Those Haunting Souls

The freakish yell was back. A fortnight ago I thought I had finally dealt with the ghastly howls that I was fantasizing in the lull of the night but I was wrong. Faint yet tormenting, they were back for real. No more sleepless nights, I decided, and stepped into the backyard of my house with a torch to find out the source of disturbance. A solitary pebbled road was lying ahead of me, flanked by sparse forests extending till the end of sight. Fortunately, the moon was there, not full though, somewhat enlightening the panorama which probably held the secret of those distressing yells.

A chill ran through my spine as I began walking, guided by the torch light. The chatter of the breeze and the pebbles, which otherwise had sounded delightful, were as creepy as the howls were. Wandering through the forest a good deal of time elapsed and many a time I glided away from the yells, but finally I found the very trail that led me to the vista that was even more unnerving.

Leaning to a eucalyptus tree, a young girl was sitting on the ground howling like she had lost something dearer than life. Following seconds of contemplation, I directed the torch light to her face and she turned around. Beautiful she was, but wounded. Her dress was almost fully drenched in blood but even her swollen eyes and scarred face couldn't defy her resplendence. Being a daredevil, as I call myself, I approached her and put up the obvious queries.

Sobbing profusely she replied “I was killed by my lover to whom I had given the whole of me. His love instilled life in me and I blossomed like never before. I wished to live for his joy; I loved being the reason of his smile. But he murdered me even though he loved me ardently. He wished to silence me forever but my heart oozes a never ending fountain of pain, every drop of which desperately wants to reach out to him.”

A little empathy that had emerged in my heart at the sight of the wounded girl vanished in a moment. She was expecting me to believe in a creepy supernatural tale in which she portrayed herself as a miserable spirit who wanted her lover to feel the guilt of murdering her. Annoyed, I warned her to stop her tragic play every night or I would be forced to complain to the authorities. Over the next few days I heard the same howls, however occasionally, but strangely never for once I could make up my mind to file a complaint against her. I strongly disbelieved her story but her innocent eyes, etched in my mind, had somehow shackled me.

The very next month I got transferred to a new place and after a few weeks the incident was nowhere in my conscious. A decade elapsed during which I barely had the time to rest or reflect over the happenings of my life. I worked too hard, had a loving family and a lavish lifestyle. I was a successful professional, everybody said so. 

Life was right on the track until the night that once again marked the beginning of eerie episodes that haunted me a decade ago. But this time the howls were accompanied by distressing symphonies that were tearing my mind apart. Loud, aggressive and hysteric symphonies that wanted to paralyse me or suck the life out of me. Symphonies at night and an uncanny regret in the days were constantly tormenting me. I was drained but finally decided to muster up courage once again and find out my offender.

One dark night, when the moon was obscured by clouds, I followed another solitary trail. Restlessness overpowered me but finally I managed to find the way on which, with each step, I felt getting closer to those howls and hysteric symphonies. My walk ended up at a vista where I felt unnerved just like the night a decade ago. It was her, the same wounded girl, standing beside a tree and holding a guitar. My guitar it was; old, covered with dust and cobwebs, with torn strings. That night I couldn't utter a single word and unlike the previous night I was scared because this time she had found what I had loved but murdered years ago.

The Casanova

“He is a Casanova. I loved him with all my heart and he ditched me. He was popular among girls, many said and I was a fool to ignore them. I was ready to sacrifice everything, leaving behind my world and dreams, just to be with him but he didn't value it. I felt his coldness for some time but never knew he was bestowing warmth on someone else. I thought we would come out triumphant from this rough patch in some time but he opted to move out of it, dumping me and our relationship. Was it so easy for him?”

The night I received this sms from my best friend was horrible. Neither I could answer her question, nor could console her while she was crying profusely over the phone. Her teary eyes and poignant silence disturbed me to the core for the next few days. Many of our friends consoled her stating that she was lucky to have found soon enough. But I knew it wasn't soon enough as she was deeply in love with the guy. However, with each passing day, she recovered and I began developing an immense hatred and loathe for him.

I had met the guy just a few times. I had heard that his job kept him in different cities for days. But the thought that he still returns to this city and might be present somewhere in a nearby lane or coffee shop often provoked me to search for him and beat him to death. To my amazement, once destiny offered me the chance to do so.

One bright morning I found him in the conference room of my office. He was the very client whom I had to attend in the absence of my boss. I had to finalize certain business plans with him. Recognition was evident in both our eyes but he chose to remain calm while I struggled to contain my fury. My profession was demanding amicability as he was an important client but I knew I was failing. We spent 3 to 4 hours discussing the business plans. There were moments when I couldn't contain my rage for Mr. Casanova and there were also times when my thoughts drifted to my heartbroken friend. Overall, I had a terrible meeting in which my personal and professional lives blended horribly and at the end of the meeting I began preparing myself to explain to my boss that why we lost the client.

The next day in the office I received two mails from Mr. Casanova. Anticipating its contents, as I began reading the first one, surprise deluged me with every sentence. The client had appreciated the meeting and was looking forward to take things to the next level. Without any further thoughts I forwarded the mail to my boss and opened the next one. It read:

Hi,

It was very obvious that you would hate me but, until yesterday, I didn't know that your hatred is overpowering you. I know she is one of your dearest friends and her agony has affected you a lot. I never felt the need to explain myself to anyone but henceforth we may need to have more confrontations for official purposes and if my presence always disturbs you, it would be detrimental for both of us, professionally.

You are upset over the fact that I so brutally deceived your friend. I did but I had reasons. We both loved each other dearly but our relationship was moving towards a dead end. It began, as usual, with vows of enduring pains and loving each other unconditionally. We promised sacrifice and compromise for each other’s happiness. However, conditions arose when the “word” sacrifice won over the “act” of sacrifice and that is when it lost its worth.

I have a job which doesn't permit settlement at one destination. Initially, she happily gave in to the idea of moving around with me leaving behind her passion, dreams and career but, with time, she realized that she was losing herself to be with me. Each time she rejected an opportunity that came her way to shape her career, a part of her died silently.

She was regretting her decision and was constantly reminding me about her sacrifice, which, gradually, began appearing to me as a favor. Neither she could let go of her dreams nor could let go of me and this was leading us both to a path of suffering. I don’t blame her at all because it’s not easy to give up on a dream. I felt her agony because, just like me, she is also a free spirited person who aspires to live with an identity and dreams to achieve something. This relationship was holding her back.

You must be thinking that if I had really loved her, I should have settled down with her. But then, perhaps, I would have faced the same distress as her. Don’t you think that only a person content and happy with himself is capable of providing joy to others? Her dream might unleash her inner joy that even I could not, and so I set her free from this relationship that had shackled her. I had to appear a Casanova because no other reason was convincing enough for her to break free of this relationship, in which we both were degrading instead of evolving. My infidelity was the only key to end her obsession for a relation which could never prosper in the long run.  

Yours faithfully

……….

P.S. Please don’t think that I approved the business plan out of mercy over your disturbed being. Although you messed up a little in the meeting, I foresee professional gains.

An hour later, I found myself pondering over the mail from Mr. Casanova and the sms from my friend and a question constantly buzzed in my mind. Was he really a Casanova? They say “there are two sides to every story.” When I discovered both, I ceased to judge as both appeared justified.

A PROMISE LIVED...

The wind that night was neither soothing nor violent. It was just wandering restlessly. The deserted beach was soaked in moonlight and, strangely, nothing that it lit appealed to her. As she sat alone on the white sand, the rolling waves immersed her in a sea of memories. The days of their togetherness kept on flashing before her, some of which choked her while some made her smile. Even after five long years, his touch still lingered on her soul. They had believed that they were inseparable; their vows were true and their love everlasting.

Their relationship had just started to blossom when his dream to pursue a career in the film industry unveiled its fragile core. Everything changed soon after he began his struggle in the industry and all she began encountering was his unpredictable schedules, his on-screen intimacies, his disturbed moods and his obsession for stardom. The changed dynamics of their relationship disturbed her to the core and their conflicts began taking an ugly and sickening shape. Neither of them wanted him to give up on his dreams and to restore peace in life they decided to part. Of all the promises they had made in love, only one stood out through years. At least on her part, she thought.

While parting, a flickering hope lived in both the hearts for which they had promised to meet after five years, on the very day which marked the beginning of their relationship and at the very place which nurtured some of their best moments, if their hearts would still harbor the love which once embraced them closer than life.

Her life had changed and so did his. He was a star and appeared every now and then on theater screens, television and big hoardings. Half of the country was crazy about him and was ready to do anything to get a glimpse or an autograph of the star. Suddenly, she felt stupid to be waiting for him. She thought how silly it was to expect a star to remember someone who was his beloved once but vanished from his life for five long years. The distant lighthouse which once witnessed their togetherness appeared blind to the only promise which brought her there that night. She felt it was loathing her with a notion that his stardom lured her there.

Restless as she got up and turned to leave, his relaxed persona standing right behind startled her. He was there, since when, she did not know. He smiled at her, an indifferent smile which made her rather uncomfortable. He took a few steps and sat beside her with an uncanny ease as if he was there to attend a casual meeting. She followed suit, trying to compose herself.

He began “I was expecting you.”

Once again she felt loathed and replied “I was not. You are a busy man after all.”

He agreed and continued the conversation, adorning it carefully with sarcasms, some of which she returned. Their conversation was interspersed with long awkward silences which both of them were trying hard to fill, in vain.

“I thought you would be married by now,” he guessed.

“I am,” she replied with a smile and quickly took off her ring from her finger to hold it tight in her fist. His eyes followed her action to which she responded “you reminded me that my wedding ring is new and a bit loose and I don’t want to lose it to this night.”

He laughed and said “In ways you are still the same stupid girl whom I loved once.”

His remark somehow eased their awkwardness and words began flowing easily. He told her about his busy life and she shared about her work which kept her engaged through years.

“Are you seeing someone?” she asked.

“Media covered two of my serious affairs and you still ask that!” he responded with a smile.

“I don’t trust them. I want you to tell me,” she replied firmly.

“But once they were more trustworthy to you than me, when you didn't feel the need of asking me without any preconceived notions.” He paused for a moment to spot guilt in her eyes and succeeded. “Yes I am not only seeing someone but also planning to get engaged soon. She is a darling and is waiting for me at my home knowing that I am here to meet my ex-girlfriend. And just like you even I am determined not to lose her to this night.”

She felt a stabbing pain and she knew that her eyes were failing to hide her emotions.

“Only if I had not to wait for days to talk to you or meet you, only if I was not a constant victim of your resentments which arose from your struggles and only if you had stopped me once from leaving, our lives would have been different,” she said while her voice trembled.

“All I needed was support and motivation for venturing into an uncertain world, which unexpectedly you too couldn't provide,” his grudge was prominent in his voice.

“My dreams hazed out before yours. Though it wasn't as big as yours, it still existed. I wish you had a little time to hear me out when I so wanted to discuss my career plans with you,” her eyes welled up while saying.

“Glamour world isn't easy; it devours you before you know,” he declared plainly.

Once again silence deluged them and he lied down over the sand. She kept watching the rolling waves and he, the radiant moon, for long. His phone rang and he told someone over the phone that he would be back in an hour. Her heart sank but he went back to his thoughts. He got up after sometime and looked at her.

“I must go. She is waiting for me” he said in a tone that lacked emotions.

“Sure,” she said with a smile and hugged him for the last time. She felt that his hug on her tightened with each passing second and it stayed much longer than she expected.

When he was gone, she walked a few steps towards the sea. She opened her fist and placed her ring on the shimmering sand. A wave rolled in and took away her most prized possession which he once gifted with all his love and which, for five years, gave her the hope that their love still lives somewhere, beneath the complexities of life. She looked at the lighthouse and wondered if it pitied her loneliness. Stepping out of the car felt like a tough job for him when he returned home. He dragged himself to his bedroom where waiting for him was a bottle of scotch. He looked at it and wondered if it pitied his loneliness.

Both the lighthouse and the scotch bottle perhaps pitied that none of them confessed, even for once, what exactly had brought them there that night!

MY PRINCE CHARMING

My prince charming had come alive. He was the blue eyed handsome I had always dreamt about. I fell for him the very day I saw him in my college campus and I knew it was an irreversible trap. However, the trap was not exclusively designed for me and I watched many girls willingly stepping into the same. Two of my friends declared war against me when they came to know that I was truly, madly and deeply in love with him (Oh yes, I knew it was love as he always haunted my mind, in waking as well as sleeping hours). My heart always skipped a beat when he walked in his blue blazer, perfectly tailored for his tall and slender body. But a little sinking feeling also came along whenever the bunch of my competitors skipped....perhaps…two or three heart beats.

Were they really my competitors? Secretly I had always preferred him in my dreams. Well, he was too perfect to be my reality. He was the "prince charming" and I was the clumsy little weirdo, and besides that there was a long cue of fairy looking girls waiting eagerly to be his princess. He was very impartial though, always bestowing his charms and smiles on everyone who crossed him and I was always peeping out from behind a wall or a tree to catch a glimpse of his courtesies.

I dreamt of a "beautiful me" but was too lazy to work for it. I was sure that his castle (or home…whatever) was perfectly decorated unlike my messy bedroom and he was full of charismatic etiquettes of which I had none. I fumble while talking to strangers, have ugly fights and sometimes cannot help hating people for no reason. I am perfectly attired only for parties and otherwise it’s too much of unnecessary work for me. Apart from being a consistent college topper I had nothing to attract a prince charming. And of course, princes always search for princesses. Toppers tend to become their…well…may be financial advisers or spokesperson for the royal family.

Sometimes I liked to think that he was a Casanova and I am safe to be distant. But never a single such rumour confirmed my thought. Instead, I always heard that he never entertained any girl who stepped beyond limit. Well I tried to convince myself that I was watching a movie and no matter how much I fall for him, he would always remain an imagination. But, to watch the same movie again and again my heart used to drag me to all the places where he was likely to be found. And in case he noticed me (although the probability was negligible) I used to dress myself somewhat perfectly to match up with him. He chose posh places, he was rich, and I was hopelessly boosting some businesses. 

  

Will it sound too fancy if I tell you that he indeed noticed me? I was in a coffee shop, sipping coffee alone, watching my prince charming from a good distance. Although I was a little heartbroken by observing that he was waiting for someone, (I was habitual of heartbreaks by then, thanks to him) I continued my job. And like a "dream come true" situation he suddenly walked towards me and identified the college topper. I was overwhelmed and speechless while he politely introduced himself (Oh prince, a stalker never needs an introduction). He honestly confessed in the very first meeting that though he was a senior he needed some help in academics and that was when our story began.

In the next few days I lived my dream. I was pretty sure that for all the hard work I had done through years for academics, fate is rewarding me by gifting a fairy tale. We gradually became friends and we began meeting frequently. Initially I used to become numb and ran out of words in his presence but he gradually made me comfortable. Then began a phase of “momentary spells”, the time when the world around me hazed out in his company. He was grateful to me for helping him with studies and I was grateful to him for noticing me, for talking to me and for being grateful to me. I had considered myself out of his league but in a matter of few days the destiny won me his friendship and the envy of half of the college girls. Standing close to him, one day, I noticed that his smile was intoxicating.

I was aware that he was growing fond of me. He started spending more and more time with me and allowed me to walk into the nooks and corners of his life. His home (I still prefer to call it a castle) was exactly as I had imagined. Beyond college and home he was always with me, his pleasantries pleased my acquaintances, he never fought with me, was always well behaved, always had calm discussions, greeted me delightfully whenever we met and praised me often (none sounded like flattering). He never held grudges, was logical and never gave me a reason to be upset. Wasn't that perfect? My prince charming had dived out straight from the books before me….I was soaring high, very high.

My dream-like life continued for about two months and to my amazement he never ever gave me a single reason to fight. Silly gossips were not his forte and he was quick in apologizing whenever he saw me heading towards disconcert. As for me, I was the same girl, at times blabbering on and on. My prince was always willing to listen to me (so sweet of him) but he could never walk in there. He often used to bring me flowers, although I was growing a bit weary of it, and he could give me a good deal of knowledge on any random topic. When I behaved badly or dressed shabbily, he was Mr. Cool, conveying his views with great patience. Trust me it was million times the patience I had. Isn't it sweet….may be a little too sweet. He was accompanying me everywhere but I was getting immune to his intoxicating smile that flashed too often.

Was the charm fading off or something was wrong with me? He was still my dream man and my life was indeed a fairy tale with him. Knowing him closely didn't at all alter my idea of a prince charming that I had imbibed from books and movies. He was the prince…but what was I?

One evening he called me to the sea beach and I was pretty sure that he was going to confess his love for me. Throughout the day I was wondering what would I reply. He came with a bunch of red roses (Oh no...my room was already overflowing with bouquets) and we talked casually for a while. Suddenly he knelt down and confessed his love, framed in a poetic set of words. I stared at him for a moment and the world around me felt so obvious. I knew how dream men behave and could predict his moves. I could visualize what life was going to unfold for me. But what I wished in dreams seemed boring in reality.

I secretly promised myself "I would love him dearly if he, now, starts fighting with me or cracks a poor joke or sings a romantic song, completely out of tune." I wanted to become startled, to become surprised. My heart screamed…“do something crazy my prince, something which is NOT so princely.” He did none and was eagerly waiting for my response. I suddenly started feeling bad for him. I looked at him, smiled and said “Indeed you are my prince charming but I do not wish to become a princess. Trust me this girl is a misfit for your castle.” He was silent for a moment, then got up, smiled back at me and said “I do not believe that you are a misfit but I sincerely believe that my heart must welcome your wishes more than my castle welcoming you.” He kissed my forehead and walked away like a true prince.

Standing on the beach I realized that dreams and perfect moments are just for garnishing the otherwise funny, weird, crazy and unpredictable life.

SHE SPARKLED THAT DIWALI

When the colorful twinkling lights came into view through her bus window she felt nostalgic. She almost jumped on her seat at the very thought of bursting crackers with her best buddies, Minty and Raju, in a few hours. Others in the bus were busy talking about the inter school drawing competition, from which they were returning, but she was occupied with her plans. It was Diwali, a time to enjoy and have fun. Even the white envelope in her bag containing a scholarship, her reward of winning the competition, made no sense to her.

When the bus stopped, she alone stepped down. They call it slum and she called it her world. Through the narrow lane lit by earthen lamps she ran towards her home. A string of yellow lights was hanging from the roof of her house and she frowned at it.  She wanted it to be blue this year. The two earthen lamps at the door flickered as she rushed inside. With an ecstatic shout ‘Diwaliiiii’ she inform her Mom, Dad and little Sister that she’s home. However she got utterly disappointed on finding out that they all were excited only to know about the competition. With a very brief reply that conveyed nothing significant about it, she went ahead to get ready for the festivity. They must be waiting for me with crackers, she thought.

Her utopia came down crashing when her Mom told her that a family has come down to see Minty for marriage. Her heart sank further as she thought about Raju. She knew that he mostly remains busy these days in his father’s garage and she hated his father for making him work so hard. Her disappointment doubled when she reached his home only to find out that he will return late from the garage. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she began walking towards her home. On the way, she saw people making preparations to hit the roads with fireworks.

A myriad of thoughts clouded her mind. Not only her Diwali got spoilt but her upcoming days are now going to be lonely too. If Minty gets married, with whom she would play after the school, who would be her partner in crime and who would listen to her stories, fancies and woes. She started crying and wondered that with Raju being busy all the time, to whom she would flee when her mom would make her do household chores and what if her dad marries her off soon just like Minty. Her life suddenly felt empty and dreadful.

She saw a gathering just before her house. Diwali celebration was on but she carefully made her way to her home without anybody noticing her. Her eyes were swollen, with tears still lingering in them, and she slowly began unpacking her small bag that she had taken to the tour. She saw the white envelope and recalled the moment when she had climbed up the stage and everyone clapped. Her drawing was displayed on a big screen but they didn't allow her to bring it back home. She loathed their cruelty as she thought that her Dad must have seen it. 

Soon everyone became busy with crackers and in the absence of Minty and Raju, nobody came searching for her. She fiddled through her art book and counted five ‘good’ and two ‘excellent’ remarks. She smiled and felt a little proud. Having nobody to go to, she poured herself into her art book. The pencil obeyed her commands and traced countless lines and curves. The castle that won her the competition came into view again, but this time it summoned her to celebrate the festival of lights. She illuminated it and had a cheerful celebration throughout the night. Two days later when the school principal exhibited her sketch in the assembly, she wondered whether her Diwali was really spoilt?

When her two best buddies were about to leave her alone, another friend arrived in her world. Passion was its name. When the canvas around her changed, she submitted herself to her new friend in a hope that it will neither get married nor will disappear behind the busyness, until she wishes. Reflecting on this a few years later, she found herself sitting in the fine arts class, smiling to herself. But she was clueless about when she befriended her another friend, dream. Last Diwali, she guessed.     

Dedicated to my dearest friend Tania Roy who instilled the concept of passion and dream in me. 

  

THAT LIVID NIGHT

Soaked in the hammering rain, she was running towards her home that livid night. Her hazed eyes and dizzy mind was apprehensive about what awaited for her at home. A nightmare she called it, and consoled herself every morning to wipe off the vicious memories of preceding nights. Her cell phone rang and she panicked. It was him. She was late and she feared that her explanation won’t appease his rage.  

The rain was blurring her vision but she still paced with all her might. The scars on her hands and legs hurt. They reminded her of the nights she refused to give in and the searing pain she felt as he jabbed his Swiss knife through her white skin. His lust tore apart her body and soul every night.

As she waited at a crossing for the signal to turn green, she pondered over the parallelism of her life with her mom’s. She recalled her distraught childhood when she used to spend sleepless nights sobbing and hearing her mom’s screams. In the mornings her mom wore a bright smile for her, which could never defy her bruises and swollen eyes. She had always wanted to stab her father to death but his enraged persona threatened her steps.

   

Somewhere near, a strong thunder struck and she momentarily got deafened by its roar. She headed towards the lane at the end of which stood her home, but her pace receded. In the morning he had told her about a vacation with his sweetheart. She had worked the whole day in her office with a stabbing pain and flashing memories of her father flaunting his mistress in the family parties and her mom standing embarrassed at a corner guarding the little girl holding her hand.

She was her mom’s weakness while her weakness was the profound love she had for her husband. For one long year of her marriage she had loved him dearly only to be agonized every day. But that night was asking her to stop. Amid the thunders, it yelled that her life should no more collide with her mom's. And with the last few steps she mustered the courage to free herself from her agonies.

She pressed the doorbell and as the door opened she shuddered with fear at the sight of her husband. But this time she was resolute about shrugging off this fearful life forever. She tightened the grip on the broken glass bottle she had picked up on the way and entered the home.

The next day she was found sitting on the drawing room floor staring transfixed at the dead body of her husband which lay over a pool of blood. She offered silence to all the questions posed by the police officials. Blood was dribbling from the fresh scars on her hands and legs, one of which she was still scratching with a Swiss knife. Her husband’s office bag revealed two significant documents. One of them declared a planned vacation which they were about to spend together at Paris in a few days. Another one was her medical report which confirmed her full blown dissociative identity disorder.

    

STRANGERS

The intoxicating mountain breeze was threatening to unlock the hearts that evening and I was an intent observer of the two contrary souls walking beside me. My wife’s fervency was complementing the composure of our new companion whom we met on our stroll when her car crashed with a lofty tree distracting us from reviving our best memories of a year’s marriage. We decided to accompany the injured lady to her hotel, adjacent to ours.

Her restlessness bared out quite a few times and I surmised it to be the accident trauma. From her knotty set of words I deduced that either she was on a vacation like us or was on a run.

My wife’s pleasantries are often hard to ignore and I saw her gradually stepping into her amicability. With time, her fragility found comfort and her composure melted off, revealing her world. Their mirrored desires amused them, for both were cherishing standing atop the world, but one with her love beside her and the other longing for the same. She laughed, shared anecdotes and her verve reverberated through every entity around me. They both looked like teenage friends having a merry time. I chose to be a silent spectator, engrossed in the vivacity before me.

We halted with her several times when her trembling legs defied her walk. She was in pain. When I offered to help her through a tricky mountain trail while she was slipping down, she scanned me avidly before holding my hand as if she noticed my presence for the first time in the last one hour. At times her weirdness gravely reminded me of someone, but I chose to prevent the stranger from invading my memory lane.

  

When the lit hotel buildings came into view, an uncanny sinking feeling arrested me. Our journey ended on her destination and a part of me despised my slightest penchant for the stranger. She stood face to face with my wife and thanked her earnestly. She then turned to me and said ‘thank you for not letting me down’. I probably noticed a heartrending smile and a hint of tears in her eyes. As I saw her leaving, my wife told me that beneath this vivacious soul somewhere hides innocence, once deceived, and smiles veiling a throbbing pain.  A lump grew in my throat. However, deep inside contentment deluged me. I did not let her down. I kept my promise to meet as strangers if any crossroad of life imposed confrontations on us. Her touch lingered on my hands….perhaps on my soul too.