Under the lonely tree
Two lost strangers find their destiny - Short Story
Play the sound to get immersed in the story. Credit - Pixabay
The smell of smoke felt soothing to the man as he sat beside her on the left side of the bench. An old abandoned one, away from the buzz of main road, looking at the lone banyan tree, shrouded in darkness.
“To be or not to be, it must have asked when they cut down all its friends.” She pointed with the cigarette in between her fair fingers, to the tree that now seemed to tower over them from far away with its overhanging branches.
He looked at his dirty hands, sliding his sack behind the rickety seat.
“Life does not provide everyone with that choice.” He hid his cracked feet beneath the bench as she tilted her head in his direction, still looking ahead.
“What would you have chosen?” Her smooth voice matched the silk she wore.
He straightened his dhoti and looked at the tree, avoiding her gaze, “I started earning for my family in the village when I was twelve.”
“Where is your home?” She offered him the stick as an owl cried on the tree, not bothering to look at him.
His eyes widened as he shook his head. She shrugged after a second, waiting for his answer with another deep drag.
“I don’t know. Where is yours?” It was getting late, not safe for a lady of her kind.
“I don’t know.” She pursed her lips to hide her smile.
He looked at her face when he was sure she couldn’t tell. She must be the daughter of local moneylender, or the contractor, to know this place. Her face was the kind that did not see the sun for long. And she looked too young.
He slid farther away at the glow she radiated from her being. He had heard tales about the witches who roamed, scorned at the loss of their abode in the trees.
She threw her head back and laughed heartily, her hair almost touching the ground, “So, you have heard the rumors,” crushing the stick on the rusty back of their seat.
“I wish!” Her face turned serious as she leaned closer to him. He could see the glow in her eyes.
“If not to decide my own fate, then others.” She went back to her position, swinging his small axe with grace.
But his gaze was stuck on the blue beneath her bangles, matching the fading moon under her right eye.
“We do, sometimes.” He brought out the shovel from his sack, stained red.
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