THE WHIMSICAL FLAUTIST

Kickstarting a fairytale on a happy note. 

- Enakshi J

The mellifluous notes were blinding sweet. Deliciously enjoyable. So much so that I didn't realise that I had been sipping air from my Frooti tetra pack for the last fifteen minutes.

My eyes had found a resting spot. His face. Contortions spread across like the layers of tar on a new road, his nostrils flaring every time an ounce of energy was spent blowing into the flute. The music swelled my heart; it pierced through several layers of flesh and touched my soul.

Caught in a trance, I had lost control of my senses. And surprisingly, this joy that I felt was pure ecstasy. It wasn't love. It wasn't infatuation. It was just soul-stirring music playing cupid in this improbable story of getting to know each other.

Addiction is bad. And this music, just after one class of therapy, became my drug.

However much I convinced myself not to attend the live show again, my heart became an obstinate child who could throw tantrums about not being given importance.

Consequently, there I was, seated in the second row, only this time a little closer to the flautist. There wasn't any air traffic between his gaze and mine.

I was mindful not to get carried away and give the benefit of the doubt because establishing eye contact with the audience would only help him perform better.

But my reasons were different. Vaguely genuine. Kind of ethical too. With a flutter in my stomach every time his gaze met mine, I pressed the gentlest smile upon my lips, making sure I did not let my guard down. He was kind enough to return the gesture with a subtle nod. This subtle reciprocation fuelled my desire to know this person more. Talk to him. Appreciate him. Maybe, over a cup of coffee?