The tale of the lost poet

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4: Gift
(Decided to go for english this one chapter)

The streets were bustling with the usual evening crowd, but there was an unusual excitement in the air. Posters announcing a special birthday poetry event by the enigmatic poet adorned every corner. For most, it was another chance to witness the mystique of the celebrated poetess, but for me, it was a night charged with nervous anticipation.

I had spent the entire day scouring the city for the perfect gift. It had to be something unique, something that would stand out among the sea of presents she would undoubtedly receive. I finally settled on an antique fountain pen, beautifully crafted, with an intricate design that seemed to whisper of forgotten stories and untold secrets-much like the poet herself.

As I made my way to the venue, the weight of the small, elegantly wrapped box in my pocket felt heavier with each step. The venue was already packed when I arrived, a mix of avid fans and curious onlookers, all drawn by the allure of the mysterious poet. I found a seat near the back, my mind racing as I rehearsed what I might say to her.


The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd. She stepped onto the stage, her presence commanding and ethereal. Dressed in a simple yet elegant black dress, she looked every bit the enigma that she was known to be. Her expression was, as always, unreadable, her eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for something-or someone.

"On the eve of another year, Beneath the veil of whispered cheer, A candle flickers in the night, Softly waltzing with the light. A year has passed, a page has turned, In silent reverie, lessons learned. Beneath the calm, a heart concealed, In verses spoken, truths revealed. Her eyes reflect the twilight's glow, A thousand tales she'll never show. In every line, in every rhyme, Echoes of an unspoken time. Amidst the crowd, she stands alone, A queen without a gilded throne. Her voice, a river, deep and wide, Carries sorrows she cannot hide. Yet tonight, the world will sing, With joy and gifts, their offerings bring. But in her soul, a quiet plea, For moments lost, for what could be. The laughter rings, the glasses clink, Yet to the shadows, her thoughts will sink. For every year, a fleeting breath, A dance with life, a waltz with death. She wears her mask of stoic grace, A timeless beauty, a porcelain face. Yet in her gaze, the stars align, A poet's heart, a soul divine. So raise a toast to fleeting days, To hidden tears and veiled displays. For in her silence, there's a song, A whispered truth, where she belongs. Beneath the stars, a wish she'll make, For gentle dawns and hearts that ache. In every poem, a piece of her, A timeless tale in whispered blur."

Her performance was, as expected, mesmerizing. Her words flowed with a grace and power that held everyone captive. Each poem seemed to peel back a layer of her soul, yet somehow, she remained an enigma, her true self hidden behind the veil of her art.

When the performance ended, the room erupted in applause. She acknowledged the crowd with a slight nod, then stepped down from the stage, disappearing into a small crowd of well-wishers and fans who had gathered with their gifts.

My heart pounded as I approached the throng. I waited patiently, watching as she graciously accepted the various tokens of admiration. Finally, it was my turn. She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine. I felt a jolt of nervousness but managed to find my voice.


"Happy birthday, Miss Aurora." I said, handing her the small box.

She took it, her fingers brushing against mine briefly. For a moment, our eyes locked, and I thought I saw a flicker of something-curiosity, perhaps?-in her otherwise impassive gaze. She unwrapped the gift with deliberate slowness, revealing the antique pen. She examined it carefully, her expression still inscrutable.

"... It's beautiful," she said finally, her voice soft but clear. "Thank you."


I felt a rush of relief and something else-pride, maybe?-at her words. I wanted to say something more, to keep the moment from slipping away, but before I could, someone else stepped forward, eager to wish her well.

As the evening wore on, I found myself standing on the periphery, watching her interact with others. Despite the crowd, she seemed solitary, an island unto herself. I wondered what it would take to truly know her, to understand the person behind the poetry.

As the event began to wind down, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. She moved gracefully through the crowd, accepting compliments and gifts with a polite but distant demeanor. I debated whether to approach her again, my mind racing with uncertainty.

Suddenly, she turned and our eyes met once more. My heart skipped a beat as she started to make her way towards me. Panic surged through me. What would I say? What if she found me awkward or boring?

But then, just as quickly as she had turned towards me, she veered off course, stopping to speak with someone else. Relief washed over me, mingled with a tinge of disappointment.

I lingered a while longer, watching her from afar, until the crowd began to thin and the venue staff started to usher people towards the exit. With a sigh, I resigned myself to the fact that tonight was not the night for meaningful conversation.

As I stepped out into the cool night air, I felt a sense of emptiness settle over me. I had come here with the hope of unraveling the mystery of the poet, but instead, I found myself more intrigued-and more confused-than ever before.

As I made my way home, the image of her impassive face lingered in my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her than met the eye, that beneath the mask of aloofness lay a world of untold stories and hidden depths.

Determined to uncover the truth, I resolved to attend her next poetry event. Perhaps then, I thought, I would finally get the chance to know the woman behind the enigma.

And so, with renewed determination, I set out to unravel the mystery of the poet, unaware of the twists and turns that lay ahead, and the profound impact she would have on my life.