**Passage by Madhuri Banerjee .. First 250 words**

Syed and I didn't mean to fall in love. But love happens when you least expect it. It creeps up suddenly. When someone needs attention, care, conversation, laughter and maybe even intimacy.

Love doesn't look at logic, or at backgrounds and least of all, religion.

I was from a very conservative South Indian family that went to a temple every Saturday. Syed bought goats for his family every Eid. That said it all. Our paths would never have crossed if it hadn't been for that fateful day. That day when he walked into the coffee shop. I often wondered if destiny chose our loved ones for us. Did we have any role to play at all?

I looked at my watch. Syed was late. We met every Thursday at five pm to catch up. Our conversation lasted for hours. Sometimes at the cafe, sometimes in his car, sometimes in places that I could never tell my friends about. We would never understand. And yet Syed made me happy.

Suddenly my phone beeped. A message from him. "On my way. Have something important to tell you."

I stared at it and realised I have knots in my stomach. Thoughts started flooding my mind.

What did he want to tell me?

While I ordered yet another coffee, I observed the surrounding of the Leopold café. And I remembered the day we first met. I could see the two gunmen firing at one evening in the bustling café, the panicked people, the blood splattered across the floor and the walls, the havoc of the people trying to first bow down the shootings or stumbling their ways out to the exit.

I remembered seeing a five-year-old girl clinging to her father as stooped under the table, which shielded them ineffectively. The terror in her eyes, caused by the absolute fear in her father's eyes.

Then there was a gunshot and it had hit the man on his shoulder blade, he endured still unmoved with bloodshot eyes, engulfing his baby girl in his cocoon. The girl was too shocked to cry, she whimpered in his chest, until he lost to death, crashing on the floor.

Until the very time, I had been stunned by the sudden attack, hidden, as my friend Nita dragged us behind the counter. But seeing the girl so vulnerable, so open to another gunshot, I sprang up and dived towards the crashed chairs and tables to rescue her. I had taken her in my arms, and swept my glance in the direction of the attack, suddenly for a second, there was a thud silence suspended. I was sure that gunmen would be sprung up from nowhere and start shooting again. There I was, out in the open, readying myself to die, the chances of surviving were thin, as I was in the middle of the rubble of broken furniture, dead and injured people.

But instead, I saw a stream of people entering, the one person who caught my eye was Syed, and suddenly I had the strangest feeling, I had felt secured in just seeing him, a complete stranger. While the people helped other survivors, Syed's gaze found me. In another second, he dropped beside me, asking me if I was okay. When I managed to nod, he directed his gaze to the girl, he checked her if there was any wound. But shouted to the other people that there wasn't. When I sat back down on the floor, watching him, something pricked my ribs. My hand found the spot and when I saw it covered in blood, I grimaced. By the time, my mouth opened to inform of my injury to Syed, he had lifted me in his arms, carrying me outside. He pressed my wound with his hand, while glancing around for help of any sort. I couldn't feel any pain, it was strange, and instead, I looked at him earnestly, following his every move. But soon it went away, as two sets of hands grabbed me, pushed me on the stretcher, put inside the ambulance and I was driven away.

I was mad, I wanted to ask about Nita, the girl and also the man who helped me. Yet I stayed limp on the stretcher, realizing the darkness crept inside me.

When I finally woke up at the hospital a day and a half later, I saw the faces of my parents looking at me, worried, unslept and tired. A small smile tried to break out of my face seeing them. They were happy seeing me okay and told me about a young man who helped them reach me when all other communication was down. I knew it was him, when I told them that I wanted to meet him, my request was granted in the form of him walking towards me.

My brows creased suddenly, behind the oddly familiar face, he wore a cap on his head with a long white kurta. He was a Muslim. Though when he finally stopped beside my bed, the same feeling of warmth and security found me. It was very strange, even difficult to describe. I could see him happy to see me, the lines on the corner of his eyes smoothened.

Some time later when my parents left to get lunch, he sat there for about an hour telling me how I was injured with a broken chair, but because of the adrenalin rush, I couldn't feel it, until I was passed out. We talked about the attack, the girl, my friend and other survivors. It was very natural to be there in that moment, talking me my heart out. When he was leaving, my hand automatically grabbed his. He closed his eyes, pressing his hand against mine. I didn't want him to leave. But he withdrew and told me that he would call me soon and told me to take care.

For almost two weeks I didn't hear from him. The uneasiness had built within me, not hearing from him, then I assumed that he forgot about me. But when once again I visited the Leopold café alone, he was there, sitting by himself, sipping coffee. I was going to confront him, I was that mad, but when I saw those innocent eyes full of love, I quieted. From that day onwards we met regularly for almost a year, fearing to confront of our love for each other. We called each other friends, though when alone, we got carried away with the intimacy and need. Our souls perfectly matched, there was a likeness of mind and ideas in every possible sense. We were bound to each other with a thread so strong that I was believed if broken would cause us wound which would be irrevocable. Now even thinking about committing to any other person was impossible.

But the day came, when my father finalized a groom for me, an MD doctor, from our town, from our community, I was left devastated, blaming my fate to be born different from my love Syed. I was ready to give absolutely anything to be with him till the day I die. Syed also felt that we could manage to run away, to some land where we won't be recognized, that we would live our life peacefully.

But destiny had something else in mind, our affair was discovered by my parents, who instantly warned to disown me. They brought me back to my hometown, tried everything in my power to brainwash me, warning about the consequences of being in a family which were our complete opposite. That there was no common ground that we could work on, that it would be forever thrown out of society. The kind of disgrace they would carry for the rest of their lives, all because of me.

Syed on the hand made to believe that he could never be able to keep me safe, forget happy. There always would be a sword hanging over our heads. Soon he told me that it was better to walk out of the relationship and it would never see the light of the day. But he knew for sure that there couldn't be any other person, who would love me the way he loved me.

Soon I convinced myself that I had to make a choice, even if I loved my parents so much, I couldn't live without Syed, that I would rather die than endure the misery of not being with him. With my mind made up, I took a train to Mumbai and headed straight to his house. It was a hot night of summer, when I finally reached his doorstep, with nothing but heart in my hand.

His people recognized me, as afraid as my parents had been, of being an outcast. That night they tried to reason me, Syed was painfully silent, sitting in the far corner of his modest home. And that hit me hard, he not saying a word, not saying that he loved me, not standing by me. The next morning, I left with a heavy heart and no soul left in my body. That was it, the final straw.

However in the late morning I got his text, telling me to meet him at the café for one last time, same time, same table, but without any hope. And now I was sitting there waiting for him, watching every soul walking into the café and getting disappointed of not seeing him. It was past six now, I finished my third coffee. And the familiar staff was giving me pitying glances as if they knew my situation.

All of a sudden, I saw him walking towards me and the extinguished hope rose again. But his face was grim and I didn't like it.

"Gayatri, my dear, I have a news for you," he murmured taking my hand in his, looking deep into my soul.

I held my breath as if my whole life depended on it.

"My abbu and ammi agreed to our marriage," he smiled, with tears slipping from both of his eyes.

And I broke into uncontrollable sobs. I didn't care of the surprised gazes on me. I asked him a question we always stuck in every conversation, without saying a word. But he understood right away.

"They agreed to keep your religion unchanged," he breathed out, being happy himself of the fact. He always advocated me to keep my religion. He used to tell me that one day, we could imbibe the goodness of both the religions in our children.

It was indeed the day, my life changed, my fate turned around. After our son, Kabir was born, my parents found me living in Delhi with my family. They were gratified to see their daughter well taken care of by Syed and his family. All their prejudice and the anger that brought with it, washed away seeing their grandchild's face. It all comes down to being human even before religion. 

**Thank you for reading!**