a moment, but it was only for a moment before it started to play the next set of notes, matching the melodious voice of the woman's faint song.

A soft smile made her lips curled, she too played alone, sang the next words, perfectly, and a little louder.

"For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne!"

Her words were in sync with the flute, her pronunciation was immaculate, and her eyes were closed, lost in the beauty of the moment.

"You have an amazing voice."

The words, coming from the river, had startled the woman, standing at the bank, she felt a soft chill run down her body making her shiver a bit.

"Thank you." She replied back to the wind.

The breeze was strong, making her struggle to manage her hair. She pulled the shawl covering her shoulders closer to her breasts and contemplated leaving the place.

"Aren't you scared?" The deep husky voice spoke again, coming from the side of the river, a little closer this time.

"No." The woman promptly replied.
"Should I be?"

A soft chuckle echoed through the wind, as the woman heard the same deep masculine voice once again.

"Fear is only a state of mind."

The woman smiled and gulped at the same time.
"What are you? A jinn? A ghost?"

Her words were accompanied by a roll of laughter coming from the river, a lighthearted, lively roll of laughter.

"Any other guesses?" The voice asked.

"Umm... An English Ghost? Your accent is very... Very Scottish." The woman had pressed her lips in a playful smile, her ears had heard a few splashes of water as her eyes traced the outline of a small boat approaching near her in the river.

"A Scottish Ghost in a Boat!" She giggled.

"You song is very Scottish as well." The man had replied back.
"Where did you learn it?"

"From my mother... She... She was half Scott." The woman breathed the words.

The man had probably noticed the use of tense in her words and the sudden change of her tone. He quickly tried to change the topic and spoke up, tearing the veil of the night.
"I aren't any ghost... definitely aren't Scott... I'm very, very Indian."