He rang the bell. A young boy opened the door and allowed him in. It was a fantastic drawing room. White furniture, walls and curtain made it look like a piece of ancient art.
He sat down on the sofa, and checked thoroughly if he had left any footprints on the marble floor, was quite happy that he did not. It has been raining cats and dogs outside. The infamous Kolkata rain that just does not stops.
Amit entered the room; he was a skinny guy with a high powered pair of specs. In first look one will think that he is geek, vacant expression, eyes full of dream, the permanent furrow of deep thinking on forehead. But a deeper inspection may give out a hint of instability.
He stood up and handed him the letter from his friend. The boy has already placed a cup of steaming tea and a huge tray of snacks on the table.
“Please have the tea.” Amit said cordially.
“What about you?”
“I don’t drink tea, I am coffee fan.” Amit mumbled, “I just had a cup.”
By the time Hiron has finished his cup Amit has finished the letter. “Sanjay, take sir’s bags to the guest room and prepare it for sir.”
The boy nodded and left the room with Hiron’s bags.
“Stay here as long as you want. I will make arrangements of your flat but don’t hurry, wait till you find the best.” Amit stood up, casually brushed a wisp of hair from his forehead and smiled; a faint smile, not superficial but distant, the smile of a dreamer, a man who is not in this world. “Take a bath. You must be feeling tired. Come let me show you your rooms.”
It was a suite type arrangement, a nice sized bedroom attached to a small hall arranged as a living cum dining room.
A week flew by; he started to look for his flat. Amit was acting as his real estate agent; showing him around.
Every time Hiron hurried, he pacified him.
They were returning from yet another trip when Amit pulled the car to the side of the road. “I will be back in a minute.” He stepped out of the car and entered a restaurant. His laptop was on the seat beside him. A bell chimed, and a chat window opened. Involuntarily his eyes went to the contents of the chat. Apparently Amit was flirting with a girl, quite cruelly, only he was using a Christian name not his own, a weird name Brandon Gonzales.
By the time Amit returned with the food the screen has resumed its energy saver mode, so he did not guessed that Hiron has accidentally trespassed in his private world.
A few months later he was watching Amit’s latest movie, oh yes, he was a story writer, a famous story writer.
The hero of that movie was a Don Juan born in India.
Hiron stiffened in his seat when hero cooed to the girl on the phone, “Hi this is Brandon here, yes, Brandon Gonzales.”
after watching that movie, listening to Brandon, observing his ways of flirting with girls Hiron realized why Amit’s stories and dialogues are so realistic- from where his inspirations pop up!