Story 8


It did not make any sense.

It just did not make sense to her.

Sitting across a few hundred people, Amber caught her first glimpse of a man whom she had never seen before.

She had agreed to accompany her friend for auditions for the university’s annual mega production. She may not have had as much talent on the acting front, but moral support she could render, and so she did.

It was twenty minutes into the auditions when a young man stepped on stage. She looked at him, and then saw him.

“Oh my God, he looks so much like D,” she said, leaning in to whisper to her friend.

As he began doing a little impromptu piece that combined singing, dancing and acting, none of which he was very good at, she realized that she was rather enjoying watching him make a mockery out of himself.

She felt her eyes transfixed upon him, and as he ended his less than exemplary performance she realized that she was not the only one in the room who was impressed.

True to her intuition, an hour later when the list of the selected cast was out, she found his name right on top, Scar.

He looked a little like Muffasa’s evil brother, except with freckles, she thought.

A few days later, when Amber was asked to attend rehearsals with her friend, she found herself accepting the offer a little too easily. Also, she made sure she was dressed to look at.

She was sitting on the seventh row of the auditorium, at the left most corner, with an eye on her phone and one on the massive first day debacle that seemed to be unfolding with the cast as Scar walked into the room.

It was safe to say both her eyes were now rested on the same spot.

He walked slowly, or maybe it felt slow to her, but it seemed to break her heart and fix it right back all at once. He strolled towards the chaos on stage and flashed a huge grin saying out loud “What’s happening guys?”

Within ten quick minutes everything seemed to fall into place and everyone seemed to know and more surprisingly, willing to adhere to, whatever was expected of them.

Amber spent a good part of the next two hours just soaking him in. He reminded her of her old lover, that was for sure, from his large, questioning, curious eyes, to the hint of a playful smile that always seemed to be dangling at the corner of his lips, to his dexterity of bringing things together and making them happen.

She watched as he pranced around the stage, certain that hers wasn’t the only eye he caught. He just has that ‘something’ she always heard people talk about. Something that would draw all eyes to him. He wasn’t loud or overpowering, but there was no one in that room who wasn’t aware that he was what kept it going.

Three weeks went by, and Amber found herself at the exact same spot on every Tuesday and Thursday after classes, awaiting his magic to sweep her from within her own soul, and it did, infallibly.

He looked at her sometimes, with the same hint of curiosity that his eyes always shone with, but never did his gaze linger for more than a fleeting moment. She didn’t mind. It was whimsical enough to just be in his presence.

As she and her friend stepped out after the first dress rehearsal, her friend looked her in the eye and posed a question.

“Why don’t you ever speak to him?”

“I don’t need to,” replied Amber. “I like things the way they are.”

“There are no things being any way, Amb,” replied her friend, rolling her eyes. “You seem to have developed a ridiculous obsession over someone who doesn’t know that you exist.”

“He knows,” she said averting her eyes to the ground. “I am sure he knows.”

“Well then, he probably thinks you are a creep! We could change that you know, just speak to him if you like him so much.”

“You don’t get it..”

“Clearly!” barked her friend.

“It’s weird, and I can’t explain it well, but sometimes you meet someone and from the first time you lay your eyes on them they make you feel things that you’ve only felt for someone you were in love with. It is disorienting, maybe I project some of my feelings for D onto him, I am not sure, but it is special. I don’t need him to know me, I don’t need to be with him, but just knowing he exists makes me feel happy. It is just one of those things where you feel people from all over the universe are connected.”

“You are cuckoo!”

“Maybe, but it’s true you know. You do meet people like that sometimes.”

A few days later her friend walked up to Scar and said “Hey! I hope you know that my best friend is obsessed with you. Yeaup, the girl who has been sitting on the seventh row every rehearsal from the past month. She thinks you are Santa Clause.”

“Santa Clause?” he asked, this time with more confusion than curiosity.

“Well, you know how kids get about Santa, they think he is someone with some sort of magic making people happy.”

He laughed.

“Are you talking about the girl with the beautiful eyes?” he asked.

“The very same,” she smiled, and they both walked away.

The show had just come to a close when Amber, who sat on the front row this time, rushed backstage amidst all the applause that still electrified the air.

“You were phenomenal!” she exclaimed, wrapping her friend into a bear hug.

“Thank you!” she said, smiling from ear to ear. “You should speak to him. Just wish him.”

The pair walked up to Scar who was heading into the changing room.

“You were amazing,” she said looking him right into his bottomless eyes. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling with genuine warmth as he shook her hand.

As the two friends made their way out onto the street that evening, Amber stayed silent as her friend spoke.

“I can’t believe it’s over.”

“It is, I suppose, but it was beautiful.”

To my Star Scar, 19 would have been a little less without you.







Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s