Don't knock the door

I once read an Urdu novel with the title DASTAK NA DO (Don't knock the door) and it inspired me to write this story somewhere in 2006...I am just transfering it from page to technology and shortening it.

She was standing there. And I was far away. She was standing there at the bus stop with a swarm of people around her like a bee hive-unconcerned and busy. And I was standing here, far away with my rich friends around me who would give ther life for me. A distance existed between us, a social distance and a cultural distance. I never believed in love at first sight but it is ironic how a thief can turn into a priest and how a priest can turn into a thief. But it couldn't be love. It just couldn't be. Its just a fantastic concept over-exagerrated by stories, movies, poems and songs. How can someone like me be ever involved in a chidish thing called love. I just sat in my car and drove away.

I couldn't sleep anymore. What was it? Why was it? Why is love considered the most beautiful thing in the world yet it is so painful and torturous? My once satisfaction-filled dreams are stolen by a poor girl who I don't even know. She was ordinary looking yet so extraordinary! What was it about her that snatched me away from my carelesness and changed me in a moment. How can a rebel like me change so easily? That is how my nights were spent after that day, questions racing through my mind like eagles soaring towards the ground to catch its prey. I was disturbed and confused. I decide to find her. What a typical start of the love story! It was crazy i knew that well.

I find her at the same bus stop. I park my car far away. She was standing there and this time i was closer to her. I stand by her, she ignores. "Where does this bus go?" I ask. "To the city market." She replies. And then starts what a poet would call a true love story. I would meet her everyday and we would talk about everything. Yet I never expressed her my love nor did she see me in that sense. We were friends and I was more than content with her company. Everyday I would stand in front of the mirror and promise myself to tell her about my feelings but somewhere in my heart I was waiting for something-waiting for a sign from her. I was afraid that I may lose her forever, a dilemma faced by every lover. I decided never to knock the door. Stay quiet and be friends. There was still a distance I could never shorten. What else could one do who never used to believe in love?

Like every love story, there is always a twist that changed the whole direction of the story. She stopped showing up at the bus stop. I never knew her home! How could I be so stupid? I would wait thereeveryday yet she never showed up. What to do? Where to go? OH THE MADNESS AND THE PAIN! Everyday I would imagine her silky hair like a stream of water brushing against my cheek, her breath like spring breeze caressing my hair. I could not sleep, could not even dream about her. I picked the knife and did what I could do to get rid of my pain.

She had died in an accident after meeting me one day and departed from this world leaving behind a secret lover who killed himself. Indeed they met somewhere in the other world and would have blamed each other for never knocking the door!