Having waited more than a century for the perfect gentleman who would compliment her beauty and wit, and having failed miserably in that endeavor, our dear author Jane Austen finally decided to give into the conventions of our uncivilized times and entered a speed dating program at the local pub.
They say it takes a thief to catch a thief. It should follow that it takes a psychopath to catch a psychopath. And that is the reason I had not been able to catch the Bangalore Butcher, I told myself. After all I am no psychopath. Hence, when they called a special officer to help me investigate the case I was more relieved than angry. That was until I met my partner, Special Officer Nishanth Karande.
He had not thought of her in what felt like an age, and it had taken him a lot to keep it that way too. And now, after all this time unbidden, unprovoked, breaking all the dams he had built around them, there they were, her memories drowning him in their torrent of bitter sweet torment, till his head swam with them and he could see her so clearly he thought he would turn a corner on the old campus and bump into her again.
Of all the times they had shared he remembered her as she had been on that evening. They had met accidently and ended up spending the evening together. He was surprised he could remember it with fondness and nostalgia and had to concede it had been a beautiful time. He remembered the whole evening with exquisite clarity. Her he remembered as if that time represented the essence of her soul her whole being distilled into the perfection of that evening, a miracle only memory could manage.
It had been an evening in late spring when the wind had the sharp bite of the coming winter. He had whiled away the afternoon watching some stupid movie Continue reading