I often pondered how much money I had spent on stationery this year as I was madly obsessed with cute pens and pencils. Every weekend I would go and splurge money on unnecessary materials. Despite being aware of it, the dynamics and psychology of money were still foreign to me. Even the shopkeeper knew me.
This instance was one that I would never fail to dismiss from my mind as it still sends shivers down my spine. The afternoon was harsh, the pale blue sky was dotted with white clouds. Any kid would just want to have a bite of the sunlit flavoured cotton candy, but neither was I a kid nor was I fond of sunlit things. It had done enough for me to add to my low spirits and ill temper. As my spendthrift alter ego was demanding to expend on books, following her demand I was selecting the books. I was disturbed by a sudden wave of strong deodorant; well, it was premium and posh.
By human tendency, my mind was blown not by his deo, but by his shoes and brunette hair. He was tall and probably filthy rich, but I was driven away. Suddenly after nearly scanning all the possible books present in the library, I was intrigued by the book in his hand, “psychology at work”. As dumb as I was, I had the audacity to interrogate someone who was a stranger to me about the book not being aware of consequences that would follow our small talk.
I was about to leave when his deep voice made me wait at the entrance. He asked me what my name was. The realisation then struck me, when I knew something was just not right about his intention and I should lie to prevent myself from falling for his illusion. I got into an auto rickshaw as quickly as I could, not looking back.
The second I sighed, I saw his scooter following the same path as my auto. Flabbergasted and petrified, I hid my face and chose to neglect his presence when the same deep voice said, “Well, aren’t you going to say your name now?”
I was awakened by the man’s words, only to find myself wrapped around in a blanket in my pitch dark room with a cold breeze of AC cooling the whole room and myself. The rest of the night was just me and my failed attempts to console myself to not overthink. In the course of time, a new day had arisen without my realisation of it. That afternoon, to divert my mind, I went to the stationery shop in search of new books, when I was disturbed by the same strong wave of premium musky deo.
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