INEXPLICABLE - Phase 1: Chance _ Chapter 1

 

Phase 1: Chance

Chapter 1

Her: Goodbye, NYC! ❤, A

This is it. My time of living in the Americas is over. Even before I figured out myself, I was getting ready to go back to my hometown. I was worn out after the latest phase of my life. Loss, denial, and acceptance take their toll when they come and go. Now, what do I have? I have some money, my parents and friends. I have my poetry and my music. But, where is my passion? Where is the craze? I think on some level, I never had those in my life. I have watched movie protagonists who are passionate about their ambition, wanting to become big in their fields and making a mark. Then, there are antagonists fighting against these leads with passion. I have often wondered where mine is. All my life, I have played a part. A daughter, a friend, a girlfriend, a wife, and now, well, a widow. My talents and interests are beyond my skills as a professional. *A loud honk!* God! That brought me back in mental miles. I could see the yellow hood of my taxi outside. One last visual sweep of my home of the last 3 years: two as a couple and one just by myself. Now, there is nothingness around me—traces and hints of spoken somethings here and there around the house. The window sill with a coffee stain, crooked bulb holders, and candles that left heat marks on the walls are all that will speak of me. *Two honks!* My time is officially up. I peep into my sling bag and ensure my ticket, passport, ID, and wallet. My baggage is already loaded, even the emotional kind. I get in the cab and set out on my final taxi ride in the United States! Goodbye, my city that never sleeps.


Everything's done at the airport. These days, socialization tires me. So, I plug in my earphones and turn up the volume. My melancholy playlist is up and I am in a bubble. I wish my flight back would be a bubble too, with no strangers fighting for armrests, no screaming babies, no airsick passengers, and no clogged toilets. There is still time to board. So, I take out my notepad and start scribbling random thoughts to come up with a poem about a lotus. Now, is the time I tell you about my two true loves - Writing and Music. In despair, they gave me a hug. In happiness, they showed me the colors. In daylight, they are my companions, and in darkness, they shine light on me. Now, they are kind of all four to me. The past year has been alternate periods of low and normal, with no highs. Writing gave me a purpose to live and music gave me a purpose to move. Now, I write every day and sing whenever I find my voice—nothing in particular but everything about deep emotions. My scribble pad has poems about flowers, fishes, tears, flying, food, suicide, and salvation. Now, I am writing one about what happens to a lotus if the sun refuses to come out during the storms. I hum to myself but am having a hard time finding the words. I notice a bustle around me and realize it is time to board. One last glance before I leave and I set out.


How are ya today? Boarding pass, please.


Good. Thanks.


I hand it out. Is this my first conversation today with a human? Yeah! It is 4 'o clock in the evening and I hadn't spoken yet today. Not even with the cab driver.


Today's your lucky day. You've been upgraded to first class.

What? Are you sure?

Yes ma'am. You booked last minute coach at the highest price. We have a seat left in first and you got it. Here you go! Have a great flight.


Am I allowed to enjoy this? Can I smile and feel happy? What is that feeling like? – happiness. I just walked toward the gate thinking of big armrests, cozy seats, and nice-smelling toilets.7 B. It was just A and B. There was a half-way, flimsy-looking partition between A and B. That’s a relief—no socializing required. I could see 7A was already there. From the look of his clothes, he must be a high-maintenance, privileged, Gen Z who is a TikTok influencer. An oversized black hoodie was hiding his face, loose baggy pants, and high-end sneakers—all designer. Phew! This kind of guy won't bother me. I am a cardigan-wearing, messy bun-sporting, sweatpants lady in her thirties. I settled in and got back to writing the feelings of my lotus. The playlist ran out and started looping after an hour into flying. My earphones ran out of batteries and got disconnected from my phone. So, the song started blaring all of a sudden and everyone around me sighed, tsk-tsked, and gave me a first-class fish hook eyebrow. Items on my lap fell cluttered around my feet but I reached for my phone and quickly paused my playlist. I did well not showing my embarrassment on my cheeks. I am brown-skinned and incapable of blushing red anyway. Some deep breaths did the trick to calm my heart and on my last one, I heard that voice with a deep timbre.


A poet and my fan! Interesting.


I turned to 7A and forgot to breathe. In flesh and blood, hoodie-tousled jet-black hair, impeccably groomed beard, sleepy eyes, and a smug smile, there he was. Tamil music sensation - Aditya 'Ady' Dheenan—the musician, the composer, and the rockstar! My unwaxed hand felt all the hairs rise at once. I leaned my head back quickly behind that makeshift wall between us and clutched my phone and scribble pad close to my chest.


My only thought – Well, sh*t.

Him: Later, NYC! ✌, A

Sorry, bro. I didn't imagine this would happen. Is your flight back today?


Don't worry about it, man. Chill! Yeah, the flight is today. I'll see you in two days.


That was my best bud and bandmate on the phone being apologetic for messing up big time. Poor dude spilled latte on my passport and I had to delay my flight until I got a new one. Feeling furious followed by calming myself that this shall pass has become too common for me these days. I am in my early 30s and there's nothing I haven't seen- death, pain, heartbreak, fraud, scandal, betrayal, and also lots of love that make up for all those other things. I am Ady Dheenan. Aditya to my family and Adz to my peeps. Dheenan, my dad, is a mighty man of steel, literally. His steel conglomerate is why people call him that and he is also my Superman. My Neela is my haven, a mom I don't deserve yet I got. I cherish her every day and make sure I have breakfast with her at five in the morning when I get back from the studio for my sleep. Well, I am a cliché. I work at night and sleep during the day and that is intentional. I wanted to be by myself - no complications or distractions. I have made bad choices in the past, ones that cost a lot of my peace. But my parents never swayed. They saw me as their boy who learns from those. I come from money and I spend much of it. However, I was raised not to use it for bad things, especially to make my mistakes go away. I was taught to be humble and grounded. No one would know or believe it but I am a have-it-all who isn't doped by it.


The glamour, glitz, and groupies are all gone today. It's about just me being me for a while before I get back to the mayhem I call home. Today, I am just Ady, reflecting on myself, reliving memories, letting go of stuff (by stuff, I mean people), and trying to find what I am searching for. I put on my running shoes and went on a mindless jog. The thing about NYC is no one cares. I long for that. Don't get me wrong—I love my fans, I get high on people chanting my name and grooving to my tunes but that's that. This silence, this nothingness, and little discoveries of peace are precious to me. A little mocha stain on my passport gave me that. I got back to my rental after the jog, soaked in the tub for an hour. I read, cooked, ate, and then spent my last few moments of peace dressing up for stealth mode. Gucci to the rescue to hide me. Sweats, sneakers, glasses and I am ready to shove off. The airport is where the crazy begins.


Hey! That's Ady. Ady! Ady! Selfie. Please, Ady.



Shucks! I mutter but oblige. I whiz through security quickly and get into my plane. 7A always. 7 for my man, captain cool, and A for Ady—my superstition, each time I fly. I sat down and I have no energy for any more fan requests or photos. I need to calm my brain, recharge my body, and be prepared for my destination. I am returning to my hometown after one month of concert tour. It is going to be mad—miles of queued-up events and work, scores, promotions, meetings, and family! I can't breathe thinking.


Calm down, Ady. You have your people. Ask for help. You don't need to do it all by yourself.



My line of sight was aimless out the window. I have the best family, the best of friends, an amazing team, and explosive fans. Still, a void. One person. My person. Where is my person? Who is it? The one who can know me for me. She or he? Friend or soul mate? Could it be love? Could it be a bond so different from all of these?


A sudden disturbance. Movement on my right. 7B just sat with a thump. I pretended to be asleep. I am in no mood for a fake friendly encounter or worse, a female fan with boundary issues. I am human too. I need my space. Heavy thoughts pulled me into deep lumber.


Startling music woke me. My music. Well, sh*t, a fan again. I opened one eye and 7B clumsily dropped all the stuff she had on her lap and stumbled to find her phone. Sheepishly, she paused her music and collected her things. I noticed beautiful handwriting on her notepad. Tamil. Some sort of poem, I guess. I leaned over a smidgen. A big messy bun, some worn-out sweats, and a pen over her ear. She looked like how my mom was at home in her 30s—an unabashedly normal woman with fine lines on her face. I somehow felt they were not from her age, something deep or sad. She straightened herself up after picking up her things.


A poet and my fan! Interesting.


I sounded groggy in my after-sleep voice. Sh*t! Why did I speak? She turned for a jiffy and that was just enough. A sense of very deep understanding and content filled me. Who is this woman? She recognized me in that one nanosecond and sunk back into her seat, eyes tightly shut. What did I just do? Why would I open my mouth? I wanted peace. I wanted calm. Now, I am screwed.