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Rated: E · Short Story · Emotional · #2140758
Finding love in a hopeless place.
And I found myself there again. The same musty walls, the same dirty twisted dark lanes. The usual music floated to my ears, punctuating my thoughts and I cursed myself again for coming back, but I could not help it.
I made my way through the crowd. The sickening smell had overpowered me, yet I moved on, putting aside the very known glares, some of pleasures, but mostly of need and pain.
In a few minutes, I reached the house. I found the same girl at the door, the one whose name I had not bothered asking. She smiled and nodded a recognition and made a gesture to guide me through. But I requested her not to, for I had known the map to her room too well.
I went up the stairs and knocked on the familiar door. Surprisingly today it was open. I went inside and sat myself down. She was not there, and so I started looking around. The vanity table was full of cosmetics, untidily kept here and there. I looked up and saw my face in the mirror. I had a flashback of a million memories. A lost bet, a dare and a heart full of horror and disgust had led me here, yet now, I could not live without seeing her. I remembered the first time I saw her. Something in her captivated me instantly. No not her beauty, but maybe her pain and her longing to be loved, to be looked at with respect, to be touched, to be loved.
My cloud of thoughts were soon dispersed by the clinking of approaching anklets and I was almost shocked back into reality for her memories always spin a web of fantasy around me. She was standing at the door tired, but there was a feeling of satisfaction in her eyes, a feeling that she was safe and above all, a feeling of trust. It made me happy. She came in, closed the door and sat beside me. From trying to seduce me on our first night together to gently holding my hand with a bond of faith, a lot of things had changed.
Tonight was something different. She leaned and kissed me on the forehead. I didn't know if she did this with everybody, but there was a different passion which killed me a little inside. Like always she lied down beside me. Even today, I stared at her as she dozed off peacefully into sleep. Her body was a temple to me and for some reason the old scars did not matter, but beautified her slender figure even more, like those unkempt walls of temples which made the idol look a lot more majestic. She had often thanked me for the nights she was able to sleep with the dignity of a woman, with a tiny bit of self-respect rolled up her saree. And for some unknown reason, I never felt the need to make her mine, because we had always felt being one. Her presence had gifted me confidence and serenity. Looking into her dreamy eyes, I had not been more sure that I wanted her forever, despite the fear of society and despite our paths being parallel, never meant to intersect.
In amidst the walls of that dirty brothel, amongst hundreds of hungry predators, amongst those bodies being ruthlessly sold and bought, I had felt alive, I had felt pure for I had fallen in love!

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