Vanilla

I got a frantic call in the morning. As always it was her, worried about my safety, her anxiety stemming from the news reports. She is incorrigible, yet adorable. How do I tell her that this happens in our city everyday?!

Immersed in work, I see nothing else, I feel nothing else. I have sheaves of paper strewn all around and suddenly I smell vanilla… it seems to bring back the memories of that day in Notting Hill. Face down, I remain focused. That smell is still troubling me and growing strong each passing moment. I have a meeting in about 5 minutes and I haven’t sorted out the probable answers to the probable queries. The client seems to have arrived; I straighten up, pick up my cards and folder and walk in. He is sitting right in front me, the man from Portobello, the same man from Hyde Park, the man who had vanished for a week and allowed me to exist in peace.

One wonders why the universe is constantly conspiring and where does it want to lead you to.