the voice...

The whistle sounded. The people on the platform started moving to my right. They were all moving in the same way. Only I sat still... in the train. I looked at them pass by and I smiled.

I am 28 years old; I feel forty though. I have had a good life, neither too great, nor too bad... just like you. Yes, I am an ordinary woman, with curves and flats in the wrong places and lots of bad hair days too. I work in one of those nondescript schools: a nondescript teacher. I write occasionally, but my ‘art’ remains hidden in my diary. Soon, I’ll be the nondescript wife of a nondescript guy and be part of a nondescript family in a nondescript place. Life...

I took a book; flipped its pages. And my mind drifted...
***
It was a cloudy evening. The wind was strong, and I could get an occasional whiff of the salty air from the sea. I love such days. I was standing on my balcony, watching the trees dance. And that was when I saw the dog. He looked like a stray dog, but he had a black collar around his neck. Why I noticed him was because of the happiness he seemed to exude. He was happiness... from the top of his head to the tip of his short tail. And he was smiling... no, I am not exaggerating. I could even say he was laughing, the way his tongue was lolling out, and the way he was prancing. I heard a man’s voice. “Patch!” The dog ran to meet him, whoever he was...
And somehow I remember thinking of that voice... again and again...
***
Two days passed. It was raining heavily that day. I love watching the rain. I love listening to it too. I was gazing out of my window, when I saw the dog...again. It jumped out of a car and ran across the street. A truck came, rounded the corner... A tall man stepped out of the car, wearing a long coat. His face was covered by a muffler. He ran to where the dog lay...dead. I heard his voice. “Patch...” I cried that day... for the happy dog... and for that voice.
***
I saw the car several more times, but I never saw him for the longest time. Four months after the dog died, I was watering my plants when my mother’s old college mate knocked. She had come to invite us for her son’s marriage.
***
I wore blue silk for the wedding. It was the first time I was meeting the groom. I took one look at him, and I somehow felt... no, I knew... it was whom the voice belonged to. And then, when he spoke to me, I was sure of it. His wife was not too pretty, but she had a lovely smile.
***
“Falling in love is not a flash decision. It is something you do after a lot of thought,” I had heard myself say to my friends over and over again. But I fell in love with a voice, a voice which had uttered a single word, that too not to me... the voice of a man who had called out to a stray dog so lovingly..had made it laugh...

I move on... I'll never forget the voice though...
Life...