Story 5: Beautiful Hair, Clumsy Fingers

My last story, written from the 2nd person point of view, evoked quite strong reactions. At the time, I did intend re-working that piece in my usual style so that readers could enjoy the story, without any stress 😀

However, I got so busy with other things, that before I realized, a month had passed, and it was time for my next story submission.


Yesterday, in the middle of writing an academic paper for a national-level seminar, I managed to churn out this story because I didn't want to miss the deadline.

As usual, I'm waiting to hear what you think of it ! 

                               xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

Prompt:Distinctive markings l Word Count:1200 words exactly

Varun paced the floor outside the restaurant. Too nervous to go in. Tormented by memories of previous encounters that had bruised his confidence.

They had agreed on 11 am, and he hated being late. So, with a deep sigh, his heart thudding, Varun pushed the door and went in, looking around for the ‘burgundy T-shirt’ as she had called it. These girls and their descriptions – he’d been forced to look up the word to know what colour she meant.

Swati saw the tall guy stride into the restaurant, sweeping the room with his quick gaze. She smiled, remembering how he’d asked her to repeat ‘burgundy’ over the phone. She raised her arm and waved, her smile now a grin, welcoming Varun.

“That’s a shade darker than what Google showed me,” said Varun.

“Am I impressed! I didn’t think you’d own up so quickly to not knowing something,” laughed Swati.

“No point trying to impress people with what you don’t know, right?”

“Yeah, especially when you can floor them with your unpretentious charm.”

God, this was going better than he imagined. Just two sentences into the conversation, and yet, it felt like they had been friends for ages.

Swati sensed the instant connect, too. Well, not instant, actually, she reminded herself. They had been chatting on Facebook since two weeks.

“Have you finished the assignment on the Indus Valley Civilisation,” asked Varun.

“Not yet. I still have to talk to my dad’s archaeologist friend.”

The minutes flew by as they talked and talked, not really paying attention to what food they ordered and ate. There was so much to know about each other - where they came from, their family background, their schooling and professional lives, and of course, their mutual love of Indian history, which they were studying through the same online course.

Varun had noticed Swati’s intelligent questions in the webinars. Lots of students asked questions, but Swati’s were the only ones that mirrored his thoughts. He had looked her up on Facebook then, and sent a ‘Friend’ request. She had taken a while to respond but once she did, Varun had been swept into a cornucopia of ideas as diverse as they were original.

“Hey, what are you dreaming about, Varun?”

“Nothing. I just remembered that picture you posted on Facebook last week.”

“Which one?”

“The one with two of your friends in your garden.”

“What about it?”

“I wondered why you had that scarf tied around your head in peak summer. Must have been really hot, no? But from your older photographs, I must say, though, you have really beautiful hair.”

Swati had a coughing fit, and Varun fussed around, patting her back, asking if she wanted water.

“It’s ok. I’m fine,” she sputtered.


They talked some more and then, Swati’s phone vibrated with a text message. She looked at it, grimaced, and said, “That’s Mom. I promised to take her shopping today. She wants to know when I’ll reach home.”

“Is it really for that, or she’s checking up on her daughter’s safety? Can’t say I blame her, though, with the way things are nowadays.”

“Nah, she’s cool. People say I’ve got the quality from her.”

“It’s too early for me to say. I don’t really know you that well.”

“Lots of time to find out, Varun.”

That sounded very promising indeed.

“Let’s leave now, Swati. We can always catch up some other day.”

Swati nodded and yet, sat unmoving, looking away into distance, some unfinished thought in her mind. Varun fumbled in his bag, and brought out a small package. He placed it in Swati’s hand, surprising her out of her reverie.

“What’s this?”

“Open it and see.”

As Swati prised open the wrapping, Varun got out his smartphone and a stylus, and began tapping away, to book an Uber cab.

Swati gazed in wonder at the ornate tortoise shell hair clip nestled within the gift box, and then, looked up at Varun.

Varun took his eyes off his phone to ask Swati what location to key in, and noticed the tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes.

“Hey, what happened? It’s just a small gift I got for you. If you don’t like it, we can always exchange it for something else.”

Varun wondered if he’d blown his chances by springing the gift on Swati at the very first meeting. But his sister Anju had been so sure it was the right thing to do. Should he have trusted his own judgment and held off?

Swati stared at the stylus Varun was using with his phone. Tears now coursing down her face, she tried to laugh, and asked, “Why the hell don’t you use your fingers on the phone like everyone else, Mr. Software Engineer?

“What’s the matter, Swati? Why are you so upset? You think I shouldn’t have brought you the gift? I’m sorry if I hurt you. I’ll take it back if you don’t want it.”

In answer, Swati pulled away her hair with a deft movement. In place of the hair he’d been appreciating a little while ago, Varun saw a completely bald head, and a wig in Swati’s hand. The light from the overhead fixture in the restaurant glinted on Swati’s scalp.

“Alopecia totalis. Google will tell you it is a skin condition that causes hair loss. An auto-immune disorder. With no cure. It started suddenly a few months ago,” sobbed Swati.

Varun could only stare in amazement.

“So, nothing to say now, Varun? So much for my beautiful hair! You know what? Go ahead and write a positive review on my wig maker’s page on Amazon. Say it looks beautiful like real hair, and you couldn’t at all tell the difference. At least they will be happy to hear it.”

Varun couldn’t meet Swati’s eyes. Instead, he kept rubbing his fingers together, alternately stretching and interlacing them.

“Wh..what’s that?” Swati gasped, for the index finger on Varun’s right hand had actually popped out of its socket and landed on the table.

Varun picked it up with his left hand and held it up for Swati to see.

“Prosthetic finger, Swati. A replacement for the finger I lost in an accident last year. My cousin from Mexico got it for me. It sticks on with medical glue. It helps me get a grip on things, but there’s no sensation, and it’s a little clumsy.”

Varun pushed the artificial finger back into position with one swift motion.

“Oh, that’s why you use a stylus with your phone,” Swati whispered. Her tears had dried up now.

“That’s right. Don’t apologise. You couldn’t possibly have known.”

“Your gift is beautiful. It’s just the thought that I can’t use it, that made me....”

“It’s okay, Swati. Keep it for the memory of having met me.”

“What do you mean? You won’t give me any more gifts?” Swati reached over to throw a mock punch at Varun.

“Hey, watch it, Ms. Intelligent and Beautiful Head. Next time, I’ll take you shopping, okay? Happy?”

Swati flashed a coy smile his way.

“And put your wig back on. Your bald head looks beautiful to my eyes, but people are starting to stare, you know.”