Purgatory of soul by the riverside: A Short Story

      

                         I

The mix of colours—red, orange, pink, and purple—scattered in the sky where the heavenly bodies begin to become visible as she steps into the town, where the land mass is less but the pleasant feeling is more. The first thing she notices is that the town is filled with joy she had never seen before. The next thing she notices is the reaction of the people to her visit. She can see that the joy on their faces changes into fear and anxiety as they see her; her appearance and the way she walked made them think that she is a suspicious person.

One twelve-year-old kid walked by her, and she asked the kid, "Why do these people see me like that?"

The kid replied with a trembling voice, "Anyone who-who sees you can say that you are a mysterious person."

The woman replied, "The people of this planet will not stop the act of stereotyping and spurning people. Listen to me! This world will never be interested in understanding you. If you try to understand other people, it will result in mental distress. So the understanding process is unnecessary—be against everything."

Her chaotic and confusing reply made the small kid stare.

The small girl replied, "I can't understand."

This time, the small girl wasn’t scared of her.

The woman replied with no expression, "Some things are not meant to be understood sooner. Live the life that will make you understand at the end of this process. I want a place to live for a few days. Is there any motel or hotel in this town?"

The girl pointed in the right direction and said, "If you walk for a few minutes, you will find a motel."

The woman walked with her hand in her pocket and the bag on her shoulder toward the direction the girl pointed out. The people of the town, who were happily talking in the streets, went inside as they saw this woman walking. She continued to walk, as she always does—destroying happiness and moving on to destroy peace.

She saw a big and old palace in the town behind. After she crossed the palace, she saw a motel by the riverside. There was a river running near the motel. There were benches built along the side of the river. On one of the benches sat a fifty-year-old man with a diary in his lap and a pen in his hand. There was no one except a few books nearby him. He stared at the scenery, deep in thought.

She knew that she had come into his sight, but there wasn’t any change of reaction on his face, which made her wonder—because it was the first time someone wasn’t scared of her.

She moved into the motel and asked, "Is there a room available for a week?"

The receptionist said, "Yes, ma’am, it is available. Fill out the necessary details in this paper," and gave her the paper and pen.

She filled out the details and gave the paper back. He gave her the key and directional instructions to the room.

She asked, "How much does it cost for a week?"

He said with a grin on his face, "All the service, including the room charge, is free for everyone."

She walked away. He asked her to stop and asked, "May I know the way to pronounce your name?"

She said, "The name is Andreado Heather Kenymonson."

He asked, "How do people usually call you?"

She said, "People usually won't call me."

And she disappeared from there and went into the room.

                              II

The motel room is filled with beautiful artworks on its walls. It has one bedroom and a hall. In the hall, there was a large television. The bedroom has a good-sized bed. She kept her bag on the table near her bed; it was a medium-sized desk. She took all her books out of the bag. The topics were more like existential philosophy, forensic science, and psychology. There were poetry books too, but all the books were written by Brumple, a well-known poet in modern times. His poetry was read by people who liked classical books, but his identity is anonymous. No one knows how he looks or even whether he is alive or not.

She took a gun set from the bag. The gun set had small-sized guns and a big pistol with their bullets. She took a knife with blood on it. By seeing that knife, we can say that it was used to kill a person and was used about three days ago. She cleaned off the blood in the sink in the bathroom. In the mirror, she saw herself, and she took the knife and made a very tiny cut on her chin, which later formed a small scar. She pasted a band-aid on her face where she made the cut.

She bathed for an hour and came back into the bedroom. She changed her clothes. Her phone rang. She saw that it was from her boss and picked it up as fast as she could. The first words that came out of her mouth were, "I completed the project you gave me before. Tell me where and when is the next project?"

The boss replied, "Don't be in a rush. You gotta wait for the orders. You need to be there for at least a few days. You've been completing projects continuously without even a break for the past few months. You need to take a break."

She replied, "I am never tired of accomplishing these tasks which I like. And remember, I don't desire human empathy. Don't give any kind of empathy to me. Even though you adopted me, it doesn't mean that you are my father. And I hate this place."

He replied, "I can understand your situation. It's a small town. You try to enjoy it there until the next project is given to you."

She replied in an arrogant tone, "No one will understand me, and I have no other enjoyment in my life other than the work I do. There is no happiness in my world other than doing my work. That’s my world."

The boss replied, "Okay, let you do whatever you want. Just wait for five days."

She said, "The worst thing you can do to me is to make me wait, and you know that I am not a patient person."

And she hung up the phone, as she always does.

She took her diary and started writing:

"My life is full of guns and blood all over. I am so passionate about the art of killing. Every project he assigned to me, I did it perfectly without a mistake. I am not a patient person. For the past seven years, I have been killing people every day, but for the past two days, I was travelling to this small town in order to kill a person the clients assigned. But now the clients are telling us to wait for a few days. My boss knows my impatience, and he didn’t send me the information about the person I need to kill. I can’t wait to kill a person. Today, while I came into this town, the people got scared of me because they haven’t seen a woman like this coming into a peaceful town. I hope this peace in this town may go away in a few days.

It is so weird that this motel doesn’t cost a single penny. Outside, there is a river flowing. I saw a man who was sitting there—he must be 50 or above. He is the only man who didn’t get scared of me, or he didn’t even react to my presence. It was great to be unnoticed. The greatest comfort of life is when no one cares or notices you—but this is very rare in my life. Every time, someone will be thinking or talking about me in our office. But I am privileged that no one loves me."

She went outside and walked for a few minutes. She again noticed the same man sitting there, and there was a small light nearby him. He stared at the scenery, read the books in his hand, and wrote something. She noticed that the books there were not the same as the one he had before in the evening. She went and sat on the bench nearby him, but he didn’t notice her. She sat for a few minutes and saw her clock—it was 8:00 p.m., so she went inside.

The manager asked her, "Madam, what do you want to eat for dinner?"

She said, "Anything is okay for me. Maybe the special dish of this town."

The manager said, "Ossobuco (braised veal shanks), Bolognese (meat sauce with pasta), and Arancini (fried rice balls filled with meat and cheese) are the special dishes here."

She said, "It is okay for me. Please bring it by 9:00 p.m."

The manager said, "Okay madam, it will be in your room by 9:00 p.m."

She disappeared with no reaction on her face and went into her room.

                                   III

Her lights were always on, even during the time when the whole town was sleeping. During that time, she was reading the books she had. Even the deadliest woman has another life where she is into the world of literature, and the whole night she spent reading those books.

In the morning, when she was out for a walk, she saw the man sitting in the same place, and she walked for a few minutes. In the town, she again became acquainted with the small girl. The woman asked, "Hey! I saw an old man sitting at a desk. Do you know anything about him?"

The girl said, "Oh! Do you see the big house there? It is his house. He is from a rich and philanthropic hereditary, but he doesn't like to run those family businesses. At last, he was compelled by his grandfather to run the business. His cousins were unfit for running the business because they were all selfish people who were only interested in acquiring money. But he is different. He was brought up by his grandfather in a way that made him a philanthropic person. He is a good man. Everybody in this town lives on their family's wealth. He was interested in literature, but he was unable to pursue this art at that time. After his wife died—whom he loved like a mad person—he gave up interest in everything. Now the business is run by his cousin’s daughter, who was brought up by him because her father—his cousin—was killed by someone. Now he is just writing some poetry and living by the riverside. The food and books are provided by the servants from the big palace. Now he is lonely. Everybody in the village knows about him."

This woman moved from the place and went into her room, thinking about this person. She thinks that he seems to be a great person. She spent hours thinking about it, and second by second, the intention to communicate with this wise man increased. She thinks that by communicating with him, she may learn things which might give a new perspective to her life. The fact is that the intention to talk to him is meaningless—but she wants to talk. The reason she doesn't know. The reasonless intention makes it more appealing.

She came out of her room, walked slowly out, and stood there, thinking whether to talk or not. At last, she came to a conclusion to talk, because she finds a similarity between them—that they both are lonely. Their similarity makes it more appealing.

She sat on the bench nearby him. After thinking for a few minutes, she stood up. She said, "I am Andreado Heather Kenymonson. I heard about you. I want to communicate with you about a few philosophical things, because you have great life experience, and I am here confused about many things in life."

He just nodded his head like a wise man, and he offered her a seat to sit.

                        

                                       IV

The silence conquered the atmosphere. They both were expecting the other person to start the conversation, but no one started the conversation that was meant to be started at that point. He stared at the scenery for a while, then took the diary and wrote a few things and corrected a few things. She observed this in silence, and she noticed that this person had a great collection of books around him.

She asked, "If you think that the art of talking to me about the thing that you are writing is a good way of expressing yourself, you can tell me about what you are writing."

He smiled and said, "I write things I observe and realize in a poetical manner."

She questioned, "Why don't you directly write these things rather than making it poetical?"

He said with a slow range of voice, "If I write directly like a non-fictional philosophical book, it will be tough for people to realize my thoughts. A few may get offended because the thoughts I express may completely contrast the way they think life is. The ultimate purpose of writing poetry is the beauty of it, and if I write poetry, it means a person needs to analyze and interpret the thoughts that I have expressed in a poetical way. A few may not do it, but the ones who do will understand—and I am writing for the ones who do."

She raised another question, "May I know how you publish these poems?"

The man said, "After I complete a poem, when my servants come, I give them the finalized poetry and the publishers publish it. Most of my poetry is not published. We poets have the habit of hiding the poetry that is close to our hearts."

She thought for a few minutes and asked, "Are you lonely here by the riverside?"

He said, "I am not lonely. I am observing nature and living in the memories. Loneliness is not being alone—it is realizing that you are not meant to be in this time. It means your intellectuality is ahead of its time, and you just separate yourself from others. I separated myself many years ago, and after a few years of searching, I got a person who emotionally understood and accepted me. Every intellectually superior person gets those kinds of people to direct them in terms of living a peaceful life. And I got one—but lost them sooner than expected.

Now the only thing I am capable of accomplishing is regretting the wrong way I reacted to things that happened, and I am grateful that they forgave me. Now I am not in a position to blame anyone. They might have reacted that way because maybe the situation externally forced them to react like that. It took me time to realize these things, and it will take time for others to realize—but when they realize, they will regret more things. That’s the process of life—you need to experience those things in order to realize them later. And I realized it."

He cracked a small smile and looked down in silence for a few minutes. He looked at me and continued, "I had no one to share these things with for a long time, so I talked like a madman perhaps—and I will not say sorry, because I don’t need another thing to regret."

It took her time to realize and understand the joke he cracked. She said with a smile, "When people share their feelings on a regular basis, they will not share a lot to one person. And I came to know that you haven't expressed your emotions for too long. I can’t say I understand you—because no one can understand anyone—but I can say that I can relate with you. The similarity between us made me communicate with you."A group of people headed toward both of them. They were his servants, who carried a few books, food, water, coffee, and messages for him. They handed it all to him and headed back. The man offered her a cup of coffee, and she didn't have a reason to deny it, so she accepted it with a peculiar reaction. She noticed that he noticed her peculiar reaction—but he didn’t ask about it.

Deep in her mind, she wanted to thank him, but she didn’t know how to thank a person in this kind of situation. So she decided to just tell him, “Thank you! The reason for my peculiar reaction is because no one has ever helped me or given me something without expecting something.”

He replied, “That is how people live here. They will never give you something unless they expect something in return. People’s inner selves always expect something from others when they give—and they are ultimately selfish. That is the philosophy of relationships and social connection of people. The detachment from these things makes a person godly—and many people fail in it.”

She asked boldly, “Why don’t you tell me about your relationship with your wife?”

His face became fatigued, his eyes filled with tears, his whole body trembled, and he breathed heavily. He became uncomfortable. She suddenly stood up and asked, “Are you okay? Drink some water! Calm down!” She handed him some water, and he drank it. Slowly, he calmed down.

She said, “If this topic makes you uncomfortable, I wish to move on.”

He said with a trembling voice, “That is something I do not want to speak to anyone about.”

The silence conquered the place for too long, and she left—with the regret of making him uncomfortable.

She sat in her room, thinking for too long about the moments and incidents that had happened today—which never happened before in her life. These things seemed to be magical events.

A sound arose from the door of the room, indicating that dinner had arrived. She got the food from the room servant. She went inside and noticed that the time was now eight at night. Immediately, she took her phone and saw the messages from her boss. She read them.

The boss had messaged, “I am busy currently, so I couldn’t call you now. Our clients informed that in two days they will give the information about the next killing. Wait for two days. If you need anything, message me—I will get it for you. I have sent you the money that is needed.”

She didn’t reply. She checked her bank account and then started eating the food. After she finished, she immediately went to the desk, took her diary, and started writing:

“Today I met the most wise and philosophical man, with whom I had a common factor—loneliness. I wasn’t meant to hurt him by asking about his relationship with his wife. I was just curious about knowing his romantic relationship, because he was a different person. I was curious to know the way he had been in a romantic relationship, and the way he reacted to that question was so dramatic.

I am curious to know the traumatic feeling behind that reaction, and I want to know why he reacted like that. I can make an assumption that he was changed due to the killing of his wife. In my life, I’ve seen men who treat women like commodities. I haven’t seen a man who treated a woman in a loving way. I can’t assume that all men are the way I think, because I don’t know about all men.

We only know about the things we know, and we don’t know everything. That is what creates perspectives. Perspective varies from person to person on the basis of the things we know and our experiences.

My experiences with men are not good, and I’ve never known men who treat women with love and care. So, my perspective about men is not good—and it can be changed by good men I see, but I haven’t seen one before. So I will try to communicate with him about his love, and I will try not to offend him.

In childhood, I always tried not to offend anyone, but by trying to socialize with others, I unintentionally offended people. So I decided to force myself to isolate from others—and it became my personality.”

                           

                                           V               

                                  

After a long sleep, she arose in bed with tiredness in her eyes, which was evident from the redness in them. After a few hours, while eating her breakfast, she thought of going and meeting him.

She went near the staircase. At the bend of the staircase, there was a flat surface and a nearby window from which one could see the riverside. Beside the river, the man was sitting, and she remembered the incidents that had happened the day before. She thought that he might not like her arrival, as she had made him tense and melancholic the day before. So she spent time just thinking.

A voice suddenly arose, “Madam! Do you need any help?”

She turned and saw that it was the hotel assistant manager. She decided on the spot and asked him, “Is there any other way to go out of the hotel?”

The assistant manager said, “Yes, madam. There is a back door for this hotel. Do you wish to use that way?”

She said with a reactionless face, “Direct me the way to go.”

This was the first time the assistant manager and this woman were meeting. As the assistant manager didn’t know her, he instinctively began to stereotype her—just like all people do. She could tell by the way his facial expressions shifted as they walked.

She walked in the village for a few minutes, thinking about the things that had happened the day before. She noticed that, slowly, she was becoming a different person—second by second—from the time she had talked with him. But the only thing she wasn’t clear about was in what ways she was changing. She knew she was changing, but she wasn’t sure into what she was changing. Still, she was certain that she was becoming more complicated.

As she walked, she saw the same girl she had become acquainted with earlier. She also noticed an old woman sitting near her. She thought it was probably her grandmother, but she wasn’t interested in involving herself in anything at that moment. So, with her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, she walked past them.

She heard a sound behind her but didn’t turn back. The girl chased after her and said, “I told my grandmother that you’ve been talking to the man who sits at the desk beside the river. She told me she wants to tell you the reality about that man. She said she’ll arrange some coffee, and you can come in.”

She was confused. She didn’t want to get involved with any more strangers—but she wanted to know more about this man.

She was in a dilemma. And then, suddenly, she remembered what her friend in school once said:

“Sometimes we need to take decisions outside the horizons of our comfort zone. Sometimes we need to take them for our own good. Sometimes we take them for others’ good. And sometimes—to break the systematic behaviour.”

As she entered their house, it was not how she had expected. She was amazed by the architecture—within such a small space, they had built a wonderful and well-constructed home.

The grandmother came from the kitchen and kindly requested her to take a seat at the coffee table. She placed a cup of coffee and said,

“In our village, no one gives coffee directly through their hands.”

The woman replied,

“The man by the riverside gave me coffee through his hand.”

The grandmother laughed and said,

“You will come to know about him and his family. And I wish to tell you, because I can’t bear to see him—a person who once enjoyed every moment of life in the most sophisticated ways, in every place of this town—now slowly dying day by day in loneliness, writing melancholic poems.

This is not only because of his wife’s death—it is also because of the way he was brought up by his family. His first meeting with his wife was a catalyst in his melancholic life. She made his life better. She became his purpose to live. And in the end, her death became the second catalyst, which returned him to a life of melancholy.

Now, his only purpose is to read books, write poetry, and live in the memories of her.

I never saw him simply staring at the scenery while sitting at that desk. I saw him revisiting and visualizing memories of her.

I think you could relate to him.

I know no one can change him. And I’m not telling you about him so that you try to change him. You didn’t come here to change him.

I think you can relate to him. And by seeing the look in your eyes, I can tell—you need to talk to him. That conversation will become a catalyst in your life.

It might be the direction of the divine universe that led you here. It directed you to him, and it directed him to you. It’s what is now directing me to tell you this.”

As she listened to the story of his life, the grandmother’s voice dipped into a softer tone.

The woman said,

“I think this is the direction of the divine universe—because I don’t know why I desire to know more about him.”

The grandmother said,

“I might forget where I stopped, as my mind tends to wander elsewhere.”

She sighed and continued,

“I was married a year before he was born. His birth was like a festival in this village. To tell the full story of his family and ancestors… well, we would need a decade.

Actually, his ancestors didn’t belong to this country. They were war refugees from a neighboring nation during the First World War. Many came here, but his family was particularly drawn to this village.

The first generation’s head—a man who revolutionized and modernized their way of doing business—laid the foundation of their legacy.

‘Balcolm’ is his name—if you didn’t already know—the man who sits near the riverside.

He always despised what his family had become. Everyone in the family hated the way he behaved, mainly because he spoke truths others were too afraid to voice. Only his grandfather believed in him.

But death doesn’t wait for the right time. It took his grandfather before Balcolm could take control of the business.

His mother and father were killed when he was just five years old.

On the day their bodies were buried, he came running to the riverside and cried out loud.

While he cried, leaves from the trees on the other side of the river began to fall. And after five minutes, a flock of birds rose from the direction of the setting sun, soaring above his head.

He always says that was his first experience of witnessing the beauty of the world. It was the moment he began reading literature.

His family became wealthy fifty years before his birth, but unlike the others, he remained humble. And for that, everyone in the family held a certain vehemence toward him.

His grandfather knew how treacherous the rest of the family could be. I believe that’s why he raised Balcolm himself, refusing to send him to his aunt, who might have manipulated him.

His childhood was traumatic because of his family. They all had their reasons for trying to control him—mainly because the entire family’s wealth was set to pass down to him.

But this man never cared for material things.

He had already completed his studies in Eastern philosophy by the age of six.

 After the assassination of his parents, all he did was sit by the riverside and read.

His grandfather gave him a lakh every year just for books. He used to sit on the stones near the river, and his grandfather was the one who built those benches for him.

Though he studied at top-tier schools, he could never make a single acquaintance during those years when most people focus on socializing.

I’m not trying to glorify him as someone different—but the truth is, he is unlike anyone else.

His great-grandfather made many enemies, including those connected to Italian mobsters. Murders were not unusual for their family back then.

But all of that came to an end—peace arrived about thirty or forty years ago.

When Balcolm took charge, though he did so with deep dissatisfaction, he still carried out his responsibilities with perfection.

Now, his cousin’s daughter is in charge. Her parents were also killed when she was very young. He adopted her and raised her as his own daughter.

She was brought up exceptionally well—futuristic in thought, intelligent beyond her years.

He taught her everything he knew—from literature to almost every topic imaginable. At the age of 24, she willingly took on the role as the head of the company.”

The grandmother refilled the coffee and added,

“From a very young age, the only thing he could never understand was money.  He doesn’t even like finance. He’s someone who sees everything as a whole.

He doesn't know to grow because he was a good person, all bad person knows to cheat others, they knows to manipulate, they plan everything in minute details, their intention is to only grow themselves, they doesn't care about this society, they doesn't care about the earth, in simple words we can say that bad person is a person who seeks the misery in the beautiful divinely universe and slowly converts it into a ridiculous planet but a good person is a person who seeks the beauty of this divine universe.

'How could these people be so miserable when there is lots of beauty in the world. Observe the beauty around you. Change the way you look at the world. Learn new perspective through books. Know about everything. Learn about all the arts and sciences without denying anything. Accept all the people around you. Convert the misery of this society into a beauty. Evolution makes as humans.' 

These are the words from him."

The grandmother started knitting while she was lost in thoughts because she think somewhere she had read those words. 

The grandmother interrupted her thinking 

"Did I started telling his romantic life?" 

The women said "Actually! You have not started it yet?"

The grandmother said "After his high school graduation he got admission request from many top level university but he chose a normal university. 

He lived in hostel in order to pursue literature, he chose that university because the environment is suitable for him and there he met his love of his life. 

He describes their first meeting like 

'The fire ignited in the meeting of the eyes. I observed the way many people laugh. In the laugh of others I saw sadness, happiness, vengeance, revenge, strength, dominance, power, success, even failure but in her laugh I saw the truth which I never seen before in my life and it is spiritually beautiful. At that the point of my life when I was lost in observing the sparkle in her eyes the only thing that going in my life was me nearby her observing her beauty in a riverside, me sharing moments with her, me dedicating my life to worship her, having a relationship which we both desires and I don't know what's happening around me.' 

He had wrote these words in his books. 

Everyone in our village is inspired by his words, our way of using words are inspired from his literature and our ideas are inspired from him. 

He met her on the second day of his college life. She was a student of architecture at the same university—two years older than him. Intrigued by her presence, he began to learn more about her.

He observed that she was bold, strong, and independent—traits that drew him in effortlessly.

Three months later, he returned to his village for the holidays. On the evening of his arrival, he sat on the familiar bench by the riverside, surrounded by the village children. There, he recited a poem he had written for her.

As he recited the verses, pouring his emotions into the air, his grandfather stood in the background, listening silently.

The way the young man described her—like poetry come alive—brought a gentle smile to the grandfather’s face. With an indescribable feeling swelling in his chest, the old man slowly turned and walked back to the house, carrying something unspoken but deeply felt.

That night, he couldn’t contain his joy. He shared his feelings with almost everyone in the village.

In that moment, he was happier than he had ever been.

The next evening, the young man sat at his desk near the riverside, teaching the village kids. Slowly, as the sun dipped behind the trees, the children left one by one, and the grandfather came to sit beside him.

'I know how it feels,' the old man began softly, 'when your heart and mind are immersed in the divine feeling of love.

Don’t try to analyze it. Don’t try to understand it. Love was always meant to be felt, not explained—because it’s made of complexity.'

He paused. Then added with a sigh,

'I don’t want you to live with the regret of a woman.

That’s the one thing I mastered in my romantic life—regret.

I missed my chance… and it stayed with me.'

Unbeknownst to them, a curious little boy had stayed behind, listening quietly from the trees.

Surprised by his grandfather’s confession, the young man turned to him with a raised brow.

'You mean… you loved someone before grandma?'

The grandfather looked toward the setting sun and said calmly,

'I can’t say I didn’t.

I would’ve given up everything for her.

But… you know, sometimes, life simply doesn’t allow certain things to happen.'

The grandson, puzzled and deeply curious, asked,

'Why didn’t you marry her? What happened?'

The grandfather stood up, hands in his pockets, and began walking away in silence.

'Why won’t you tell me the reason?' the grandson called out.

Without turning around, the grandfather replied,

'It’s too complicated to explain… and that’s exactly what makes it beautiful.'

The young man followed him to the edge of the path and pleaded,

'At least tell me her name?'

The old man turned his head slightly and said,

'It was the same as your mother’s.'

To that, the grandson smirked and said,

'That’s such a typical thing for a man to do—love someone, lose her, and then name his daughter after her.'

The grandfather turned fully now and said with quiet wisdom,

'If you don’t want to be that kind of man, then when you return to university—talk to the girl.'

'I don’t even know how,' the grandson admitted.

The grandfather smiled faintly and, as he slowly walked away, raised his voice with a calm certainty,

'You’ll learn… sooner than I think.'

The next morning, before the young man could even pack for his return, the entire village already knew about the riverside conversation—thanks to the little boy who had overheard it all and reported it house to house. 

As they left for the railway station, we all went to send him off like we did every time. Before he boarded the train, the grandfather gave him a chain on which the words 'JANE MENDER' were engraved.

He asked as the train started to move, 'Is it made for mom?'

The grandfather replied, 'No!' They both smiled, because they knew exactly who it was meant for.

He touched the chain and felt the love that came with it.

For the first week after returning to university, the only thing his eyes searched for was the girl he had met months ago. He knew every single detail about her, but he couldn’t find her. Then, after a week, she appeared—like poetry—and never left his life for a long time.

She came straight toward him, having noticed that he had been researching about her. But at the last moment, she was pulled away by her friends.

Every day he wrote letters to his grandfather, and the grandfather read them to all the kids in the village.

One day, as he was searching for books in the university library, someone tapped his shoulder from behind. He turned around.

It was Genevieve—the girl he had admired from afar.

She said, 'Hey Brumple, can you give me that book?'

He handed her the book. She walked a few steps, then gently hit her forehead with her palm and turned back, running toward him.

She laughed and said, 'Sorry! You looked like someone from my high school. I called you by that name by mistake.'

Her laugh was the most innocent and beautiful thing he had ever heard.

He was dumbstruck for a moment but soon gathered himself and said, 'No need to apologize.'

He couldn’t say much else.

She asked, 'I think I know about you. Aren’t you the guy who was researching about me?' Her eyes twinkled with a teasing smile.

He said with a trembling voice, 'I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just interested to know about you… and I’m sure this interest will never leave my heart.'

She smiled and said, 'If you wanted to know about me, you could’ve just approached me.'

He replied, 'If I had your level of courage, I would have.'

The librarian signaled them to maintain silence, so they stepped outside.

She was quiet for a few minutes, deep in thought, and then asked, 'Are you the boy from the Merbainden Village family? I’ve heard about you.'

He said, 'Yes, I am from Merbainden Village.'

She said, 'It doesn’t really excite me, your family name, but I’ve heard that you’re… different.'

He replied, 'When we are being ourselves, it always appears somewhat different to others.'

She smiled and said, 'So you’re the boy who’s silent, poetic, intellectual, philosophical… they’ve said a lot about you.'

He said, 'They might’ve made me sound like someone I’m not. That’s what people always do. But what you said—those things are close to who I really am.'

There was a brief silence.

She then asked, 'Do you really know that much about me? People say you’ve been investigating.'

He said, 'Your name is Genevieve, and people call you Genev—but you hate that. Your temper doesn’t last long, but it’s intense, which I admire. You’re bold and confident, which is the opposite of me. You’re energetic and outgoing, again unlike me. You care deeply for those you love, even when they hurt you—that’s something we share. To me, you are perfect and beautiful.'

She was amazed and said, 'You did a very good job. Usually, people come to me and ask me to change—before even knowing me. But you… you accepted me.'

They walked for a long time, laughing, talking.

Before parting ways, she said, 'It’s time for me to attend classes. I need to go. It was really lovely meeting you.'

He said, 'Indeed, it was lovely meeting you. So… is this a goodbye?'

She smiled, 'Yes, it's a goodbye—but not for long. I think an emotional and intellectual man like you should get used to seeing me often.'

She laughed and disappeared into the crowd.

His letters continued to arrive weekly, and his grandfather continued to read them aloud to the village children.

Thirteen days later, they met again, this time in the university garden. She was sitting alone.

He walked toward her silently, not wanting to disturb her.

She noticed him and said, laughing sarcastically, 'Hello, Brumple! How are you?'

He replied, 'I’m doing great. What about you? What are you doing here—absorbing the beauty of the world?'

She smiled and said, 'Yes. I was staring at these plants, thinking about things. It would be pleasant if you join me. I might even yap about my problems.'

They both laughed.

They sat together on a bench, soaking in the nature around them with a shared sense of wonder.

He said, 'There’s a river in our village. I used to spend a lot of time there alone. That’s where all my poetry came from.'

She asked, 'So you’re someone who enjoys being alone?'

He replied, 'Yes. I think solitude is my greatest strength. Solitude is when you realize you don’t fit into society. It’s when you realize your thoughts are ahead of your time. It’s when you disagree with what’s accepted, and instead of fighting it publicly, you fight it within yourself. So you isolate. That’s what solitude means to me. What about you—do you prefer being alone or with others?'

She said, 'I’ve always liked spending time with people. I socialize a lot, and I enjoy it. Maybe I haven’t realized the things you have.'

He looked at her and said, 'Only a few realize it. You can’t force it. It comes when the universe wants you to understand. It’s not something everyone needs to realize.'

She said, 'Let’s not go too deep into philosophy. I already know what you’re studying. What are you studying again?'

He said, 'I’m pursuing literature as my major and human psychology as an additional course—for the past three months.'

She raised her eyebrows and asked, 'So that means you’re one or two years younger than me?'

He said, 'Actually, I’m fourteen months younger.'

She said, 'I thought we were the same age. I didn’t see you last year, so I assumed you joined late.'

He smiled and said, 'I didn’t join late. But if I had been here a year earlier, I would have found you before you even realized.'

She asked, 'Why was it necessary to find me?'

He said, 'To see the truth in your laugh and your eyes… to make our lives something greater.'

She smiled and said, 'That’s a valid reason, even though I know you’re flirting. Still, I’m flattered.'

He said, 'It’s not a flirt. It’s a fact.'

And like that, slowly but surely, their relationship grew.

The grandmother offered more coffee and said, 'I don’t remember everything, except for the parts I told you—because those were my favorites.'

Genev’s parents were open-minded. They accepted him. But her extended family was against them.

He was offered a top post at a prestigious university. Genev also got a job there.

His grandfather was on his deathbed—the only person who had truly supported their love.

The grandfather told him, 'Please leave this village and live a peaceful life with Genev. If you stay, your relatives will take advantage of you. Even if our business empire collapses, please go with Genev and live freely.'

Genev said, 'This is a business empire built by your ancestors. You should protect it like a warrior. As the woman who’s going to marry you, I want you to take care of it. If it falls into your relatives’ hands, you know what will happen.'

The grandfather replied, 'I always wanted him to be happy. But if he takes on this business, he won’t be.'

Genev said, 'It’s time for him to make you proud.'

The grandfather said, 'Genev, I think you should take care of this business. Let him be CEO in name only—because his family won’t allow you otherwise. My boy, take care of your woman. Genev, you know what to do.'

Those were the grandfather’s final words. He passed away the next day.

They married soon after.

They lived happily and helped people all over the world.

After her death, he gave up everything and began writing poetry again—just as he had promised her.

He would not die until nature itself called him.

The grandmother and the woman walked out. It was night, so the woman went to the hotel.

                     

                                            VI

She quickly slept after coming to her room in the hotel through the back gate. Her eyes were tired, so she woke up at 10:00 a.m., her hands searching for her mobile phone. As soon as she reached it, she checked her messages—none were important.

She walked down to the riverside and sat quietly on the bench, not disturbing him.

He said, ‘I heard that you investigated about my life through Moenka Aunt.’

She replied, ‘Actually, she willingly told me about you.’

He nodded and said, ‘Moenka Aunt would’ve told you from a general perspective. She must’ve skipped or forgotten many things.’

She looked at him and said softly, ‘So, you lost someone whom you dearly loved.’

Tears welled up in his eyes. He spoke slowly, as if each word weighed a thousand memories.

‘Everybody knows how she lived and died, but no one knows most of the things in between. I was ready to leave this village for her, but she denied that. She chose the path that would contribute to the wellness of this society. Actually, she was the one who managed all these companies. I don’t even know a crap about it. The only thing I ever wanted was to see the never-ending smile on her face and to hear her energetic voice—even when she was scolding me. But in just a second, everything vanished.

I’m not even sure if I was a good man to her. This constant feeling of inferiority makes my heart ache. Still, I tried to make sure she had peace, even when I was crumbling inside. She shaped me into the man I am. She made me stronger. But compared to her strength and confidence, I am nothing.

Now, without her, I feel like I’ve turned back into that same old, stupid person. I want to reunite with her, but logically, it’s not possible. Life feels purposeless without her. I wanted to die—but she made me promise that I’d never take my own life. She always asked me to start writing again after our marriage, but I never found the time.

Now I write poetry in the name of ‘BRAMBLE’. It was a mistake—she once called me ‘Bramble’ instead of ‘Brumple’, and it stuck. That’s how my pen name was born.

Sorry for speaking so much about my melancholic feelings. I’ve never had anyone to share this with before.’

He cried in a way he hoped she wouldn’t notice. But she did. And yet, she didn’t know what to do.

She finally said, ‘I don’t know what to say. I won’t pretend to understand your feelings. As you wrote in your poems, we can never fully understand another’s emotions.’

That was the moment she realised—she had read his books.

Silence filled the air, long and weighty, until he gently broke it.

‘We’ve spoken a lot about my life. You once said you could relate to me through loneliness. That means you, too, might not have had anyone to share your emotions with. We don’t always speak to find solutions. Sometimes, we just want someone to listen. Someone to give us the space to sigh and let it all out.’

She sat in silence, her mind drifting.

He asked, ‘Is everything alright?’

She blinked and came back to herself. ‘Yes. I can relate to you in terms of loneliness. I’ve never told anyone about my life before.’

She spoke while waving her hands behind her, not looking at him. Her eyes were focused on the mud below, her voice trembling with tears.

He said softly, ‘Maybe this is the right time for you to open up. You might not meet another person who is willing to simply listen.’

She took a deep breath and began.

‘What you said is perfectly correct. In my childhood, all I ever wanted was someone—a good human being—to whom I could express myself. But that desire turned into hatred for humans as I grew.

My father was an architect. He married my mother, who belonged to a big family—though I don’t really know what that family is. Their marriage happened against the wishes of both sides. There were constant death threats from my mother’s relatives. Maybe that’s why she initially rejected my father’s proposal. But somehow, they got married.

I was born two years later. My birth brought what people called “bad luck.” That label made me feel inferior my entire life.

When I was seven, my mother was killed. I was sent to a boarding school. A year later, my father was found dead in his car. I was transferred to an orphanage. I still believe it was all orchestrated by my parents’ enemies.

That orphanage was a nightmare. From the outside, it looked like a decent place—kids got an education, and a few were even adopted. But inside, it was a prison of cruelty. The wardens tortured us brutally. Some kids were killed, but no one outside ever noticed.

After two years, a couple adopted me. I thought I was finally leaving hell. Compared to the orphanage, it was paradise—but only relatively. The couple were wealthy industrialists to the public. But they were actually a Mafia family. Their name was KENYMONSON.

They didn’t adopt me for love. I was chosen to be trained—shaped into an assassin and a puppet to hold their empire. I was fed rich food, trained by world-class martial artists—but I never received a drop of love or care.

There was no one to ask me how I felt. No one to validate my emotions. All I saw was blood, corpses, and power struggles. At first, I wanted to run away—but I had nowhere to go.

Gradually, I became used to it. I murdered. My first kill shattered me, but I got used to it. I began to enjoy it, and yet I hated myself for it. I want to leave this life, but I’m not ready.

Actually… I came here to kill someone. I don’t know who yet. That’s why I’m here.

But then… I met you. You’re changing me, day by day—without even knowing it. I don’t know whether to continue this wretched life… or disappear. Maybe even die.’

She laughed when she said ‘die’, but her laughter faded into a quiet sob.

‘I don’t know what to do. I shared everything with you because I knew you’re not like everyone else. You’re not absent-minded. You see things… deeply.’

The sky darkened. Silence took over, once again. The end of the day crept in with the setting sun.

She finally said, ‘I trust you. And I know that you could help me or guide me. Interacting with you is changing the way I behave.

It’s time for me to go now. Bye, Bruhem—’

She left, without finishing his name properly.

                

                                                                                                           VII

She walked the stairs thinking whether her decision of telling him about her was a right decision or a wrong one, but from the start, she was sure that he was the correct person to open up to and that is the reason why she told him the secret. She went into her room and saw that she had received many calls from her boss. She called him back, but he didn't attend her call. She checked his messages, and it was written:

"I think you are doing some kind of work there, it is indicated through your non-responses. Well, you will be receiving the information about the next mission by tomorrow morning. It will be directly mailed to you by the clients, and keep your mobile with you when you are going out because we don't know the exact timing."

She read the message, but all her mind was thinking about were the things from his life and her opening of her secrets to him. She took the diary from the desk and started writing:

"I told him all the truth, and my mind is thinking about the reason for believing him. The reason for believing is still a mystery. I might think that reason is not needed, just the feeling is enough. I am in hate with myself because I am feeling a change in me, and I hate changing because I didn’t want to change in my life from the start. I can feel that my heart is becoming light, which I don’t want to, and it is due to him. I always thought of not talking to him, but at last, I end up talking to him, and I think it is because sometimes some things that are meant to happen will happen sometime in order for something to happen at some other time in some other part of this universe, and it will sometimes happen or may not, but it should happen sometime in some other place, if not, some other thing should happen at some other time in order for some other thing to happen at some other time. This universal thing should not be denied by anyone, and if it is denied by some person, at last, they will realize it at the time of leaving, but there are few people who realize this during their living time, and they are the people who attain enlightenment.

Throughout my life, I had gone through many things which one should not go through, and during those times I didn’t realize it. I think I am realizing it now, and I question myself why I didn’t realize it before. Even though I want to get out of this life, I can't, and I question myself why can't I? This question has been in my mind for the past couple of days. The thoughts that are running in my mind are hurting my heart, and I hope it doesn’t kill itself before I expect. Now I’ve come to a conclusion that after killing the person whom I am assigned to kill, I will stop doing this job, but I don’t know how — that is the only problem."

She closed her diary and kept it in her bag, then zipped it. She tried to sleep, but she couldn’t because all her thoughts were in thinking what to do after the final assassination.

                                                       

                                               IX

She woke up in the morning very late and without a delay she went to see him even though she didn't want to. For the first time, he started the conversation:

"What are your future plans? I hope it is not to continue our previous plans."

She said, "The only thing I want now is peace and for that I need to stop these things I did. I want redemption from my past sins, and this thought has been in the back of my mind for so long. You are the person who ignited this thought into a big decision of my life."

He asked, "What will you do after leaving this life of yours?"

She said, "The answer I want to say is I don't know what to do, but I don't want to say it."

After a few minutes of silence, he said, "As per your qualification, I would give you some job if there is no criminal record in your name."

She said, "According to government data, I don't even exist. I use various fake data, but I don't have original data in my name."

Silence conquered the place and at last, he said, "You can just live here and do some kind of art you like if you want, but I suggest you to accept the crimes that you did to the government, and the government might use your data to trace out all the crimes of the city."

She said, "I know everything about the crime in this nation. The data that I give will be useful for the government, and it might be useful for me to redeem from my past sins. Also, if I do it, my punishment will be reduced."

While she said the word "SINS" her phone vibrated in her pocket indicating a message.

He said, "This is a better idea. When you legally help the government to trace out the crimes, they will reduce your punishments. The only thing left in everyone's heart is the hope for the future, and in yours it is the hope for the next day’s redemption."

Her phone rang, so she asked him politely and went to talk. After fifteen minutes, she came silently, thinking about something deeply.

He asked, "Is anything wrong?"

She said animatedly, "No! No!" Her voice raised weirdly.

He said, "At the end of the day it is your decision whether to use this idea."

She said after thinking, "Will you accept that after completing my last mission, can I surrender to the government?"

He said, "I would not suggest it, but ethically it is your wish to do it."

She said, "If I need to complete the last mission of mine, I need to kill you. Before a few minutes, I went for that call from my boss about the last mission, and the last mission is to kill you."

He said, "I would like to be killed by your hands rather than being here thinking about the things that happened to me in my past."

Tears ran down her face and she said, "I killed many people in my life, and I regret it. I always desired their forgiveness for me, and more than my redemption, I believe their forgiveness is valuable. But the fact is, no one in my life has accepted me. No one in my life regarded me as a person. No one valued my emotions. No one asked whether I liked to do these things. No one has any kind of empathy in this world."

He said, "I forgive you, and you feel like this because you never saw a good world around you."

She said crying, "Yes! I never saw a good world around me. That's why I saw you as a catalyst in my life, and how can I kill you?"

He said, "Kill me in the name of honour, and it will be like a forgiveness from everyone you killed. You killed many people who wanted to live, and this time kill a person like me who doesn't want to live. I forgive, accept, regard you as a person, value your emotions, and I have empathy for you."

She slowly took her gun, crying, and she aimed it at his head, shivering.

She said, "I never had an actual dad-like person to admire. Can I call you dad?"

They both cried heavily and he said, "Yes! You can call me dad."

He closed his eyes and his brain visualised Genev in her white dress, smiling like a queen. The granddaughter of Moenka Aunt ran shouting, so he opened his eyes and saw the gun was pointed toward her head. He tried to take the gun away from her, but the gun was shot into her stomach. They carried her to the nearby hospital.

After two hours of treatment, she came back to consciousness, and the doctor said that she wanted to meet Mr. Bramble. He went inside and sat nearby her. Her eyes slowly started to open, and the blurred image of him started becoming clear.

He asked her, "Why did you try to kill yourself?"

She said, "I thought this is my end, and I thought the better option for me is to die. I thought I got a purpose to live—my second life is for you—but I thought the only way to redeem myself from the crimes I committed is to kill myself. But I survived.

The ultimate reason is I want you to live and make more art you can. The world is too dark, it is becoming much more darker. People who are beautiful from the soul like yours and inevitable art should make it bright. The beautiful people from the soul and inevitable art are less in number to make this dark world bright, because it is too dark than we knew. Once the darkness in the inner soul fades away, the perspective of seeing this world changes, and I can feel the darkness is fading in my soul."

In her eyes, for the first time, you could witness the complete truth—and he didn't know that this was the last time he was going to see those eyes. Slowly, her eyes closed, and they remained closed forever.

                      ********************    

NOTE:-

This is a fictional story out of my mind, it may have a influence of many other stories. All the character are fictional few characters many have the same characteristic traits as me. I will appreciate criticism, it make me improve my writing style. My writing is the reflection of the books I read and my experiences. In this blog I wrote 'divine' as 'devine' it has a peculiar reason, there is find it. I used different english style for each character.

About my next blog

My next blog's topic will be decided sooner. It will release by may mid.

Ways to contact me 

Email: logavarshan0001@gmail.com

Instagram;- i.am.logavarshan.17211_bookism.