Two Dreamers

Bright lights were reflecting on the glasses. Behind them two weary eyes blinked, staring at the numbers in the screen. Another night, he was late for the warm food. White screens, black numbers — those were all the colors left in him. Others had dried up on the paintbrushes, and the half-filled 2 feet by 3 feet canvas he left years ago. His dreams were caged inside that 6 feet by 5 feet cubicle. The tired eyelids were trying hard to close, the tired heart was trying hard to escape. And the tired mind wasn’t sure of which one to fight against, the sleep or the dreams. The hands of the wristwatch did not make a tick sound when it moved around, neither did the ghost of his will, which died ages ago.

She left through the alleyway at the same time the neon sign written ‘open’ on it stopped blinking. Her fingers had a burning sensation, with the marks made by the guitar strings. Her voice needed rest, just like her soul. The love of her life, which was resting inside that bag she was carrying on the shoulder, felt like a huge burden. The instrument, with which she generated tunes, was turning into a dis-tuned chord in the harmony of her life. But her choices were fewer than the strings it had. She was walking slowly; destination was the place she lived at. She wouldn’t call it home, as the home was far away. Which she left for the burden of love, to strike the chords of her dreams. She stopped on the side of the road, waiting to grab a cab. The lamppost was not shinning lights on her, just like she thought the angels were not shinning blessings upon her.

Save As.
“Annual Report February 2016 V11”.

A deep breath left the lungs. After clicking the cross sign, the shackles of duty permitted him to return home. A slight touch of a finger, and the screen of his phone lit up, large “12.75AM” was written on it. Hands were clumsily moving over the table, putting things inside the bag. Even the footsteps carrying him into the elevator were tired. The elevator door closed, cutting him off from the place where he would not be if he had a choice. A slight descending motion, the screen showed ground floor. He stepped out to a chilly night. Eyes looked for a sign of a transport. But the eyesight managed to see a silhouette amidst the lights of the city. A silhouette with a guitar bag on the back.

Nobody hopes for a light standing under the broken lamppost. But that night, the spark to light her life up happened there. A small ‘Hi’ from a tired voice. Same word echoed as a reply, with a tone of concern. Intentions are dusky in city parts. May be because of the tone, or maybe due to some conspiracy hidden beneath the starry sky, the tired face smiled a bit, and the tired voice introduced himself. “Do you play the guitar?” — An attempt to strike up a conversation. A shy “Hmm” did not give a clear measure of the success of the attempt. “Are you returning from a guitar class?”, another swing at the ball. Following silenced announced the failure of the strike loudly.

Tired eyes got a glimpse of a taxi. Clumsy hands signaled the taxi to stop. Then the face turned to the shy entity, and the voice uttered, “Take the cab.” The star said, third time’s the charm, and the shy voice said, “But you called it”. A smile accompanied the statement, “It’s very late at night, and you need to go home soon”. The word ‘home’ might had struck some chords, and the shy voice had softened. “Can I drop you off on the way?” asked the soft voice. Tired one replied, “Depends on where do you want to go”. After a while two passenger seat doors of the cab closed.

That night, two freeways got closed. That night, stock prices of two large companies fell. That night, two scientists made groundbreaking discoveries. That night, two countries signed a treaty.

That night, two dreamers opened up. That night, two dreams took a flight. That night, two dreams discovered each other. That night, two hearts signed a contract.

Originally published at

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