Fate: A Revolution

That night, when he slept on her palm, he became her fate.
Next morning he was no more. She searched for him in the cupboard, behind the curtains, within her entangled hair, inside the pages of her book, everywhere. She finally found him on her palm. A tiny line originating from where her life line did. Tiny, yes. But there. Unmistakably.

He used to come to meet her every night. There was no definite route or channel from where he came. But he came, nevertheless. Unfailingly. Initially she used to avoid him. But when he started telling her a story one day and did not finish it, she became curious. She waited for him the next night, and then the one after that. Curiosity becomes a heavy load. She started waiting for him every night.
Once, while she was on a beach, he came beneath the rolling waves and crashed right in front of her and continued his story he had left unfinished last night. She interrupted him suddenly

"Your story does not make any sense" she said.

"I never said it is true"

"But even a lie should have a reason"

"Reason, you must understand, is itself a lie. Perhaps it is the most perfect lie" he replied, leaving her confused as he lay on her palm, awake, staring at the starless sky; and she, at the meaningless night. He did not continue his story that night. When he was about to leave she said " I wish you didn't have to go. I wish we never had to depart. I wish we could live together, forever, inspite of all the world." A faint smile had crossed his face, then.

Now, when she looked at her palm she realized he was only fulfilling her wish. In a way she could never imagine. In a way she could never begin to understand. And even as she continued to live her own life, a part of him was living inside her too. And growing. Because a week later she found that her own life line was fading and the new line of fate had grown much longer. But it was not replacing the other. Indeed, it did not even curve but was headed straight as an arrow - upward.

She was melting into him. Gradually. Dissolving into a parallel life which was really her fate. Which was also him. The two lives kept merging into each other; overlapping, from the ordinary and mundane to the extraordinary and insane. So much so that she was now talking and acting like him. Even thinking like him. For now she did not make any sense either. Her whole life, the whole universe ceased to make any sense to her. In fact the only thing that made any sense now, if at all, was his story.

The Story.

"But when does your story end" she heard herself say, sometime in the past.

"My story does not end" he replied.

"Why?"

"Beacuse I am afraid"

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of losing you"

"That is ridiculous, I am not even in the story"

"Yes you are", he said, "You will find out soon"

Later at night she noticed her life line had faded out completely. And the new line had touched her line of heart.
The transformation was complete

That night, when she slept on his palm, she became his fate.
Next morning she was no more. He searched for her in the cupboard, behind the curtains, within his entangled hair, inside the pages of his book, everywhere. He finally found her on his palm. A tiny line originating ....

A Magician's Tale

As she read the last few lines of the letter there was two things she noticed about it. First, ink had blotted on parts of the paper. Second, it smelled of tears. Real tears.
She put her head down on the table. A muted shriek tore out through her eyes and crumbled into an affectionate pillow, dampening it.

First time she had seen him cry was the first time she had seen him ever.
She was seated in the first row when the curtains unrolled and the magician appeared from behind a cloud of smoke. She noticed his eyes. Unfathomable, yet captivating, as he peeped into her's in a gaze that lasted for more than a second. He then asked the audience to keep their palm held open in front of them. The show began. A few drops of tears, like cannonballs, shot out of his eyes, took two rounds of the auditorium to the sheer amazement of the stunned crowd, came back and circled over his head creating an incandescent halo of mist, and completed its trajectory dropping right into her open palm. The stupefied crowd was dumbfounded as he spoke:
'Smell it'
'Rose', she said.
The crowd went hysterical.
Later, when she had met him at the gate and asked him if the tears were real he had simply said
"Magicians don't cry. At least not in reality."

That was the first time. They met several times later and each time he left her entranced with his tricks. On one occasion he created a rainbow across their foreheads and she had to cut the illusion with scissors lest they'd remain forever attached through their foreheads by the colourful arc. On another occasion he had made the gravity so low that when the rains fell, its descent was so slow in that moonlit night that she was convinced that she was Eve and he his Adam in an enchanted paradise.

Once, when she couldn't hold it anymore, she confessed what had remained concealed within her, and waited for his reply.
"Magicians are not capable of love". He smiled, indifferently.
He drew out a hand from the pocket and made a heart that hung in mid air. From where she stood, she saw a perect heart - red, and beating. But when she tried to see from where he stood, she saw nothing. Vacuum. Absolute emptiness. And when she tried to touch it, an unbearable pang clenched her own heart. She knew it. She was hopelessly in love.
"Then make me a magician too" she pleaded.
He walked away across the hanging heart, almost killing her in the process, as he replied:
"Magicians, like energy, cannot be created or destroyed."

That was the last time they had met. He left the town soon after, and nothing was heard of his whereabouts until his letter arrived. While she still lay dug in his memories a strange aura of calmness enveloped her. And she realized this was not a time to weep but to rejoice. For the magician had finally fallen in love. But she knew she was mistaken. The epiphany finally struck her. She smelled the pillow.
"Rose".
She smiled.

Trapped

He was trying to invent a formula to connect seemingly unrelated fragments of memories into an inextricable thread. As the glimpses of the past flashed before him, he tried to delve into each of them, reliving them in their entirety, to extract its significance in the events that were to occur. He started one day at a time, moving backwards. He immersed himself so completely in this endeavor that eventually his past became his future and his future, the past.

Months later, he still found himself trapped in that circular day he had found amnesia.

psychatrist : When was the last time u acted yourself, i mean really yourself?
psycho : umm this is confusing.... er i may be wrong but it might be now.