They were doing this duet. She was lending her beautiful voice to his average guitar playing. It was a mismatch from the beginning. If the voice was that of an angel fairy, the guitar playing was that of a blacksmith. Perfect example of ‘The beauty and the beast’. But she, oblivious to the beauty she possessed in her throat, had paired off with him. And what was even worse, even trusted him fully to deliver a performance matching her own.
The performance started. Both of them faced the audience, and started with the first part. The crass cacophony of the guitar got partly covered by the sweet wafting vocals, and the audience burst into appreciation of the beauty of the music. The ‘Mukhada’ having got over, the ‘antara’ started. As had been decided earlier, they were to play this part looking at each other for a better effect on the audience (and also for the pleasure of his eyes). She was poised to sing, he was prepared to strum. She looked at him, he looked at her. She started singing, and he…
His fingers refused to move as she sang on. She looked at him with a questioning glint in those two black, bottomless pools she passed off as her eyes, and he just gazed at her perfect lips rendering words to the beautiful song, at the throbbing, pulsating veins at the bottom of her curvy throat. He was suddenly awestruck, both by the beauty of the voice and of the delicate features, every bit of him urging him to take in more of this elixir inside him through his eyes and his ears…so much so that he forgot that they were in a competition, that there were people around judging them, that he just could not stand there, drinking through his eyes when there was stuff to be done by his hands….
Needless to say, they made complete fools of themselves.
PS : This is a part of a larger story I’m working on. Do tell me how it reads.
PPS: My first try at anything remotely romantic. God help me!