Afloat 2
10/4/2026
She lifted it with two fingers.
The stem was bleeding a little.
She carried it back.
Sat down.
The leaf was tender and small.
About the length of her finger.
Its shape reminded her of an eye.
A beautiful eye.
And tiny drops of sap were gathered near the stem like tears.
She took her scarf.
Pressed it gently against the stem.
Wiped the tears.
Made sure it was not bleeding anymore.
Then she placed the leaf in her palm.
Its veins were visible.
They looked like fingerprints.
Lines beginning somewhere and travelling outward, reaching every joint, disappearing, finding another path, never telling you where they had started.
She touched one vein with her fingertip.
The leaf smelled green.
Fresh.
Almost familiar.
Almost like herself.
She closed her eyes.
Held it near her lips.
Breathed in.
Then closed her palm around it without squeezing.
She brought it to her chest.
“You came down when I called you?”
She whispered.
“And you fell for me?”
The breeze moved through the trees.
“You didn’t care if you got lost?”
She looked at it.
“You waited for me?”
The leaf moved gently in her palm.
She smiled.
Not completely.
But enough.
“Thank you for coming.”
She placed her bag on her lap.
Then placed the leaf beside her.
“Sit here.”
The leaf stayed.
The orchid plant danced across the pavement.
Its long flower stem swayed in the breeze as though it knew something she didn’t.
“You knew I would come?”
She asked.
She placed her palm on the bench beside the leaf.
Slowly, she moved her little finger towards it.
Touched its tip.
For a moment, she felt as though something had held her hand.
She smiled.
This time, she did not stop herself.
She closed her eyes.
Inhaled the happiness that had been wandering unseen through the world.
And then she was somewhere else.
She was on the terrace again.
The old cot beneath her.
Her guitar against her chest.
The night above her.
Stars scattered across the sky like someone had dropped a handful of silver dust.
She remembered following a shooting star with her eyes until it disappeared behind the darkness.
Her pale blue scarf became two enormous wings.
She rose.
The city became smaller beneath her.
The buildings lost their windows.
The roads became thin silver lines.
The clouds came closer.
They opened their arms and carried her.
She pressed her cheek against one.
It was soft.
Cold.
Almost warm.
The sky lowered itself and kissed her forehead.
Somewhere behind her, someone was playing a guitar.
A slow song.
A song she did not remember learning.
The breeze moved around her like invisible hands.
There was no office.
No Monday.
No lift.
No unanswered messages.
No girl asking whether she would come tomorrow.
No city.
There was only the sky.
And for one impossible moment, the entire universe seemed to have forgotten everybody else.
There was only her.
A tiny human being floating inside an endless blue.
She opened her arms.
The clouds held her tighter.
She laughed.
The sound disappeared into the wind.
Then,
“HEY!”
The sky broke.
Someone shook her hard.
She fell.
Through clouds.
Through branches.
Through darkness.
And landed back on the bench.
She opened her eyes.
For a moment, she did not know where she was.
A stout woman in a purple saree was sitting beside her.
She had a tiffin box open in her hand.
The smell of stale roti and sabji filled the air.
A little boy, perhaps five years old, stood in front of her.
The woman shouted,
“Eat this or you’ll get beaten, Ashish! Open your mouth!”
The boy shouted back,
“I don’t want this! I want a burger, Mummy!”
She stared at them.
Then suddenly felt something beneath the woman’s thigh.
“Hey!”
She pulled her hand back.
The woman looked at her.
“Utho, utho!”
The woman looked confused.
“Kya?”
“Utho… my… it’s there. You’re sitting on it.”
The woman stood up suddenly.
“Phone hai kya?”
“No, it’s…”
She searched the bench.
Nothing.
“Kya dhoondh rahi hai tu?”
The woman was getting irritated.
She could not answer.
She stood.
Looked beneath the bench.
Between the cracks.
Under the folds of the woman’s saree.
Nothing.
“What is it?”
The woman snapped.
She suddenly saw it.
Near the leg of the bench.
The leaf.
It was lying there.
Crushed.
A sandal print had covered half of it.
Its green veins were torn open.
Tiny green streaks looked like blood.
She dropped to her knees.
Picked it up.
Gently.
Too gently.
As though it could still feel pain.
The leaf broke in two.
The woman stared at her.
“Yeh patta dhoondh rahi thi? Iske liye chilla rahi thi? Mazak hai kya?” (Were you looking for this leaf? were you shouting for this? are you kidding ? )
She shouted.
She said many more things.
But the words stopped reaching her.
Her throat had closed.
She stood.
Held the broken leaf in both hands.
Closed them.
Picked up her bag.
And walked towards the gate.
Fast.
She looked only at the ground.
The city was waiting outside.
Moving.
Shouting.
Laughing.
Honking.
Running.
A flood of people.
She stepped into it.
And the city took her.
For the first time, she did not resist.
She let the current carry her.
The broken leaf remained closed inside her palm.
For once, a leaf that could not survive the flow was floating on a life.
And they drifted away from everything,
from the city,
from the noise,
from the people,
from everything they had ever known,
towards somewhere neither of them knew.