A peck in the dark
Hardly anybody can hear what’s going on in a party anymore. A hip-hop number is playing in the background for no genuine reason. People have created tiny circles of their own choosing. One group is discussing how Bitcoin is the future while another is busy proving that the current government is in cahoots with Silicon Valley. Each indulging its members to stay active in the ongoing conversations with animated hand gestures and facial expressions. The peering irony of them having to scream to make themselves heard — mainly because of the loud song—is lost on everyone.
One peculiar gentleman, a word he abhors, is a wry exception to this rule.
He could not only hear but also see what’s going on. A social gathering has limitations but according to him, it has infinite potential too. Under the disguise of fun, people can actually try to attempt what they sincerely won’t under any other situation: gel. How many times do we strike a conversation with a total stranger? The plain answer is zero. A more sophisticated answer would be, depends on the agenda. But at a party, you can walk up to anyone and anybody else can walk up to you and strike a chord.
He knows this bit better than most and yet he keeps to himself and observes keenly. By his location, away from the interluding circumferences of chats, he seems like he’s lost. Or maybe time-traveling. In his jacket-shirt-jeans avatar, nobody would come close to guessing where he comes from. Or more importantly, what is he doing here. Well, the answer is simple: observation. He enjoys looking at people on about their business. Something one can miss out on thanks to the command our black mirrors hold on us nowadays. He has no technological distractions. He preens through and sets himself apart from the crowd. Like a telescope in the middle of a room. Except he isn’t standing in the middle of the room nor by the window peeping out in to the dark sky. A drink in his hand that he neither sips nor refills, he is leaning on the pillar now and standing by the mantle a few moments later. It’s almost comical how obsessed he seems with people. As if somebody told him this is a 4D movie and he can’t afford to miss a single frame. However, when you’re busy observing others, you tend to forget that you could be observed too.
The power goes off.
Absolute darkness ensues. There are murmurs as usual with some making howlish schoolkid noise; everybody is expecting the lights to come back soon. Some even take out their smartphones flashing whatever little light they could reflect.
The power comes back.
Exactly 22 seconds later. With great power comes greater generators. There are backups in place so that we stay replete with our biggest addiction: electricity. And just like that, the house slips back in to party mode with everything going back to how it was earlier.
All but one exception to the rule. Our protagonist feels uneasy now. During the blackout, somebody kissed his lower lip and it was perfect; it happened so fast and so elegantly that he couldn’t tell who it was even after the power was restored. He looked around curiously who could it be. The kiss was soft and the lip felt softer but he couldn’t pinpoint anyone in particular in his vicinity. Could it be that lady holding a wine glass there? Must be this svelte young woman whispering something to her friend on his right before chuckling together? He can’t be sure. Oh, how about that one there in the corner, all to herself, with a confused grin on her face looking as lost as he does on the opposite end of the room? Well, how did she kiss him and sprint across the room in the dark? Impressive still. Again, he can’t be sure.
Stuck in a strange incident wherein he can’t walk from woman to woman—preferably those who he wished kissed him—asking whether they really did kiss him, he is left to his own conclusions. If only somebody could tell him that it was a young man who was standing to his left when the lights came back. After all, he was being observed too.
