Sacrifice And Realisation (BOOK #1) ✔

Chapter 64 (Blockbuster)

Chapter 64

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The stage curtain was rolling up on it's own and the faint sounds of rattling and whistling of a public train became audible to the audience. A partially lit up umbrage appeared in the midst of the darkness of the stage and a very renowned voice rushed a tremor through Sanchi's skin.

"Love sometimes can happen coincidentally whose cornerstone may have already been set ages ago." The modulated voice of Chetan stiffened Sanchi in her place as his figure came to her view all of a sudden.

When the lights were lit up, Sanchi stared at his outfit in awe. Chetan was wearing a neatly polished grey suit and a pair of brown boots. He was standing on the podium placed in a vivid corner of the stage and his left hand was clasped on to the microphone confidently.

To add more to Sanchi's amazement, little eight year old Cyril made his way on to the stage, wearing a neatly ironed button down shirt and dark blue denims, a baby gun tucked to his right pocket. Murmuring into the wireless microphone in his childish voice, he tried imitating a hoarse-like attitude in him, "What on Earth would like to mess with me, with the ferocious DCP of Indore?"

Darting a shoe at the dead wall clock next to him, he continued, "How much I hate stuttering things! Speaking of women species, I can't tolerate them at all."

Dragging himself strenuously across the stage, Cyril turned his face to look at the animated video casted on the screen behind him using a projector. A station platform came into view of the audience and a colorful toy train was rattling on it's track. Chetan jumped out of the podium and stood abreast Cyril, nudging him on the shoulders.

"Why do you hate stuttering things, boy? These stuttering things are like the clock in the poetry, 'Hickory Dickory Dock'. All the three hands of a clock stutter for a fraction of a second or for a minute or for an hour before they march forward. But don't they show us the right time always? Hence, we are never scared of the hands of the clock but we are always scared of time. It is the bad times in our lives which we are scared of. All the stuttering things are never bad." When Chetan uttered these lines to Cyril, Sanchi's throat turned dry and fingers ran cold from the shocking ecstasy.

The meaningful speech coming from Chetan touched the hearts of the audience and they shook their heads at one another. The limelight shifted to an another emerging child-like figure from behind the stage and Sanchi's palms automatically got lifted up to her mouth, covering it in utter surprise. The six years old Tiara was dressed in a beautiful suit and high heels, an identity card hung around her neck.

The scene in the projector shifted to a very old mutilated mansion and the sound of a gunshot was heard in the background. Tiara almost fell to the bed of the stage while pushing Cyril away from the trajectory. Sanchi was having tough time breathing with the scenes before her. "Why are they recre-ating my sto-ry with Vih-aan? Isn't Tiara dress-ed up like me?"

Chetan stood on the podium again, speaking into the microphone, "They didn't know what their future held but they were bound together by destiny. They were poles apart and wouldn't come to terms with each other. Brawling over every little issue was their ultimate motto of life."

Raising eyebrows and fiercely looking eyeballs, Cyril folded his arms together and stood facing Tiara. "Who do you think I am?"

Lowering her voice but gazing directly into Cyril's eyes, Tiara stammered, "Arro-gant."