Fitoor: The Obsession

1: CAMBRIDGE

The masterful strokes of an artist's hands came from hands that have been dragged through the nether region. That was what created real mastery. Strokes of paint meant nothing without a story or emotion. Art, she believed, was beautiful in that the style and colour of each painting differed depending on the artist. Entrust an artist with a glimpse of your story, a figment of your imagination and they will give you an epitome of hues.

Alas, having the talent to paint was unfortunate because in the world of art, it was always the artist behind the colour, not behind the reason for it. Aditi knew it was a one in a million chance for her to experience love of great chasmic. Oh, how she longed to be the colours on someone else's canvas for once. To be a story that was declared. To be a love of high standing. To be a masterpiece that was admired.

But she was yet to realise she would be someone's story and it was in that she would have never felt so alive.

"And you are an artist, no?" the man beside her asked, glancing at the easel she held. They had been engaged in a conversation for a while now. A train came to a screeching halt at the second platform.

"I believe so, sir," she answered quite loudly, as she tried to overpower the sound of the whistle.

A railway station exercised a strange fascination to all. Usually, the atmosphere was quiet and even sleepy when trains were off. But with the arrival of a train the station suddenly burst into life. The hustle and bustle of the ordinary public hurled its way into the calm, collected station; the quick paced footsteps of travellers searching for their train and the frantic voice of the announcer alerting people where to go.

Amongst the myriad of confused people, there stood a neat-figured lady, her curls lustrous like an onyx stone. A suitcase in one hand, an easel in the other, her dark eyes searched through the plethora of figures to find her friend.

Ought there be one thing she hated about railway stations, it was platforms. They were just utterly confusing, and the Cambridge station reminded her of a mini bustling town and the whole having to wait for your train to be called did not do it for her. Just as she was about to excuse herself to walk out the station, maybe get some fresh air, an announcement was made.

"The 06:30 train service to Harwich from Cambridge station, Platform 2 will depart in 15 minutes."

Scattered crowds of eager people stood amongst the eight doors leading into the train, waiting to go in. The sound of thumping feet got louder as more people rushed down the stairs. The sound of the music was getting quieter as a big crowd of businessmen and women were scampering to get a seat on the train. Information boards began to rustle and ticket-checkers, the guard, moved about in doing their functions.

"Oh, that's my cue," the man mumbled, bending to grab his luggage. He then turned to look at her. "Can I expect to see you inside?"

Aditi shook her head politely and denied. "I'm afraid not. I really just arrived."

The man tipped off his hat, bidding her goodbye with a smile. Seeing him gone, she let out a long exhale and held her valise tighter. Massaging her thumping temple, she could hear a hubbub of people at the ticketing counter trying to purchase last minute tickets. Train attendants– all clad in similar outfits strolled by, along with their belongings. Her eyes scanned the crowd, begging for a familiar face.

"Your taste in men is truly awful," a manly voice whispered in her ear. A yelp erupted from Aditi as she held her hand over her chest in surprise.

She turned around, only to meet with a familiar pair of hazel eyes.