I had had a peaceful, dreamless, sleep and was awakened by the distant yet clear tolling of the church bell. It was 6 and it seemed like waking upto Ezra peering out the window (like it was his sole purpose in life) was going to become an inevitable routine. It wouldn't have bothered me usually but given last night's brief emotional outbursts, he was the last person I wanted to face. My inner voice reminded me that I am not one of those RomCom heroines who deal with such 'issues' head on, in spite of its awkwardness and manage to emerge out successfully unscathed, with a promise of a beautifully blossoming, friendship, no less. Nope, I am not that girl. My luck, I might just blurt out something completely rude which might hurt his ego and I might have to deal with the awkwardness for the rest of the trip. Oh yeah, that's what concerned me the most, not the fact that I might lose a friend. I barely knew the guy for 2 days for heaven's sake. So, No! I didn't want to 'DEAL' with anything. I was never a 'DEALER' and was never going to be. I am what one would consider a classic 'ESCAPIST'. I would rather pretend and go on as though nothing ever happened last night than going through a messy, awkward and definitely unwanted conversation with my ex professor turned matchmaker/friend turned object of my desire for a brief drunken moment.

I tip toed silently to the bathroom but realized that if I didn't say anything, it would seem like I was acting strange.

'Good Morning! Did you sleep well?'

'Like a baby.' I felt him approaching the bathroom as his voice grew closer.

'What time is your date picking you up?' As our hands touched while grabbing our toothbrushes, I flinched involuntarily.

'Seven...what have you got planned for today?'

He sniggered and proceeded to brush.

'What?' I asked infuriated.

'Nothing!' but his smirk suggested otherwise.

'What?' I punched his shoulder.

'Ouch. You are a violent woman Aria. Has anyone told you that before?'

'Don't change the subject.'

'Well... it is amusing to watch you walk on shells, trying to be nice to me because you think you have wounded my fragile heart'. He mocked me holding his hand close to his chest as he turned away from me and walked out of the bathroom.

'Well... it's nice to know that you don't have one.' I followed him.

'You know what's more amusing? The way you flatter yourself! I had had great sex, the drain of adrenaline had made me feel empty, I was drunk and so...' There was a pause. 'No need to beat yourself up over it, you know.'

He was now slouched over his laptop, his back turned to me. I crossed my arms and stood next to him leaning on the table and took a moment to gather my courage

'Well... I am glad that the brief moment of intimacy and attraction was just my mind playing tricks on me. I can go back to not feeling guilty about anything now. Thanks.' My tone exuded sarcasm in every word I uttered.

He looked up at me, his eyes peering into mine for a second before he straightened his posture and inched closer. He bent his head sideways with an evil smile and said,

'Oh there was plenty of attraction...' he traced my cheek with his fingers. 'But you are not that kinda girl, remember?'

I pushed him away using both my hands and tried to walk away. He grabbed me by my wrist pulled me closer. I tried to wriggle free. He held me by arms and started to talk. His voice took on an earnest tone.

'What do want me to do?'

'I want you to let me go.' I spoke through my clenched teeth.

'Aria. Let's talk about this. I wanted to give you a way out. Clearly, you don't seem happy. So, tell me.'

'No... I am more than happy to take the way out. Thank you... I mean it. Let me go. I don't want to talk about anything.'

'Aria... tell me... what's going on in your mind? Please...' he was now holding my face between his hands.

'I am about to go on a date with an amazing guy in less than an hour. I don't want any loose ends. I don't want things getting messier later. If you have something to say, you'd have to say it now.' I had no idea what I was talking about or where that came from.

'Like what?' his eyes were twinkling with curiosity and amusement.

'Oh... I dunno...may be something in the lines of... We almost kissed last night and it didn't spring out of nowhere... so, I would like to get to know you better because clearly none of my previous dates matched up to the brief moment of intimacy we shared.' I angrily walked towards the window and stood, my face turned away from him.

He followed me and made me turn to face him.

'And what would you do? You'd cancel your date with Andy?' He asked with a smile on his face.

'No... Of course not. I like him and I am not scared to admit it. At least, I wouldn't give him the impression that he is the only person on my mind right now.'

He inched closer and rested his hands on the window, holding me a prisoner in between his arms.

'And if I were to express such a wish, what makes you think I would be willing to share you with Andy?'

I let out an exasperated sigh and pushed him away, walking towards the bathroom.

'Because, you wouldn't have a choice. I like Andy and right now, I don't like you and I take back everything I said. You're so full of yourself.'

As I shut the door behind me and headed to the bathtub to cool my temper, I heard his cruel laughter slowly grow distant and finally die down.

What I witnessed when I descended the stairs was a strange yet joyous scene. The living room had come alive with laughter which I could hear (but not see) from beyond the walls of the kitchen. In the center of the kitchen, , bent over the island was laughing uncontrollably as a result of something Andy had whispered to her. I hid myself from their line of vision, not wanting to interrupt their merry little tryst. After a few seconds, she carried on with her work in the kitchen as Andy followed her around like a puppy. After she set a cooking pot on the stove and stirred it a couple of times, she opened the shelf directly above her and removed a glass jar from it. She then took something from the jar and fed it to Andy with affection. Smiling to myself, I deemed it to be the right time to interrupt them as Ms. Skarsgard immersed herself in her work, not leaving a trace of her light-hearted version that had made an appearance a few minutes earlier.

Andy heard my footsteps and looked up at me and cast his pure, light-filled, smile. Just then, Ezra entered the kitchen, to refill his coffee mug and whispered something to Andy who looked at me again and smiled, only this time it was a shy smile.

'Don't believe his lies Andy', I snaked my arm around his waist and kissed him on his cheek.

'That's sad, I was hoping it was true', he imitated a sad expression before returning my kiss.

'Oh believe me it is true', affirmed Mr. Annoying before he returned to the living room.

Igor came running into the kitchen followed by Ayana and it seemed like the two had been playing.

'Hey... Igor... I am extremely sorry for missing dinner last night. I promise, I will make it up to you this evening.' I ruffled his hair gently and hoped he would forgive me.

'Don't be sorry Ms. Vincent. I look forward to being your date this evening, if you will have me, that is', he responded with a polite smile.

'It would be my pleasure and please call me Aria', I beamed.

As Andy and I were about to leave the room, we were interrupted by Ms. Skarsgard.

'Aria, if you give me the list of ingredients, I will have them ready by this evening.'

'Oh!' It took me a few seconds to comprehend that it was my turn to cook dinner that evening. I had to come up with a plan quickly.

'The list is in my room and I will ask Ezra to give it to you Ms. Skarsgard.'

'Sure. You two have a great time', she said and left us to ourselves.

'Andy... Give me two minutes, I will be back.'

I scuttled out of the kitchen to find Ezra. He was leisurely walking in the lawn, reading a newspaper.

'I am on a crisis mode and you need to help.' I kept my voice low.

'Oh... so now you need the help of this liar?'

'Oh come on! Not the time to play victim Ezra. Are you gonna help me out or what?'

'What happened?'

'It's my turn to cook dinner this evening and I am a bad cook, actually, I am not even a cook. I don't know how to cook and I hate cooking. Help me, please.'

He broke into fits of laughter.

'Oh! Come on!' I pleaded.

'Fine, what do you want me to do?'

'First of all, whatever you are planning to cook or help me cook, give Ms. Skarsgard a list of ingredients. I told her it's in my room. The rest, we can figure out once I get back?'

'Alright! What do I get in return?'

'Oh... just whatever you want...' I scuttled back to Andy who was standing at the doorway, took his hand with a mask of everything-is-alright smile and we headed out for our breakfast date.

We came upon a vast grassland after walking for what seemed like an eternity. I was relieved at the sight of a brown timbered farmhouse. The fall colour was more distinct in this part of the valley. The earth was blanketed in a single shade of orange for as far as my eyes could traverse. I was distracted by a sound that was made distant by the fast blowing wind. I turned around to look at a trip of goats playing among themselves in a fenced stretch of land. There were two other buildings far behind the farmhouse which I assumed to be a barn and a byre.

'Need some more time or shall we proceed?'

I smiled at him and followed his lead. The interiors were spacious with minimal furniture. Compared to the Gilbert house where floods of light streamed in through every possible window and door, Andy's farmhouse was scantily lit, the only source of light entering through couple of windows in the living room and the kitchen. Kitchen was a large, rustic space, the first half of which was converted into a dining space. I stood by the window, my hands gripping one of the chairs of the dining table and looked around the place. A low fire was burning at the hearth across which Andy stood, his back turned to me. The utensils were dangling about the hearth. The onions, turnips and garlic wrapped in a netted bag were hung at an arm's distance from the cook. For someone like me who had grown up in a plastic, glass and steel environment, this was a welcome change.

'Do you live here by yourself?' I took my seat by the window.

'Nah..I live here with my mum. I sent her off to the market town.' He said with a mischievous laughter as he turned and looked at me.

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

'Well...I don't bring home dates. If I did, she'd think this is pretty serious.' There was a pause.

'Not that it isn't serious, but she would burst out with excitement and smother you with affection and lot of questions.' He spoke as he walked toward the table and took his seat across me.

I simply smiled as a sign of understanding and appreciation. 'Meet the parent' was the last thing on my list of unexpected activities at a writer's retreat.

'I would be more than glad to introduce you to my mum. You know that right?'

'Hey Andy, chill. You don't owe me an explanation for your every action.'

He went back to hearth and filled two plates with some colourful contents. Instead of placing them on the table, he continued to walk past me, as he signalled me to follow him. As soon as we sat under a tree, I began to devour my breakfast. All the walking in the hilly area had left me starving.

'Mmmm... this tastes amazing. What is this?' I asked chewing pieces of potatoes, sausage patties, eggs, bell peppers, fresh mushrooms and tomatoes thrown together. The taste of butter and olive oil lingered in my mouth.

'It's called the German breakfast. There are many versions of it.'

'This is Andy's version huh?'

'Ha ha... more like Andy's mum's version.'

After breakfast, we took a short walk.

'So... life in the mountains is great, huh?'

'Mostly, sometimes it could get suffocating. You know, like the hills and the woods are closing in on you.'

'Hmmm.. what do you do then?'

'I go to the oceans. Not very far from Avalon, there is a fishing village. I have some friends there.'

'That's nice. Don't you ever want more? Don't you ever wonder what it would be like? To go out and see the world?'

He shook his head as he laughed, as though I was a naive, innocent child questioning him about something quite obvious that had escaped my knowledge.

'What more could I possibly want? To live in a city where your face gets lost among the thousand others? To be identified only by what I am called, what I wear which restaurants I go to? To live among people whom I call neighbours only because they live next door?'

'Is that how you think city life is?'

'I dunno. May be I am wrong. But I have grown up among people who have a strong sense of community. People don't work here just because they have to. Work is not a separate,, hectic part of life that people seek respite from. We don't need 'vacations' from work. Our work and life are so intermingled. It's so fun and relaxing that it never crosses over to becoming a burden. Some might consider this boring and stale without challenges but there is a comfort in this familiarity. To stand at my bar and listen to my customers talk about their day or about their children or how they plan to spend their weekend, there is a safety in it. Like I know who I am dealing with and I have known these people all my life.'

'That must be a nice feeling, one that I am unfamiliar with.'

'And as for seeing the world. Yes, the desire to have an experience of a new land has always been there. And I do as much as I can to fulfil that desire.'

'Like what?'

'Oh come on. Enough about me. Let's talk about you.'

'No... Tell me. I want to listen.'

'One summer, my cousin and I decided we wanted to see the world. We pestered our mothers to write to our Uncle who lives in Holland. He lives in a town close to the Belgian border. He was happy to have us for the summer. We took a cheap, overnight ferry to Amsterdam. That was a summer to remember. In the Dutch villages, we watched the paintings of Van Gogh and stories of Hans Christian Anderson come alive. The countryside served some of the forgotten regional Dutch food. And then we visited this city called Utrecht, its called Venice of the north. I have never seen houses as beautiful anywhere.'

'Sounds like a dream come true.'

'It was. Ever since, I have been saving for my next adventure.'

'Where to?'

'That's a secret. Now... enough about me. What about you? You are here to write poetry, huh?'

'Mostly yes, I dabble with short stories too. But I haven't gotten much of writing done.'

'Ah... you have a lifetime to write.' He took my hand in his and he continued to walk.

'Would you care to stay for lunch?' he asked when were back at his place.

I was peering out the dining room window, at a huge mansion that stood on the rise, beyond the slope of the rolling hill.

'Sure. I would love to stay for lunch.'

'Andy... who stays at the mansion?' I asked after some more staring.

'Nobody yet. The last time my brother visited, he told me some family from the city has bought it and they are planning to move in coming spring.'

'You have a brother?'

'Yes. But he doesn't live with us. He works at the train station at Avalon. Mum wants him to come back and help with the farm but he is bored of it. Guess he wants to see the world.'

'So you work at your dairy farm, supply grocery for the whole town and manage the bar in the evening? How do you find time for anything else?'

'Ha ha. You talk like I run a one man show. We have people to help us with the farm. As for the groceries, mum just has to visit the market town and choose what she wants. The list is pretty much constant. She just finds pleasure in ordering around the sellers. They load everything in the truck and the driver drives her back. I do the delivery once a week, during the weekend. And come on, there are roughly just 40 households here. The major portion of the delivery goes to the Atherford College. I don't manage that part.'

'I didn't know Atherford had a college.'

'Where do you think Mr. Connor works?

'I thought he just ran the retreat.'

'The retreat is like his mistress. The college job is his first love. He came to this town when the town could hardly be called a town. He founded the English Department and has been struggling ever since to bring students to the college. It's not easy for people to believe a college in a goddamn corner of the world could have someone as valuable as Mr. Connor. He has brought some pretty great professors to the college, not just to the department.'

'And what about Ms. Skarsgard?'

'Oh... Ms. Skarsgard. They both have quite an interesting history. You have no idea.'

'Really? Come on. Tell me.'

'Nah. That's not my story to tell. You should hear it from her someday.'

'What? No! There is no way I am going to ask her. Come on! Tell me.'

'Aria... No. It's a story you should hear from one of them, not me.'

'Fine!' I went back to staring at the mansion.

After a while, the people who worked at the farm started to crowd the place. Andy introduced me to them and then led them to the barn. I could hear their chatter as they worked happily; occasionally they talked to cattle and petted them. I stood at the doorway and watched the simple pleasures of a country life unfolding before my eyes.

'Come on in. Its starting to get colder outside and you're not dressed warmly enough. I will start the fire in the living room.'

I obeyed and sat on the sofa, which was the only furniture in the living room. There was a lot of moving space. There was no television or any other electronic gadget. There was bookrack filled with the bookkeeping records. A tall lamp stood by the table and chair next to the bookrack.

Andy started the fire, took off his sweater and sat next to me, his arm around my shoulder. It was a strange feeling, not being aroused or excited by the touch of the man I desired. Instead, it was a comfort that felt so familiar, like curling up in your blanket on a rainy afternoon and listening to the rain outside your window. Not seeing it but knowing its there, bringing along with it the fresh smell of the earth and thousands of fond memories. I leaned closer, resting my head on his chest.

'Have you ever been in love?' It was a sudden question after a stretch of silence.

'What kind of strange question is that?'

'Its simple question. Have you ever been in love?'

'Why?'

'You are a writer. I have heard so many writers who come here talk about the beauty of love and how it's the singular most powerful feeling that can turn your life upside down. I have never understood what they meant. And I couldn't ask them what they meant because it would seem rude. After all, the power of love is supposed to be universal, right?'

'You are asking the question to the wrong person, Andy. Forget love, I have never even had a deep friendship with anyone. The possibility of spending sleepless nights in the thoughts of someone and finding pleasure in that pain is very bleak.'

'I know what you mean. You know what I think? I think it doesn't exist. The one true love that makes your existence more meaningful, love that completes your life in a way no one else or nothing else does, is just a myth. Everyone likes to write about it and sing about it because it doesn't exist and they can't accept the fact that relationships aren't perfect and whether romantic love or any other love has its own pitfalls and the beauty is not having something immaculate but to persevere.'

'If something is strong enough to survive through the worst of storms, then it is immaculate, isn't it? I don't know Andy. I come from a place where people fall in love before dating and enter a relationship with the intention of spending their lives together. I have never experienced the kind of love poets talk about but seeing so many people around me experience it, its hard not to believe in it, even if it might never be meant for me.'

'Are you serious? How can people fall in love before dating?'

'Well. That's what happens in India. When two people realize that they like each other, they start their relationship with 'I think I am in love with you'. May be that's why I have never had a successful relationship. That kind of commitment is scary.'

As we were conversing about love and friendship and heartbreak, Andy got called away by one of the townsfolk working at the barn. I returned to the dining room window to stare at the mansion. There was something romantic about the scene. It was not the mansion in itself that kindled a powerful feeling inside of me. It was the rustic, old farmhouse; it was the continuum of darkness interspersed by the thin ray of light coming in through the window, the small and beautiful window through which I could look out. It was definitely something about the window. Painted in white, the wooden edges chipped and falling off, the simple, red curtain pulled to its sides. Something someone had said flashed through my mind. It was about inspiration:

As Ruth Stone was growing up in rural Virginia, she would be out, working in the fields and she would feel and hear a poem coming at her from over the landscape. It was like a thunderous train of air and it would come barreling down at her over the landscape. And when she felt it coming...cause it would shake the earth under her feet, she knew she had only one thing to do at that point. That was to, in her words, "run like hell" to the house as she would be chased by this poem.

The whole deal was that she had to get to a piece of paper fast enough so that when it thundered through her, she could collect it and grab it on the page. Other times she wouldn't be fast enough, so she would be running and running, and she wouldn't get to the house, and the poem would barrel through her and she would miss it, and it would "continue on across the landscape looking for another poet".

And then there were these times, there were moments where she would almost miss it. She is running to the house and is looking for the paper and the poem passes through her. She grabs a pencil just as it's going through her and she would reach out with her other hand and she would catch it. She would catch the poem by its tail and she would pull it backwards into her body as she was transcribing on the page. In those instances, the poem would come up on the page perfect and intact, but backwards, from the last word to the first.

I realized what she had meant. I rushed to the living room and collected some papers and pen and rushed back to the dining room. I sat by the window. Looking at the mansion, I penned down my thoughts. Andy came in a while, but he did not disturb me and went about his work. When I grew tired of looking at the mansion, I turned my attention to Andy, the way he meticulously went about his work, the loud laughter of the townsfolk outside the house and the rich, dark color of the mahogany ageing away for centuries, yet not dying, but living. I didn't need the sublime West Wind; these were inspiration enough for me, the simple pleasures of country life.

'Looks like someone got a lot of writing done. Can I read them?' asked Andy were walking back to the Gilbert house. I was beaming with the satisfaction of having written 3 short stories and a poem.

'You don't get to read it now. May be, not forever. I have to run it by Mr. Connor first. I am nervous as to what he would have to say about it.'

He simply smiled and patted on my shoulder encouragingly. He kissed me goodbye at the porch and promised to take me to the legendary well the next evening. I happily hopped around the house to find Mr. Connor. He was seated in the backyard. I stood in front of him and extended him the papers.

He got them from my hands and skimmed through them.

'Wow. You seem to have written plenty for a day.'

'Oh yes Mr. Connor, you have no idea. My brain is exhausted right now. I am quite happy with what I have done but I am eager to know what you'd have to say about it. I might work on editing them.'

'Aria, please call me Michael. I will take a look at them now. We will discuss it after dinner.'

'Sure Michael. Thanks. I have to hurry now. My turn to cook.'

You know the feeling you get after you leave the movie hall after watching a great movie or when you finish reading a book that struck a deep chord inside of you? That's exactly how I felt after getting back from Andy's or after I handed over my manuscript to Michael. It was a completely different world here. Poets and novelists huddled around the fireplace, measuring out their words as they spoke, filtering and re filtering their thoughts, arguing in a sophisticated manner whether this author portrays the fractured sensibilities of modernism better or that playwright gives a better peek into the Melancholic. It was a healthy environment, a fertile ground to let ideas spring forth but sometimes, one tires of it. You reach a point when you want to scream 'Enough! What's the point of all of this?' I have caught myself feeling that way every now and then in the past 3 years but today, it was different. Having experienced the other side of living life fully by taking pleasure in labour and the sense of community, where life is not questioned or pondered upon to the point of giving you a nervous breakdown but simply understood, this side of world, the academia, stood out starkly, casting an evil laughter at me. Questioning me if this is what I really wanted for the rest of my life. But I wasn't going to let this thought spoil my mood. I pushed it to one corner of my mind and walked to Ezra.

'Hey everyone. Could I steal him from you guys? He promised to entertain me while I cook dinner for you all.'

'Oh sure.' Lydia responded.

'He is all yours.' Ayana's said with broad smile.

I pulled him by his elbow and dragged him to the kitchen, flashing a fake smile at everyone.

'Hi.' I greeted him.

'Hi' he said suspiciously. 'Why are you all chipper?'

'I wrote 3 short stories and a poem' I clapped my hands together and let out a tiny squeal jumping above the ground. I looked around to make sure no one had been watching.

'Wow. That's something. Can I read it?'

My smile disappeared. 'Nope. Never. Like never ever. Chop Chop, what are we cooking?'

'What if reading your manuscript is the payment I demand for being your secret cook this evening?'

'Please... No... Ezra... Please don't do this. Please please please. I am in such a great mood.'

'Alright alight. You are acting all weird. I don't recognize you.'

'Yeah. I am happy!' I said surveying the ingredients that were kept ready on the Island.

'So, there is spinach, potatoes, cottage cheese, bell pepper and wheat flour. Cool. So, we are making palak panner, shimla mirch aaloo and rotis.'

'Yes, your highness.' He took a bow. 'Now, if you would please follow my instructions.'

Halfway through our episode of master chef, Ezra said, 'I take it from your chirpy mood that your date went well.'

'Yes.'

'Did you guys kiss yet?'

'Ezra... that's none of your business.'

'Oh... So... you didn't.'

I nodded in exasperation and continued to cook.

'Did you manage to get any writing done?' I asked him after sometime not wanting to go on silent mode.

'Look at you. All proud about your writing. So, you are ridiculing us lesser mortals.' He joked.

'That's not what I meant. It's been 2 days and you haven't even told me what you write.'

'I will tell you when you show me your manuscript.'

'Ha...No way in hell.'

Having discovered some yoghurt in the fridge, Ezra made a last minute addition to the menu. He asked me to cut onions and tomatoes for raitha while he scrounged around the pantry for anything that might be used as a substitute for chaat Masala.

'Aria, that's not how you slice the tomatoes. Have you never been inside a kitchen?'

'May be I haven't. Now show me how to slice these goddamn tomatoes. They are certainly not as delightful as Neruda describes them to be. I mean why would anyone want to write an Ode to the Tomato?'

'I see that my 3 years of teaching poetry has been lost on you.' He laughed, picked up another knife. 'Now, this is the knife you slice a tomato with.'

He stood behind me, handed me the knife and took my hands in his. Slowly (and sensuously) he sliced the tomatoes one after another.

'You pick the worst poem to talk about Neruda. You know he also wrote some of the most romantic lines?'

'Really?' My breathing became heavy as we were cheek to cheek.

His lips were touching my ear when he whispered 'I want to do to you what spring does to cherry trees.'

Another intimate moment, carved out from our lives in which we were different people. Another moment ripe with desire to stretch out and reach the impossible and have a taste of it before it melts away. Another moment frozen in time, yet pulling me inside a vortex of lustful darkness.

His made me let go of the knife and slowly drew behind, traversing the length of my hands, making every lingering moment a painful ecstasy. I turned my face to look into his eyes. Another near kiss, another moment to reminisce.

Hearing the approaching voice of Ms. Skarsgard, he moved away. I took a deep breath and braced myself against the kitchen island.

'You kids need some help in here?' she asked looking and sniffing at the dishes that were cooking.

'We are almost done.' He responded.

'Smells great. I can't wait to have them.' She patted my shoulder on her way out and I smiled back.

'Good evening Ms. Vincent. I got this for you.' Igor came into the kitchen and extended a small, yellow flower.

'Right on time for your date huh mister? Ezra took the flower from him and tugged it in a strand of my hair.

'Why don't you take your date for a walk while I finish up with the dinner Igor?'

'No. It's alright. My date and I can hang out here. In fact, he will help me serve the dinner, won't you Igor? And call me Aria. Seriously! What's with this Miss Vincent?'

We questioned him about his town and asked him about his friends. The room came alive with laughter as he told us about the many pranks he played on his friends. And as we were about transferring the dishes to the dining table, Ms. Skarsgard said,

'Aria, if you wish I could give Andy a call and ask him to join us for dinner.'

Ezra's smiling face disappeared at the mention of Andy.

'He told me that he might be joining his mum at the market town this evening.'

'Oh... I didn't know that.'

I sat in between Ezra and Igor at dinner and both my dates were quite nice to me. When everyone praised me for how great the food was, I tried to tell them the truth about Ezra being the cook but he silenced me by distracting the crowd with a joke. Ms. Skarsgard had baked pumpkin pie which we had for dessert.

When everyone broke into different groups, Ezra stood at the porch, sipping a cup of coffee.

'Hey' I stood next to him, facing the lawn.

'Hey' he responded and continued to relish his coffee.

'Listen, about earlier... I...I dunno what I was thinking.'

'Don't worry about it Aria. It was my fault. I will try to be a good boy like Igor.' He laughed.

'So, we are good?'

'Why not? Besides, I figured Neruda is too cheesy for your taste.'

'Yes, he is. I need to go talk to Michael about my manuscript. So...'

'Yeah... go on. I will see you back in the room. All the best.'

Of all the things I had expected him to say, Michael had picked the worst. He had said my writing was good but I was afraid of making it great by inhibiting myself. He had said I was afraid to go places that could make my writing raw and real. And the worst part about it was, somewhere deep inside I had already known it. My fear of exploring the unknown had left me feeling crippled throughout my life but all those times, I sought comfort within the boundaries of rules, structures and notions of conventional success. It had helped me feel good about myself. Not straying from the track, not taking the road less travelled. I had thought deferring my admission and attending this writer's retreat was daring enough that it would make my insecurity go away. But then, you know what they say. It keeps coming back to haunt you till you go out there and face it. I stood at Ezra's spot, peering outside, thinking about what Michael had said about how I cannot treat my life and writing differently and how the way I lived will reflect in the way I write.

'If that's how you want to live and write, it's completely fine Aria. You are a good writer and you could continue to write the same way and I am sure you'd progress. But you are too young to have such rigid boundaries. Don't you want to know what's out there?'

Ezra came in around 11. I wondered what he was doing out there for so long. He placed a notebook on his table and proceeded to take a shower. When he emerged out of the bathroom, he was scantily clad in a full length pyjama and no shirt, just a towel hanging about his shoulders.

'Your students and ex students would kill to see you like this, you know?'

'May be you should take a picture and send them.' He tossed the towel on the chair and walked towards his closet to rummage through it. He picked a crumpled, white, full sleeved shirt and walked towards me as he wore it on.

'So, what was Michael's verdict?'

'Ah... nothing... the usual...' I lied and turned my face away, facing the window.

'Oh really? You sneaky little liar? I don't think anyone could give the usual commentary on something as splendid as :

I'm not looking for the dawn,

As the brisk mornings come and go;

I am looking for the young night,

And the Silver moonlight beams,

Where the sound of darkness

Will break into my soul and set me free'

He once more whispered into my ears. I turned to him and gripped his shirt.

'How the hell did you read it? It was off limits.'

'I told Michael that since I am your professor and all, you wanted me to have a look at it after he was done. So, he handed it to me. They were brilliant Aria. Especially the story titled 'The Reader's Dilemma'.

'Thank you.' I let go of his shirt.

'So, what did Michael say that's got you so worried?'

I narrated our whole conversation to him.

'So how are you gonna resolve this writer's dilemma?'

I stepped forward, flung my hands around his neck and asked

'I dunno, why don't you tell me?'

'Aria, you are making it very difficult for me to be a good boy.'

'I know... but...' I retreated back into my writer's dilemma.

'Well.. I have walked about five miles today. I can't stand here for one more moment. I am going to bed.'

He switched off the lights, switched on the night lamp and went to bed.

'You are such a bore.' I said and went back to peering out the window.

'Look who is talking.' With that he went into a sleep mode and I kept standing there, looking out at the darkness, with not enough courage to step into it, yet waiting and wishing for it to send out its tentacles to pull me in.

At around 1 in the morning, I heard him turn in his bed.

'Aria?' I remained silent.

'Don't do this to yourself. Go to bed.' I stood there motionless, refusing to go one way or another.

'Hmmm... alright... Come on here. You are scaring me.'

'No... go to sleep.'

'You are really going to make me do this, aren't you?' he approached me and took my face in his hands. Then he slowly tucked the strands of hair covering my face behind my ears. He looked into my eyes and kissed me. I responded, every silenced voice in my head coming alive in that kiss. Giddy with pleasure, I broke away to brace myself against the window. It was better than the high a series of tequila shots or the taste mango dipped in salted vinegar could give you He scooped me up in his arms and walked to his bed. I had made up my mind to stop him, there was only so much pleasure I could take at once. But instead of undressing me, he held me close and kissed me and I was lost once again to the darkness.