In the year 1991, a fresh B.Com graduate with dreams bigger than his pocket, that’s me, found himself at the crossroads of life. With nothing much to do, and pushed by the well-meaning advice of family and relatives, I stumbled into the world of Chartered Accountancy. An articleship at a reputed CA firm in Connaught Place was my first taste of the professional world.
“I promise you, it’s a respectable profession,” my uncle had declared with a conviction that almost had me convinced. Almost.
CA, as I discovered rather quickly, was not my cup of tea. The numbers danced, the laws tangled, and the audits… oh, the audits were like labyrinths I couldn’t wait to escape. Yet, there I was, spending three long years auditing various companies, one of which was a travel agency that, unbeknownst to me, housed a fascinating adventure of its own.
As a young man with little more than ambition and pocket change, my days were highlighted by the morning and evening coffee the agency generously offered. But coffee, as aromatic as it was, paled in comparison to the other distraction the place offered – the presence of beautiful girls. My heart, however, was captivated by one – a beautiful, middle-aged, unmarried, much older to me and incredibly attractive woman who had the audacity to smoke with elegance. My fascination with her was less about the smoke and more about the fire – her presence.
Let’s call her Miss X, for the sake of romance. She was the epitome of unattainable beauty.
“I’ve never seen someone make smoking look so elegant,” I confided in a colleague one day, my gaze fixed on Miss X.
“Heh, mate, you’re not looking at the smoke; you’re smitten by the smoker,” he chuckled, slapping me on the back.
I spent months in a silent adoration, my crush deepening with each passing day, despite our conversations being limited to polite smiles and the occasional “excuse me” when our paths crossed. The only barrier, it seemed, was the vast ocean that lay between our linguistic abilities – her fluent, high-standard English versus my beginner-level attempts.
One fine day, mustering every ounce of courage, I approached her desk under the guise of needing some travel brochures for ‘audit purposes.’
“Good morning, would you, um, recommend any place good?” I stammered, my face probably as red as the Mars skyline.
She looked up, a smile playing on her lips, “Anywhere far from numbers, I presume?”
Her wit struck me like a lightning bolt, rendering me speechless yet again. Our interaction was brief, but it left me with a warmth that lasted days.
As fate would have it, my tenure at the travel agency was cut short, and I was reassigned. In those days, without mobile phones or social media, losing touch was as easy as turning a page in a book, and she became a chapter of my life I thought had closed forever.
Years passed, and the world transformed in ways my younger self could never have imagined. Technology advanced, bringing people closer in ways that once seemed like science fiction. Yet, amidst this digital revolution, my memories of Miss X remained untouched, preserved in the nostalgia of a simpler time.
Then, on a whimsical afternoon, as I scrolled through social media—a concept alien during my days of silent admiration at the travel agency—I stumbled upon a familiar face. It was her, Miss X, or rather, Mrs. Something-else-now. She had aged gracefully, her profile filled with posts about travel, literature, and yes, still those elegantly smoked cigarettes.
Gathering courage that had taken decades to muster, I sent her a friend request, accompanied by a message: “From the young auditor who admired your English and elegance from afar. I hope life has been kind to you.”
To my surprise, she replied within the day. “I remember a shy young man, always so earnest. I’m glad you reached out. Life has indeed been an adventure. How have you been?”
What followed was a series of exchanges, catching up on decades lost, sharing stories of our journeys, our triumphs, and our regrets. It was surreal, conversing with my once unattainable crush, now just a person with her own tales of joy and sorrow.
Our digital reconnection sparked an idea. “Would you be up for a cup of coffee? For old times’ sake?” I ventured.
Her affirmative response came with an emoji—a wink—that somehow bridged the years of silence between us.
And so, on a sunny afternoon, we met at a quaint café, not far from the old travel agency. The conversation flowed effortlessly, as if making up for all those years of unspoken words. We laughed about my youthful infatuation and her obliviousness to it.
“It’s funny,” she mused, “how life brings people together, in the most unexpected ways.”
As the sun set, casting a golden hue over the day, I realized that some stories don’t have endings; they have continuations. Meeting Miss X, now a friend, reminded me that life is full of surprises, and sometimes, the most interesting endings are actually new beginnings.
Authored by: Bhannu Arora
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