Previous: Part One
Chris was still feeling a little sleepy as he trudged into the living room with a beer can in one hand and the universal remote in the other. He switched on the AC and slumped in the sofa. He took a sip and shuffled the newspapers on the coffee table. The room was dark. So he pressed another button and the drapes parted and the mid-day sun burst into the room through the glass wall.
Chris sipped on his beer can as he leaned forward and turned to the sports page. Wimbledon was on. There was a match tonight. Nadal vs. Federer. The most important match of the season probably.
Man, it’s awfully quiet here!
He switched on the TV and kept on reading about the details of the match.
The news was on.
"The Met department says that the sudden depression created near the coast is quite unexpected. It would mean that monsoon would arrive early this year. The depression is not yet so strong as to suggest any upcoming storm. But the department does say some light drizzle might be on the cards for the next 48 hours."
Chris put down the paper and stood up. The can was empty. He crushed it, turned and threw it at the dustbin at one corner of the room. The can hit the dustbin and fell on the floor with a clank.
Shucks! Whatever. The maid will clean it up.
"The formation is quite sudden," the Met department official was saying. "We cannot actually predict its intensity as yet but we are certain that it won't build up very fast. It might as well take a few more weeks for it to strengthen into a cyclone or anything of that force."
Yawning, Chris traipsed towards the huge glass wall. The sun rays hit his face as he neared. He stood there and looked down. Twenty-five stories down, the Sunday traffic was busy as usual and hot fumes seemed to rise up from the chaos. The city seemed to pant. He wished for the monsoon to come quick.
He made his way back to the sofa and jumped on it. He reached for the universal remote, turned off the television and switched on the music player. And the room boomed with loud rock music. He closed his eyes and sighed. He felt relaxed.
Chris was the son of the renowned Daryl Stein, one of the richest businessmen of the city, the CEO of Stein Construction. As a result he had gained popularity in the college as the "spoilt rich kid".
And he did live up to the expectations. Parties, girls, adventure sports; that was his life. Apart from this, Chris also was passionate about electronic gadgets. Thanks to his dad, he made sure that he had all the latest gadgets in his hand as soon as they were launched.
But, even though he would never admit, he had a soft side. And only his close friends knew about it. Chris was especially very careful whom he picked as friends. He socialized a lot but they were just acquaintances and hence his approach was superficial. But to his close friends he was just another sensitive guy.
Chris’ cell phone suddenly rang. Chris let out a groan and turned down the volume of the music. He picked up the cell and saw the number. It was his girlfriend.
“Hey babe.”
“Are you still at home?” Katy sounded pissed.
“Yes?” Chris answered warily, uncertain.
“YES? GOD! Chris, I’m gonna kill you if you don’t get your ass here right now!”
Chris fell silent. Here? Where the hell is she?
“What happened? Have you gone dumb? COME HERE IMMEDIATELY!”
Goddammit! Think think! Where was I supposed to be? Coffee house? Mall?
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” Katy’s voice dropped dangerously.
“No, no. I remember. I’m coming there right now. You wait there, okay babe? I’ll be right over.”
“You better be.” And the line went dead.
Man, I’m so dead!
The coffee had gone cold. Again. Sam put down his pen beside his notebook. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. This was harder than he had had expected.
He had been sitting in the coffee house for the past three hours racking his brain but not one brilliant brainwave had hit him. In the meantime, he had ordered three cups of coffee, all of which had gone cold. His neck now ached. He needed a walk.
He packed his bag, paid the bill and left the coffee house.
Outside the night was cold. He buttoned up his jacket and started strolling towards the park. Very few people were out tonight. The reason was quite obvious. Earlier in the evening, a cyclone warning had been issued. The newsreader had said that this would be the worst that the city had ever experienced since the last decade.
The wind was already chilly but hadn't quite gained the predicted speed. Sam had calculated that it wouldn't be until midnight that the cyclone would actually arrive. Actually, it was rather hope than calculation. And it was still nine o'clock. So he still had three hours all to himself.
Sam worked as a freelance writer for one of the city newspapers as a part time job alongwith being a student in the City College. He was majoring in Arts. Hence writing came naturally to him. But he didn't like to write in his apartment. He found it more like a prison he had to sleep in every night. He always tried his best to stay as much time as possible away from his apartment.
The college library was open till five o'clock in the evening. So he spent most of his after college hours studying or writing in the college library. After the library closed he would hang out in the coffeehouse opposite his apartment building till ten o'clock when he returned.
Everyday it was the same routine.
He was still in his first year and, coming from a middle class family, the moment he landed, he knew he had to find a job. The college administration was a great help. They arranged for him a freelance writing job for a small newspaper. The pay wasn't so good but it was enough for him to rent a small apartment in the rundown portion of the city.
At first, the job wasn't quite demanding and he found it easy to come up with good stories. The main reason was that he had come from a small town and the new city was quite intriguing to him, finding something new to tell everyday. The editor was also quite impressed by his style and his choice of topics. "You're meant for bigger things, my lad," the editor had said. "Someday you will be quite a good reporter. And I hope that you would be working for our newspaper then."
His dream run had gone on for quite a while till he got stuck in a rut. The city didn't impress him anymore. Everything seemed so morbid now. So lame. The city had gone colorless for him now. He tried his best but hadn't been able to come up with anything impressive for the last few weeks. The editor had asked him to take a week off. "Son, you've been working too hard. Take some rest. You'll find your touch again soon I'm sure." Sam knew the editor was just trying to be nice. He had to come up with something marvelous within two weeks. Only two days were left and nothing good still seemed to be on its way.
Except for the storm.
