S Y M P H O N Y N O. 1

AKAI

K A S H M I R

"Wah… wah… ha… ha…"

 "He is cute, he looks like you, congrats"

 "Proves that he is your child" (laughs)

 "Thank you S-s- (distorted voice)

 "Ha-ha-hh-hh-(distorted laughs)

 His eyes shot opened, twinkling with confusion and ecstasy, with tears rolling down from his eyes to his ears. He got up from his bed, quite large for a single person. He peered into the unframed floor mirror on the left side of his bed. He was half naked. His abs were the ones to steal the show. His muscles were fatigued after a long day of travel. He stared into the mirror with his cold blue eyes, longing to remember the dream or nightmare, that haunts him, attempting to convey something that he is not ready to comprehend.

 He tidied his bed and arranged his pillows and blanket, which had been a shambles before but now look like the room after a murder. His room, which is 11 feet wide by 14 feet long, he walked away from his bed, looking at his L-shaped desk, that lies straight from his bed. He looked at the newspapers and magazines lying on the return desk, with the job section of the newspaper being circled, excluding the women's alone.

 He ambled to the right side of the bed, to get to the bathroom. He opened the door. It squeaked, seeking a drip of oil, but he didn't even tend to look at it. He took his turquoise-coloured brush, squeezed a tiny bit of toothpaste, and started brushing. When he was brushing his teeth, suddenly he heard a noise,

 Beep, beep, beep, bee-(turns off), he turned off the device, with his water dripping hands. 

 The water was raging out of the tap as he screwed it open. He cupped his hands, catching the raging water in them. He splashed the water on his dazed face, giving him a precise view of things. The device beeped again. He exited the bathroom through the door after turning off the device.

 He placed his wet feet on the mat as he looked at the wall clock, which was placed above and between the mirror and the desk. He looked at the time with a face of disbelief. The hour hand was at nine, and the minute hand was at twelve. It was nine in the morning.

 Vzzt,vzzt,vzzt, his phone vibrated while resting on the edge of the desk. He quickly grabbed the phone off the desk and checked it; there were 8 missed calls and text messages from Anbu,

 "Hey Shay, where in the fuck are you?"

 "You are fucking sleeping, right?"

 "You know how hard it is to get this job; hundreds of people are waiting in a long line for this job da?"

 "You still have 20 mins. I don't know whether you book a taxi or walk by yourself; I should see you here in the next 10 fucking mins."

 His pupils dilated. He turned his phone back to ringtone, sent a reply text to him, and sprinted to his wardrobe. "When did I put my phone in silent", he wondered while running, but he couldn't recollect. He swiftly selected a brown formal shirt and a navy blue formal pants.

 He was standing outside in the frigid weather, waiting for his response. He was losing his temper, as he waited for quiet some time, and the time for the interview to began was nearing. Ding! He received a text. While the cold breeze grazed over his face, he took his phone out of his pocket and checked the text,

 "I will be there in the next 10 mins, count on me na (wink)"

 Anbu chuckled and whispered, "You'd better be, you stupid bastard"

 He took off his shorts, unfolded the pants, inserted his legs into the pants legs, buttoned them and zipped them. The shirt had some wrinkles on it, but he was in a state of urgency to care. He unbuttoned the shirt, inserted his hands into the sleeves, tucked in his shirt, and slid in his belt through the belt loops of his pants. He had no sense of composure. His hand glided through the somewhat long, glazing raven-black hair as he arranged it, in front of the mirror.

 He relieved a big sigh, looking at himself in the mirror. His face gleamed with confidence. He whispered, "Don't mess it up, Shay. This is the only chance we have," to himself, looking straight into the mirror with his blue eyes, which now twinkled in anticipation.

------

 Ching, he got a text. He unlocked his phone, the time was 10:40. He opened WhatsApp and read the text, "reached home safely, na" from Gayathri. He replied her with a grin emoji. He closed the phone and placed it on the table. He opened his piano, sat on the chair, and started playing it.

 It was 11, People of Fuchsia line had been woken up to the sound of a piano being played. The sound made by the wings of a Hamadryas butterfly can be plainly heard in the dead of night in the gorgeous Fuchsia line, which stays silent once the sun has set. Allegro, yet a blessing to hear. A melody that the people never heard in their lifetime. They were taken aback by the music coming from the number seven store on the Fuchsia line, rather than the late-night melodies. People have heard different instruments being played and various melodies emanating from the number seven, but they've never heard a music that's disparate from the entire music world. It was fast but pleasant to hear; then it turned slow yet solemn. The melody has a sad yet a contented sound, with full of love and regrets. Some started to admire the music, while others fell asleep listening it. The wind, intertwined with the melody, travelled down the street, making the night enchanting, disparate and memorable for the people of Fuchsia Line.

 Hands glided through the air, with fingers touching the keys like a mother caressing her baby for the first time, gentle and elegant. His arms moved in a rhythm, changing from side to side and even playing together at times. Hands that appear like they were never used for, something brutal, something evil that even the devils are scared to do. His hands moved fast from one key to another, producing an Allegro. The Eyes are hollow, yet merry. Ears that aren't listening to the melody coming out of the piano, rather hearing the dead silence of the Fuchsia line. His hands started to slow down, with his fingers coming together and playing the final note, thwng! He moved his left hand away from the piano and his right hand over to the table on the right side. He took a pen that lay on the table, wrote down the notes of the composition, and relieved a sigh with a smile.

 He finished composing his first symphony, "The Black Butterfly."