The Journey to Half-Baked Love

What is love? 

Love is often described as a waiting game, metaphorically speaking. Lovers find themselves constantly waiting - waiting for calls, waiting for texts, waiting for everything. However, I found myself not in love. And yet, I too found myself waiting. Waiting for my destination!

14 hours!

No, it's a 13 hours 42 minutes extreme journey on an iron serpent crawling at a fluctuating speed between the Earth and my fateful journey. No way, I have survived 14 hours. There is no possible way that I can make it. My head is aching. My brain feels as if it’s about to explode.

The window I have always been leaning on: full of running cars in the opposite timeline and I have never been interested in chasing them either.

The feel, the touch, the warmth and the coldness of fingertips grazing over the skin all seem quite poetic and the shelves worthy. 

Never knew I would start my pen and paper journey.

Come on, stop sleeping. Man, this train is bleeding, 

"Hey, don't push me!"

The man behind me is just so annoyed that he can even jump off the moving train, likewise the word they call, "EXCITED."

"Okay...I reached the luckiest town of my life."

I secured my bag tightly against my abdomen, feeling the breeze and hearing the screeching noises around me. Suddenly, a voice interrupted my thoughts, urging me to stop daydreaming and move. The crowd behind me pushed so forcefully that I nearly stumbled, testing the strength of the concrete beneath me as I gazed up at the aluminum sheets above.Finally, I arrived in town. The train was approaching, and the chaos of people rushing to exit was overwhelming. But my hungry stomach refused to let me budge an inch. 

"May I help you?" a greasy voice broke through my reverie, pulling me away from admiring the grandeur of the railway station. I hesitated, my words cut short by another rumble from my stomach. I desperately needed a snack.

As I climbed the stairs, carefully avoiding the puddles that had formed in the cracks between the stone steps, the familiar scent of the station enveloped me. The mixture of cigarette smoke, the aroma of the bustling city, and the scent of the people around me created a sensory overload. The only constant in this ever-changing world was the smell of the station, a reminder of the passage of time and the growth of the city around me.

Pushing through the bustling crowd, clutching my aching abdomen and struggling to drag my three heavy suitcases and shoulder bag, I found it nearly impossible to open the door. I may not be a large person, but the weight of these loads had become overwhelming, draining me of all energy. However, the true challenge lay within my own body, as if my bones were on the verge of shattering at any moment.

At last, I had arrived in the enchanting city of Lucknow, known as the jewel of India. As I stepped off the train, my feet moved as if on autopilot, guided by the throngs of passengers pushing and pulling me through the sweltering summer air. My mind was clouded by exhaustion, unable to focus on anything beyond the rhythmic sway of the train, except for the sudden stops and jolts that shook me to my core. And in those moments, I lost all sense of time and space.

Yet, amidst the chaos, two things remained clear in my mind. First: the weight of my bag was unbearable. Second: the tantalizing aroma of spices and herbs beckoned me closer, stirring emotions deep within me. It was a scent so powerful, it brought tears to my eyes and set my stomach churning with anticipation. That scent... it was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

As I stood there, enveloped in the intoxicating fragrance, I realized that I had stumbled upon something truly special. Something so enticing, so alluring, that it drew me in like a moth to a flame. And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain: I had discovered the essence of India in a single, inviting curry.

As soon as I stepped into the cafeteria, I felt soothed. They were so friendly, I can almost picture them smiling. The man leading me guided me to a corner table and asked me if I was hungry. When I answered in affirmative, I spotted one table just before the serving station but away from the billing counter.

The table had ambient lighting, which helped reduce the brightness of the sun. 

The smell of delicacies, freshly cooked, delicious breads, pastries, and other sweets welcomed me. It smelled like coming home after an exhausting day to eat something delicious.

I sighed loudly, the smell made my belly rumble, as if urging me to dig into a plate full of steaming rice with curried chicken that was still warm from the oven. 

Little did I notice, there was a man behind my favorite food watching me with eager eyes . He is tall but thin and his brown hair is tousled. His lips and cheeks showed no trace of color. He seemed older, maybe thirty years or so. He was wearing dark clothing similar to mine, probably a clever head chef. He looked curious but still didn't look at me, he kept staring at me with those curious eyes.

That same man who has been watching my every movement since I sat down at our assigned table, a short distance away.

I saw my reflection in the mirror window, right beside me. My sweat style hairstyle won't even budge with the wind almost pushing me out of my seat. My face was flushed from the rush of heat, I looked like I had just rolled out of bed, my eyes were red and swollen. My disarrayed hair and tired eyes painted a picture far from the glamorous heroines of romance movies.

DAMN NO.

Interrupted by my chattering mind, I forgot that the chef was already standing before me with a query.  He had been looking at me intently the whole time and now he was staring at me. 

My heart started beating faster, but not as much as before. Maybe he wants to say something to me?

"Hello," the chef spoke, appearing out of nowhere. But that was inconsequential; he had my attention now.

"Did you order anything?" he asked with a grin on his face. I can see his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"No!"

"Sorry, but you can place your order over there...at the counter," he said, chuckling to himself as he poured a glass of cool water.

"Okay," I mumbled, rising from my seat with a jolt that sent the table shaking and my knees knocking.

"Stay put, you seem a bit out of place. First time here, huh?" the chef teased, a twinkle in his eye. His jovial demeanor only served to heighten my nerves; he was pushing my boundaries, testing me.

He seems nice, too intimidating, maybe a bit eccentric. I wonder what his name is.

"No! No, in fact, yeah, brand new..." 

I glared back at him.

My mother's words echoed in my synaptic cortex. Stay away from strangers, like every good citizen should!  So it was an autoimmune response to just leaning, I expanded my shoulder, masking a smile.

"I can manage, Thanks!" looking into his eyes, he raised an eyebrow, questioning whether or not he believed what I had said.

I continued with the story, replaying in my mind, "I have come a long distance from my home. I hope you will be kind to me." I declared, trying to play it cool while making my best strong woman face.

For some unknown reason, it seems to amuse him. I started sighing even faster, just to vanish the awkward tension between us. I was not the type of person who enjoys unnecessary conversations with anyone, especially not someone who looks like a villain. 

I decided to order a dish I had never encountered before - a Biryani! However, my stomach had other plans and urged me to indulge in another serving.

He looked down slightly over the table as a concerned staff member. He didn't seem to mind my eating habits.

"This tastes good," I asked, pointing the spoon towards my plate. He smiled. "Oh yeah, most ordered food in our menu…you would love it."

"Thank you very much," I said as I put the spoon in my mouth. He thanked me and left with, "You're welcome.”

I looked at everyone's table, they had food similar to mine, confidently eating and enjoying the taste of their meal.  My appetite has been rising since yesterday evening when I stepped onto the train.

After finishing everything on my plate, my stomach was finally satisfied.

My stomach loved it. I sighed deeply, my body was now free from the heaviness that was suffocating me earlier. I stretched a little, enjoying the sensation of being able to move around without any pressure in my joints. My muscles weren't tense any more and the pain that had been plaguing my shoulders all week was disappearing along with my headache.

He came back again asking, "Do you need something else?"  I shook my head. 

"No, I am done." I smiled brightly to show my appreciation for the generous offer of help. He nodded, smiling back at me in a friendly manner. I don't know why, but he was really attractive and charming. But in a kind sense. 

I'm sorry! I'm not sure.

I am not good at judging people.

I picked up my bags, one on shoulder and two on wheels, and walked outside of the building. The sky was covered in layers of gray clouds. They were slowly moving across the sky, bringing a faint hint of sunshine from somewhere. I stopped for a moment to admire the view until I started feeling sleep crawling up my feet.

"Ah, I guess this way is better for me."

"Rickshaw!" 

One after another, the auto rickshaws started disappearing.

It was a hot day. The sun was welding, melting its rays off the concrete roads. The air was filled with the smell of exhaust, gasoline and other things that I couldn't even pronounce or describe in simple words. Every vehicle had a number plate that was marked by a different color, ranging from blue, white and yellow to black. 

"I want to go to this street," the driver declared with a pleading grin. 

"I am not going! Ask someone else!"

People, both residents and workers, rushed through the crowded streets, carrying heavy boxes on their shoulders or pushing carts with determination. Their urgency was palpable as they hurried towards their destinations.

Struggling to be heard through my scarf and black sunglasses, I found myself nearly shouting at the top of my lungs. 

"Okay, there are many things I can manage! Many...A lot of things."

I stepped back, looking at every bit of road mapping the way to reach my dormitory, a new home for my 4 years of my graduation. 

"This city is huge!" I complained, "How am I supposed to get through every year?"

​

Years took its pace. The clock no longer crawled after my first year and now it raced on wheels. The love for this city kept growing, and I got molded too. I started seeing and hearing from many people who held the immense capability to be my protagonists, as they were already on an extraordinary journey. 

It was a kind of awakening, in my 18 years of age. 

Oh, sorry, I got a little carried away there.

Let's get back on track, shall we?

Never did I know, the more I traveled the more I met him. 

His kindness was a flatline to everyone, I mean consistent, some may say. But something changed in my case, though the bags were consistently heavy and my crouched position whenever I met him. This kindness was at its peak like meeting a friend.

My feet are always on autopilot, almost like a flowchart for each move I take forward. The only difference between that and how my feet would walk to this restaurant, and how he offered the same consistent food and beaming smile. He would give me surplus side gravies and unlimited advisories about the city.

Despite my Martian nature, the courage to inquire about his name eluded me.

Four years passed, It was my last day at my college...I am a graduate student now.... and it was my final ticket back home.

He was standing outside in front of an open door as he stared into the distance at my train and I waved him goodbye.

His last question was, When are you coming back?

And with those words, I knew something had happened. Something had changed in me but I didn't have any idea what. My feet felt lighter somehow, like the burden I carried on my shoulders had been removed. It wasn't long before we parted ways, not knowing if it was for good or bad.

That moment was a strange one. I've never experienced something so powerful.

I had no answers...not even for myself. But I'm sure I will someday find out....maybe then...I'll know. But right then, I couldn't tell you anything...I just don't know what it was that made me happy and feel lighter. That's when it all began, that moment, when our eyes met for acknowledgement. 

That one question is stuck with me to this day.... and I hope I won't have another chance to find out what would've been. 

Here's an expanded version that delves deeper into the emotion and significance of the encounter:

 

P.S. I find myself getting emotional, not because I want to convince anyone to buy my book—this isn’t about manipulation or persuasion. It's about that moment, the first time I met someone so genuine, wise, and open. There was an unspoken warmth in his eyes, a sense of familiarity that felt like someone known, even though we will always remain strangers (I don't know his NAME) 

All he had to offer was a simple plate of food, but it was more than just a meal; it was a kind gesture filled with hidden meanings and unheard conversations.

That encounter wasn’t just about filling my stomach; it was about nourishing my soul. Through that simple act, he taught me something invaluable—how to be kind when the world is unkind, how to hold on to grace when everything around me feels harsh.

​

You might be wondering, did I ever meet him again? The answer is NO. I returned a year later, as part of a university procedure, but the restaurant was gone. He had vanished.

​

Though I never saw him again, I’m grateful for the role he played in my writing journey—his presence, even if brief, left an indelible mark. In a way, he helped shape me into the author I am today. He taught me how to find meaning in the smallest gestures, and for that, I will always be thankful.