Colliding Destinies

Chapter 1 - A Time to Fly

"I'm sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect."

                                                                                                                           -Catcher in the Rye

Dot kissed her mother good night. Her mother smiled for Dot didn't do that often, that is, being nice to her mother. Dot could see her father speaking loudly on phone in the garden across windows, probably his secretary, maybe passing last minute instructions for his trip to Europe tomorrow. She was glad that she will be able to slip into her room without having to confront him. She walked barefoot in her house despite numerous scolding since childhood. Dressed in a denim shorts and a sleeveless vest that loudly declared 'Satan Rules', she looked much younger than her nineteen years. She had short hair messed up deliberately with few strands of blood red. She had big warm eyes and large textbook lips that seem to have drawn with pencil on her face. Her features we neat and tidy. Her five foot six frame was lean except for her butt with which she had a love-hate relationship. Despite her efforts, she couldn't mar her own prettiness. She had flawless skin. Moles on her face (total count of four) somehow spotted her in a manner to make her more endearing. But then, she had always wanted to be a badass than be beautiful. Attention her beauty has given to her has mostly been bad.

Her room was on first floor. This gave her privacy as also a good view of manicured garden of her house. It was her private kingdom. Other than the cleaning lady who came in the morning, no one else had came to her room for ages. Her father would rather summon her through loud yell than come to her room. She had banned her mother from entering her room. She has realized at early age that she could twist her mother to her wishes. She has stumbled upon a secret which gave her the power. It was a biggish room with a comfortable bed. No pinks for her. Dot only kept what she loved. There was a balcony with a couch, where she smoked and brooded on many evenings. Inside the room, there was a treadmill, a large bookshelf with books she had read over years. A large screen with state of art sound system. A biggish study table with scattered books and a worn out diary with weathered leather covers. In nutshell, her life in her palace revolved around things she loved – thin olive cigarettes, her books, her need to run, very loud music and a diary which was her treasure box.

She looked at her bed with satisfaction. The bed was littered with two sets each of jeans, shorts, tees, sports bra and bright coloured panties. A fleece jacket, light weight towel, her I-phone with biggish wireless headphones, a swiss knife, a water bottle, her toiletries kit, two books and pepper spray. The trek coordinator has said 15 kgs should ideally the weight of her backpack. She didn't need much. She started putting things in her backpack. The diary on her table came on top. There were still two hours for her escape, she wanted her parents to fall asleep. True adventure was never based on half measures. She had planned well. She could have informed her mother but decided she would rather call her when she was on train. She started the treadmill. She wanted to run, it always soothed her nerves.