The Owl Tattoo

Chapter 3

I met my usual gang the next day at college. The girls dreamt a little too much about the tattoo-man; coming up with tragic back-stories as to why he had no tattoos ranging from 'he promised his dying mother' to 'he had one on his man parts of his girlfriend's name'. These girls would be famous if let loose in the beautiful universe of fanfiction, I swear. The guys snickered about the dude, enquired about Aphrodite. They gave me judgmental looks and curses because I hadn't asked her name. As if that even happened in real life India.

I kept thinking about the tattoo and hated myself for still wanting it. The reason seemed stronger now that I had shared it verbally with another human being.

Wisdom and wealth. Wisdom. Wealth. Acceptance letter.

Acceptance.

The next weekend I went over to that shop again. It was the shopping district I actually went to but found myself coming back at the tattoo parlor four times. The fifth time I was torn between heading home and going inside when a voice startled me, "Closed on the weekend. I have a life, you know. Stalking the handsome tattoo guy?"

I didn't even have to look. That smug voice was etched on my brain till the end of time. I replied with a, "You wish", before turning around to face him.

He looked at me sheepishly. It was odd to see him with a camera around his neck but he pulled it off quite well.

"Did you shop a lot today?"

"Not much. A comb. Two tops, a few other things."

"What other things?"

"What is it to you?"

"What other things?"

"Personal other things!"

"What other things?"

"Sanitary napkins. Underwear. Ask me the size and you die."

"Color?"

I sigh and oblige, if only to shut him up, "Black."

He looks at me, points his camera and I smile by default, while he takes a picture. Don't ask me why I smiled. Something to do with the childish fact that all permanently stored memories should only be the happy ones.

"You're something else", he informs me.

"Let me guess. Because I didn't whine about how I am without make-up but with sweat...?"

"Told you, you are something else. I'd like to work for that tattoo. But just an owl is non-committal. Wouldn't work for a girl like you."

I folded my arms defensively. I could never tell when he was flirting and when he was working. After a beat, I tell him, "I have those pictures from the Net. I know what I want. I am anything but non-committal."

He grins at my choice of words. I can see he is trying to get a read on me, but I also know he won't be able to. I am bloody careful about myself. He takes out a sketch of an ugly grotesque barely owlish tattoo and my face scrunches up of its own accord. He balls up the piece of paper and throws it in a nearby panwaala's dustbin. That's when I realize: he's been working on this for half a week. I look at him guiltily to which he says, "Don't feel bad about it. My disappointment will only last a day. Yours would go on for a lifetime if you get inked with something you don't like. Be frank and we'll get this done."

I mutter a small 'okay'. I know my voice lacks conviction. After checking out his work, I had thought that on the first try he would spew out exactly what I was looking for. He caught my hands, took my bags for me (so desperate!) and pulled me in a nearby eatery, refusing to talk till we were seated.

"It takes time, you know. I am not a magician!"

"From your website, I thought you were", I confess and his grin appears, pissing me off again.

"By the way, handsome tattoo-less tattoo guy is called Slok."

I look at him wryly. The name meaning hymn was not what I expected him to be. I give him my hand and as we shake I say, "Priyanka."

I am still not sure but somehow we ended up sharing a burger and an ice-cream. I tried to answer his borderline personal questions. I avoided asking him any. All I needed him to do was give me my tattoo. He insisted on meeting every week for him to figure me out so I could get what I wanted from him. I refused a couple of times before I asked, "What is Aphrodite's name?"

The smart arse replied, "I am pretty sure Aphrodite is called Aphrodite."

"That girl from your shop I met the other day."

"She is hardly Aphrodite. Why do you need her name?"

"I've been instructed by my guys to enquire about every good-looking girl's name so they can stalk her on Facebook."

"She's Afraa."

"Okay. Thanks for appeasing my friends' craziness!"

"Jealous much?"

I swear in that moment I could have killed him, "You wish, dude."

"She's not my girlfriend, for your information."

"Like I even care!"

"She's my sister, Pri!" The bastard abbreviated my name. And also, sister!

I fought to keep the smile off my face. He laughed at me, "You are so amazingly twenty!"

And there went my happy mood! Glowering at him I had to enquire, "How old are you?"

"Thirty-one. Eleven years your senior, Pri", he said more to himself.

We split the bill in half and got up to leave. He handed me a card of his. And of course, it had his personal number on the back. I shove it in my purse a bit too harshly and he mouths, "Ouch!" He then walks me to the bus stop and just as I get up on the bus he shouts, "Pri, she's my sister." And I felt like I had never been happier.

Panwaala: Person selling betel leaves.


Hi! Another chapter is out! It's such a relief to be punctual about it, which is why I only upload a story when it's absolutely over. So, new stories take some time for me.

Anyway, I hope you like this installment and don't forget to Vote, Share and Comment! Let me know where you think this story is headed and if you like it so far!

TIA :)