Love By Numbers - The Short Story

LOVE BY NUMBERS
The Short Story

Music, to me, is the language of the emotions. It is the lingua franca of passion and desire, of happiness and sorrow, of hatred and fear, and of love and hope. Twelve magical notes convolved in a myriad of mesmerizing sequences beguiling the hearts of millions who lend their ears. The beats, the octaves, and the diverse instruments orchestrate a feeling of what life is meant to be.
I was fortunate to find a person who shared the same passion as me. Her name was Talitha. The only thing she couldn’t do was ‘see’.
One fine evening, after my usual practice routine, I was making my way out from the band room on the terrace. The sky was a naive blue without a cloud in sight and a slight breeze kept the atmosphere lucid. I heard a faint voice, singing. Impressed, I moved towards it. That was when I first saw her. Her back was turned towards me. The dark blue shawl of her salwaar contrasted the sky, as it danced in the breeze, along with her satiny black hair. She was singing to the wind.
I quickly ran back to the band room and brought out my acoustic guitar. Catching her melody, I strummed the chords behind her. She was startled at first, but continued singing without turning around. Probably she wanted to amuse me and my pertinacity.
“Who is this?” she asked after she finished her song.
I kept strumming a vague tune. I wanted her to turn towards me, but she didn’t.
“You play beautifully”, she said.
“You sing beautifully”, I replied.
“Why, thank you!” she turned around and smiled. The first time I saw her smile; it took my breath away. She was wearing round black sunglasses, and I felt that behind those were the most amazing eyes a person could be endowed with.
I remember that day very well. She sang and I played through the evening, till the sky turned pink and orange. I never knew at that point of time that she couldn’t revel in the colours of nature as I did.
Over the next few days, we met everyday on the terrace. We sang, we danced and talked through the night. Talitha had lost her eyesight at the age of three in a gas explosion. She was a smart girl, however, and she learnt quickly how to live with and overcome her disability. All she remembered from the world of sight were hazy memories of her parent’s faces. She got along with life just fine. Her prime quality was that she refused to give up, and one day wished to make it big and maybe even secure the means the regain her eyesight.
As time went by, we grew closer. We shared our memories, our happiness, and our sorrow. I followed her home every night just to make sure she got there safe because she wouldn’t let me come along with her. Best of all, we made music together, and that was what kept us eternally bound.
I taught her how to play the guitar. Her lissom fingers found it hard to press the strings initially, but like I said, she learnt quickly. She wasn’t able to grasp the notes of the music readily, so I taught her the numbers and the tabs.
“This is such an amazing instrument!”
“It really is. Every time I play it, I feel as if I’ve lost a part of me in it.”
Soon we were writing our own tunes and she came up with the most beautiful lyrics. I was in love, and so was she and every thing was perfect.
Everything was perfect till I received the letter from the Army. I was to be drafted. I did not have a choice and I had to leave for at least two years. I told her that I would be safe and I would come home soon, but she knew as well as I did that the truth to that statement was as much as a tear drop in a flood of grief. I kissed her for the first time, and I left.

******


For three years, I didn’t hear from Rohit. My life became weary and hebetudinous. All I had was hope, that some day he would walk in, and I could hear his voice again, and feel his breath, and that our music would live on. Hope is a lie.
On one particular day, the atmosphere felt more oppressive than usual. I heard a set of three coarse knocks on the door. Apprehensive, I slowly walked towards the door, and called out.
“Who is this? What do you want?”
A deep, rough voice replied “Ms. Talitha. Ma’m I’m from the Army,” he paused, “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Rohit...”
He didn’t have to say anymore. My world was already spinning. After all these years, I feared this moment would come, I refused to believe it. Rohit, who taught me how to see a life beyond myself, who taught me the meaning of love, the only person I’d ever wanted to see...
“He has left a package for you,” the man outside continued, “he wished that it would reach you under any circumstance.”
“A package?”
I braved my tears and opened the door. I stumbled as I picked up the package from the man. It was a bit heavy.
“I’m deeply sorry for your loss. He was a good man and a courageous man. He loved you very much.”
I didn’t say anything. I was transfixed. And after a while, I heard his footsteps die as he walked away. Hasn’t he seen a blind woman’s tears? I went back inside, and ripped open the package hastily. A set of light plates fell onto the floor. I fumbled as I picked them up and I felt my fingers all over them. The all too familiar dots; It was Braille. They were numbers written in sequences of six arranged linearly.
I was confused. “Is this a game? He sends me a bunch of numbers? A code?” I did not understand the cause for my anger; maybe it was out of fear of acceptance.
Right then, I remembered all the times we’d spent together. I remembered the music. I pulled out his guitar and I pressed my fingers on the strings. I felt a slight pain. I must’ve pressed too hard; I didn’t care. I felt the numbers on the plate again, located them on the fret board, and I played and I played the last song he wrote for me.


******



The End