The Cafe Coffee Day Story

The whiff of smoke decided to curl this time. An instant later, it formed a circle. Slowly vaporizing into the steamy humid Sunday afternoon.

Life had come full circle.

They sat there looking at each other. A tear had already made an unpleasant appearance.

On a steamy Sunday afternoon in Cafe Coffee Day, history was being repeated.

"What made you do this?" she asked.

A second tear somehow eked out of the other eye and made its presence felt.

Another whiff of smoke. No curls this time.

"I thought it long and hard. I had no choice," he said with the same trademark nonchalance.

She palpitated. Those words ran through her heart faster than what the blood could imagine.

"Is this really happening?" she thought.

Without any further drooling, he removed the sheaf of papers and placed it on the desk. A pen rolled on top of it for a moment and aligned its tip over the Gandhi photo of the government document.

She gingerly picked up the document and read the part that mattered the most.

Another tear.

The signature came very soon. He had hesitated for a second.

She grabbed the document and took a long drag. This time the cigarette felt better than the last time. The smoke was happier than before.

He could not hold himself anymore. Tears enveloped his face now. With utter disregard to an ogling waiter, a few yards away.

"Slut....bitch...whore, may you burn in hell" he squeaked to her in the mad reverie. She returned back the cute yet evil grin. He stood up, picked up his briefcase and handed the same ogling waiter a 500 rupee note, before storming out of the cafe.

The waiter observed the prim gentleman in the decorous Armani suit get into the Prius and scream onto the accelerator. He gazes towards the table where he had turned into a cry baby. The sexy lady (with the deep cleavage) was picking up her purse and getting ready to leave. He knew her. He had seen her before. Every few months, with different guys. But a similar sheaf of papers.