Minutes Before The Miracle

CHAPTER - 12

Dedicated to all my readers.

It's been a long long time and I haven't given an update. The reason is examinations. It's still on but since I got a little time for myself, I decided to update.

So, here it is!

Hope you enjoy.

Happy reading.

-x-

Thought of the chapter:-

You find it difficult to fathom...
I find it onerous to explain...

-x-

EMMA

I stare at the magnificent ivory white mansion with large black characters proclaiming 'BRADSHAW HOUSE'. After pushing in some more oxygen and gazing at the perfection of engineering for some more time, I walk in with uneasy and unsure steps.  The elevator opens and paves the path to a brightly lit white and gold entryway, with bold paintings hanging down the walls. Stepping into the living, I stare in awe. Entirely furnished and soberly designed, there isn't a speck of flaw in this regal hall. In the middle, sits a seven seater L-shaped leather sofa, accentuated with a glass covered hardwood coffee table. Asymmetrical vases, abstract paintings and pots of greenery intricately festoons the hall.

I stand spellbound with my mind repeating what my lips couldn't emanate - WOW!

"Excuse me, may I help you?"

I jerk back to reality and my eyes snap towards a brunette, seemingly in her thirties, apparently dressed in work clothes, covered in a long apron.

"Umm... Actually, I had come to meet Mr. Bradshaw."

"And you are..." she asks in a polite voice with a raised eyebrow.

"I am Emma Grey."

"Oh... Hello." Her face show signs of recognition. "I will inform him. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks... I am good."

The lady walks away with her two-inch heels clinking and I look out through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, constructed in an indoor-outdoor concept.

The electrifyingly beautiful vista of New York with its sky penetrating edifices spreading on forever and the busy but kaleidoscopic lifestyle is beguiling.

"Miss Grey."

I hear a deep voice and think of the quintessential tough guy - strong, silent and self-contained. This man has his hands everywhere. Telecommunications, construction, agriculture, literature, restaurants... You simply have to name it. I turn off my admiration mode and turn around to face him.

"Good morning." I wish with a sweet smile.

"Morning."

He stands all tall and handsome in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. It takes me some time to digest the casual look but the fact is this man pulls up to look gorgeous, chic and clean-cut everytime, no matter the outfit.

"Umm... I came to take the books..."

"The books..." he says.

"...if you are free." I quickly add.

He nods. "Follow me."

I walk behind him to witness a huge hall, entirely filled with books, arranged in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. On the other side is a coffee-caramel study table with a sheaf of paper, a stack of folders and a stand of pens.

Right now, I am strongly reminded of the British Library. I can sit here all day, surrounded by books, picking one after the other and turning the pages to new chapters, both of the book and my own life.

I amble towards the first shelf.

"Business... Business... Business..." I continue fingering the books and humming a sing-song.

"Romance is on the last shelf. Both classic and contemporary." I look over my shoulder at the man standing behind my back. "Tea or coffee?" He distracts me again.

"Oh... Thanks. Coffee will do."

"Latte?"

My lips curve a little, knowing that he remembers my choice of coffee.

"Latte it is."

My curve widens as I glance at the tousled damp hair of my boss as he walks out.

Instead of walking to the last shelf, my  ever curious mind wanders to the study table and my feet are on command. A very unique peach shade folder catches my eye.

I draw out the first sheet from the bunch and it reads ...AND I STAND AND STARE in bold jet black letters.

           ...AND I STAND AND STARE

In this clear and moonlit night,
With brilliance unveiling the entire sight,
Through the transparency, I stand and stare,
Into void, into oblivion, into utter wilderness.

New York stands as it does after dusk,
Skyhigh structures, scintillating lights and tranquility.
But does the height, the twinkle and the serenity reflect in me?
I question to contemplate as I stand and stare.

My mind wanders to unchartered territories,
And pictures a regular life of a corporate man.
Just like me, his day starts earlier and ends late,
With paperwork, conferences and calls, he's absolutely drained.

A night club with upbeat music and drunk dance,
A mother's scream reverberating from the walls,
And the joy of a child on getting a candy,
The fervent love-making of a passionate couple.

I try and push my wandering mind,
'cause I need answers to questions, I am unable to find.
Swiftly, I listen to a soft melodious voice that says,
'Everyone is happy and sad, it just depends on our ways.'

Do I believe it? Is it right or is it flawed?
Can I ever be happy after sorrow flows in my blood?
I sigh 'cause the voice doesn't answer anymore,
And I feel shattered way down from the core.

Does the height, the twinkle and the serenity reflect in me?
I stand and stare since nobody replies to my plea.

"He writes songs." I murmur as I go down the lines again and yet again.

"...so deep and awe-inspiring." I think out loud.

Without a second thought, I flip through the stack of sheets as my attention was caught by another heading.

                       'HAZEL EYES'

And I start pulling the sheet from the stack.

"Your latte... What the...!!"

-x-

Question of the chapter:-
What is your favorite poem? Also mention the poet.

-x-

This is one of my favorite chapters. I simply loved writing it.

I hope you liked it as well.

Read, vote and please comment.

Till then, be safe and keep reading...