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A strong force of the wind hit my body to ease the pain of fatigue. I could feel it that something memorable will happen. My eyes feasted exultingly upon the impossibly green mountains; a waterfall down the peak like sparkling veins of silver; fog gliding the hills like a spirit, against the cloudy azure of sky emanating peace all around, softening the atmosphere, and the Naini lake - immaculate, pristine and untouched; sheer, absolute and incontestable. It was a striking model of painting as any painter could desire. My thoughts welled up from within, in an effortless gratifying form of meditation. It filled me with joie de vivre as I was in Nainital, hoping to meet my Boyfriend Aabhas after five months of separation on the pious festival of Durga Puja. “Sweet maize, sweet maize”, cried a woman roasting maize on a charcoal stove with the help of a plastic hand fan, serving with salt and spices, squatting in a picturesque marketplace teeming with people. “How much for it?” I asked. “I’m distributing these maizes for free, Madam Saheb. Today is my deceased husband’s birthday. I dedicate this day to him.” She said in a voice of loving compassion. At once, I developed an intuitive liking and respect for her kind gesture. A part of me was deeply nourished. I ate two, gave her a pat on her back and bade a reluctant farewell: refreshed for a few hours in a rest-house and started again. I heard chanting and inhaled the smoke of incense sticks from an adjacent temple. Two miles down the road was Aabhas’s home. My approach to his house was through an avenue of tall, benevolent trees. The air was still. It was quiet. I could hear only my footsteps. I knocked on the door. It surprised me to see the same woman before me. She gazed at me with a questioning twinkle, admiring my presence earnestly, and ushered me to her couch in courtesy. My sight saw a garlanded frame of a man in Khakhi uniform hung on the wall. She passed me a thrifty smile in swift understanding. I instantly realized that the woman has lost his husband in Pulwama terror. It was the time when India was lamenting the loss of 40 Police corps: 40 families grieving the sudden demise of their loved ones. Maybe the scar had shown her what it was like to be less fortunate than others. She must have started her new life in fear and trepidation, and life wouldn't be an easy ride since then. After a few minutes of retrospecting silence, “I’m here looking for Aabhas Bose. He used to stay here in this house,” I said trustingly, prompted by an instinct. “I’m a tenant of Aabhas Saheb who left this town three months back. He is studying in the USA and settled with his wife there,” She stated. It dazed me. I trudged down the stairs absently. I had mixed but mutual feelings with the woman. I was calm inside, but still, there was a lingering emptiness within. Subtle. Distant like a whisper in the wind, but present as if to say, "Yes, all of this is good, but something is missing." It was twilight. The blue of the sky darkened to give way to streaks of violet and magenta. I walked alone along the empty streets in lonesomeness reminiscing his brown blonde hairs for which I would sometimes mock him. It rains. I stretched my umbrella. The halogen lights lit up, and I wished him ‘happy married life’ in my heart. My words seem insincere to me.