1. Unforeseen Tide
She sat alone on the beach, a solitary figure amidst the noise of a foreign coast. In her mid-thirties but possessing the youthful energy of her mid-twenties, she carried a wild and mysterious charm, like a gypsy woman. Her attire—a black skirt, a brown shirt, and winged eyeliner accentuating her beautiful eyes and short, curly hair—suggested a fascinating mix of gothic and gypsy styles.
Her peace was interrupted by a vibrant group of foreigners: a family that included a young girl, her parents (in their early to mid-thirties), an older man, and two other young men. The father of the child struck her immediately as handsome.
The girl, drawn to her stillness, ran over, and the father followed. He offered a simple “Hi” that sparked an instant conversation. Soon, the entire group gathered. They were tourists, and the initial small talk quickly evolved into an engaging dialogue about arts, culture, and beauty, subjects she found as fascinating as they did.
She initially paid little mind to the second young man. But as the others became absorbed in their beach activities, she found herself talking exclusively to him. It was then she noticed his features: dark curly hair, a moustache, and startling light green eyes. He seemed reserved, an introvert, yet when he spoke of his interests, his language was rich and evocative, like a poet. She felt a powerful surge of curiosity and attraction.
Her time was limited by a work meeting. She revealed a glimpse of her life as a freelance model and freestyle dancer, showing them videos that suggested a mysterious dream rather than a typical career. She deliberately kept her personal life veiled, yet managed to make the group feel comfortable and intrigued.
He showed her a sketch he’d been working on; she was genuinely impressed. She, in turn, shared the poem she was writing. He smiled, thinking, “Wow, who is this woman?”
Before leaving, she tore a scrap of paper, wrote her phone number on it, and executed her final move. As she shook hands with everyone, she made sure to press the note discreetly into his palm, leaning in to whisper, “Please give me a call, if you’d like to go for a walk or for coffee sometime. No pressure, though.” With that, she walked away slowly, sealing the mystery.
2. The Unexpected Second Act
A week passed in silence. He didn’t call. She felt no disappointment, simply acknowledging it as a beautiful, singular encounter. Life, as she well knew, had to continue. Despite her confident exterior, she carried a hidden well of pain and insecurity, expertly masked by her charm.
That evening, she was back on the same beach for a photo shoot. Transformed, she wore a striking golden and green gown, adorned with pearls and a unique green feather earring. As the sun set, casting the scene in red light, she danced with mesmerizing grace, captivating the small group of onlookers, who included the foreign family and their friends.
He was there, watching her with awe. After the shoot ended, he approached with his friends, offering heartfelt praise. She smiled radiantly, a slight blush touching her cheeks as her eyes met his. He wanted to stay; his friends left them. She needed to change from the elaborate costume, promising to return in half an hour.
When she came back, dressed in an off-white shirt and dull green pants, still wearing a few pearl bracelets and her feather earring, the beach was empty. She waded into the water, a quiet sigh escaping her, a pang of disappointment settling in her chest.
From a distance, he had been watching. He hadn’t called because he was nervous, unsure of how to approach such an “unreachable” woman, and he wanted to see if she would miss him. Seeing her sadness, he ran forward, holding a lavender bouquet.
“You thought I wouldn’t wait, huh?” he asked, breathless.
“Well, you can’t blame me. You never called,” she countered, relief in her voice.
He admitted, embarrassed, “I’m sorry. I was so nervous. You seemed so beautiful and unattainable.”
“I’m flattered!” she laughed.
They sat and talked easily, the conversation smooth and pleasant. He listened patiently, a trait she appreciated. The attraction was palpable. He reached out, his fingers touching her face, and asked, “Can I?”
“Yes, please,” she whispered.
They shared a kiss—short and shy. Later, they walked to dinner, the subtle tension between them visible in their stolen glances. Waiting for the bus, the scene felt cinematic. When the bus arrived, she quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek and boarded, leaving him smitten and waving.
3. Intellectual Foreplay
Back in her apartment—a shared space filled with collages, colours, and cacti—she was dreamy and smiling. Late that night, a text arrived: a poem from him. It was magical, intriguing, and instantly pulled her back into his world.
Her life continued; she taught English as an assistant professor—a charming and capable teacher adored by her students. He continued to tour the region with his family, all of whom were close. They texted constantly, surprising each other with details: his background in physics before his shift to art and museums.
One day, he waited for her outside her college. Seeing her in a sari for the first time, he was captivated. Over tea, he invited her to his family on a long trip that weekend. She politely declined, citing a lack of energy for group activities. Their conversation, as always, was beautiful and intellectually engaging. They shared an auto ride, trading romantic glances before he dropped her off.
Their relationship was defined by their conversations—alluring, tantalizing and seductive, yet not fully committed. It was an intellectual foreplay, like reading between the lines to figure out the other’s soul. They didn’t discuss many personal things, yet they felt an intuitive intimacy, occasionally sharing random painful memories from the past without needing extensive explanation.
4. Intergalactic Explosion and the Reveal
He desperately wanted more. Feeling a burning need to be vulnerable, he decided to skip the family trip and texted her: “Hey, what are you up to this weekend? I’m not going with them. Would you like to hang out? No pressure…”
She felt a strange anticipation. After a brief hesitation, she replied to his follow-up text: “Can’t say no to that :)”
The next day, she arrived at his rented house, dressed simply in a white cotton pants and a turquoise halter-neck top. He welcomed her from a balcony that looked like a small jungle. Inside, he was cooking, looking busy and handsome.
They talked over coffee, shared lunch, and watched TV. When she put on music, she began to dance, a wild, beaming presence that mesmerized him. She pulled him up, and they swayed together, lost in the rhythm. Her playful teasing led him to fall back onto the bed. She sat on top of him.
Their kiss was no longer shy; it was a rush of passion and vigour. Their bodies craved each other. His touch, his deep kisses, the way she moaned—it all drove him wild. She ripped open his shirt, kissing his lean, defined body—a beautiful piece of art. They made love with intense, desperate abandon, a moment of complete surrender that felt like an intergalactic explosion.
They fell asleep calmly. She woke first to a call. She dressed slowly and took the call on the balcony, speaking to someone with obvious love and care, updating them on her location. He woke and dressed, hearing her finish the call.
“That was Jeevan,” she said.
“A friend?” he asked.
“My partner,” she replied.
He was visibly stunned. “We are in a polyamorous relationship,” she explained.
“Are you surprised?” she asked.
“Well, yes. We didn’t talk about personal things like this,” he said, his voice laced with discomfort.
“I didn’t think there was a need to share it,” she argued.
“Ooook,” he said, retreating.
She felt a rising irritation. “What were you expecting? To marry me?” she snapped, the sarcastic laugh grating.
He was wounded by her sarcasm. “Just because I’m a foreigner doesn’t mean I have no morals,” he said coldly.
“Do you think I am immoral?” she demanded, her anger visible. “I thought you were better than this.”
“I really liked you,” he sighed, admitting his hurt.
“So?” she sneered.
“Honestly, this is so dehumanizing… I feel disappointed.” She continued.
Furious, he shot back, “You didn’t have to lie! Now I feel disappointed.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I didn’t lie. I didn’t know you were this close-minded. I assumed you understood things.” she spoke.
She grabbed her things and stormed toward the door. He felt utterly helpless, unable to stop her, paralyzed by his pain and confusion. He watched her storm out, the door slamming shut on their beautiful, failed connection.
5. Time to say Goodbye
A week passed in strained silence. He regretted his judgmental reaction; she regretted her defensive sarcasm.
He sought her out one last time outside her college gate. Seeing him, she stopped. He apologized for his judgment, admitting his hurt came from seeing his own intense feeling betrayed by a partial truth. She, in turn, apologized for her sarcasm, admitting her secretiveness was a defence against the very condescension he had shown. They agreed to spend one final day together—as friends—to leave with a beautiful memory.
The next day, they met at a café. Their final day together felt like an intentional, curated piece of art. They visited a local museum, discussing texture, history, and colour, their intellectual intimacy flowing easily once more. They walked along the promenade, sharing their vulnerabilities—his path from physics to art, her channelling of pain into dance.
As the sun set, they sat on a bench. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want our last moment to be anger.”
“Me neither,” she agreed. “It was a necessary mistake.”
He pulled out his notebook and read her the final stanza he had added to her poem—a powerful summation of their brief, intense journey. She felt profoundly seen.
“I have to go now,” he said, the words final.
She took his hand. “Travel safe, my poet,” she said. “And never let the complexity of a woman’s life turn you into a simple man.”
He kissed her knuckles and let her go. She walked away slowly, and when she finally turned back, he was a silhouette against the fading sky, watching her. She gave him one last, complex smile and disappeared into the city. He stayed for a long moment, finally feeling complete, ready to go home with the memory and the poem in his keeping.
6. The Rock and the River
Neelima was visibly sad after the event, a deep well of disappointment reflecting in her eyes. She travelled back to her hometown, to the quiet embrace of the small forest where Jeevan waited. He was a freelancer, an artist whose life was a fluid canvas, a painter who let his wanderlust guide his brush and his travels. Neelima, anchored by her job, returned home whenever she secured a precious three-day break or during holidays. Their life was a series of fleeting reunions, a challenging, unusual rhythm they danced to, yet their devotion remained absolute.
Their love story was old, tested, and rooted in a profound friendship that made a life without the other seem unimaginable. She still harboured the ambition to start cohabiting full-time once a stable income offered them more financial comfort. The current lack of ease was difficult, but they managed. They had achieved a certain level of grace by experimenting with the conventional boundaries of life and love, forging an unbreakable bond, tested by time and trials.
Jeevan, her best friend, instantly perceived her hurt. He sat with her, his presence a magical balm that always soothed her soul. He was her rock. They offered each other comfort and made love; she felt herself mend. Yet, a subtle trace of melancholy lingered, a stubborn knot of regret: she simply did not want to let go of Éloi so soon.
7. A Ring in the Dark
Éloi had one week left before his return journey to his home country. After Neelima’s departure, he sank into a whirlpool of quiet sorrow. His family, without the need for explanations, sensed his turmoil. They asked no questions, instead offering unspoken care and a soft vigilance.
One day, the stillness was broken by an unexpected ring: it was Jeevan.
“Hello, is this Éloi? I’m Jeevan speaking.”
“Is Neelima alright?” Éloi’s voice was sharp with concern.
“She is better, yes, thank you for asking. I would like to talk to you about something, if you have the time to listen.”
“Yes, of course,” Éloi replied.
The conversation lasted for two profound hours. When it was over, Éloi’s brother inquired about the call; he simply assured him everything was fine. He retreated into a deep, internal contemplation for the rest of the day. The next morning, he emerged calmer, making an announcement to his surprised family: “I am going to Tamil Nadu for three days tomorrow. It’s my one final trip before heading back to France.” Though they were unsure at first, they knew better than to obstruct him when his mind was set.
8. The Rebirth
Éloi landed and found Jeevan waiting, his silent greeting contained in the car. They drove to the couple’s home, a small sanctuary nestled within a private grove, full of ginormous, ancient trees and lush plants. Neelima was reading as they arrived. She rushed to hug Éloi, and in his arms, she finally allowed herself to weep. He held her tightly until the emotion subsided, a strange, profound sense of calm settling over him.
They brewed tea and conversed for hours. That evening, they shared beers, cooked a simple dinner, and opened the doors to their histories. They began to understand, not through direct questioning, but through the unassuming details—how each of them perceived the world, the sources of their contentment, the nature of their past pains. Slowly, everything made a quiet, perfect sense. Each life, they realized, was its own independent work of art.
Jeevan and Neelima’s connection was indeed strange and mysteriously beautiful, forged in the fire of youth and literally grown through adversity—in sickness, in health, through their ugliest truths. They confided in Éloi, sharing how they had transcended the bounds of jealousy and insecurity. Their partnership, they explained, was built on the understanding that true love meant fully supporting the individual needs, happiness, and even the adventures of the other. Above all, friendship was the vital ingredient that allowed them to find grace and beauty in their shared life.
Éloi listened, filled with admiration. He spoke of his own painful childhood in foster homes before his current family adopted him, and the sharp wound left by his previous girlfriend’s betrayal. They listened and understood. A new, tender bond was forming among the three.
As the night deepened, Neelima embraced Éloi, kissing him slowly. He was hesitant at first. Then, Jeevan moved behind Neelima, kissing her neck, drawing a moan from her that was both surrender and passion. “What do you feel right now, my love?” Jeevan whispered. She played with his hair, kissing him with a sudden, wild excitement.
The three of them entered a shared trance, making love in a way that was neither awkward nor strange, but wild and beautiful. Éloi witnessed a new Neelima, a mysterious Goddess of liberated passion. He was swept away, unable to believe the intensity of the experience and, above all, the depth of his own participation. He felt utterly reborn. It was magic, an enigmatic, otherworldly union.
They spent the best three days of their lives teaching each other profound lessons in a short, intense period. When it was time for Éloi to depart, there was no sadness, only a powerful feeling of contentment and joy. It wasn’t a final farewell. Neelima had chosen to keep Éloi in her life, trusting he would choose to do the same.
About the Author
Bhoomi is a research scholar in Philosophy at University of Kerala, with a focus on gender, power dynamics and Post-Marxism. As an interdisciplinary artist, Bhoomi seamlessly weaves together performance art, movement design, and creative expression. With a unique blend of academic rigor and artistic innovation, Bhoomi’s work navigates the intersections of philosophy, gender, and performance.
