Hi,

Hope you're well and ready to take this journey with Myra. She is a girl who has grown up but still holds on to her childhood notions of 'true love' and 'fairy tale endings'. Of cause, if not, why would she resort to a love spell? This is her journey of learning that when it comes to love which truly is the most mysterious magic of all, even spells and charms could hardly help you. They are traitorous waters that has to be guided by your heart not by instructions in a book. Myra, is going to learn in the hard way and the fate has a set of unforgivable lessons in store for her.

So until she learns and grows up, you'll have to put up with her silly antics.

I hope you will enjoy this and I would leave you craving for more!

CHAPTER ONE

The deep blue sea

Men make choices, choices make men...

The twilight is blue. Tints of reds left behind by the sunset deepen into plum and wine before disappearing in the strokes of blue. The Chinese lanterns, swinging from the outdoor poles around the yard has an inky darkness hanging around them. The summer air is hot, humid and cool against the skin. It brushes against the knuckles of my hand resting upon the guitar and tugs at the strands of hair lying on my forehead.

I breathe it in. The air brings with it smells of grass from the lawn and underlying hints of petrol from the car park nearby. It mostly smells of people. There is such a smell, if you are attentive enough, opposed to the smell of isolation.

Since I was not welcome at home until eight tonight, I lean back and adjust the guitar perched on my knee, before resuming my survey of the restaurant. The boys eye me nervously, as if waiting for me to either mess up or throw a fit. They put up a good show of adjusting their instruments, tuning them or in case of Amit (our bandleader) merely fidgeting with his drumsticks. We are one member short tonight, as the other girl and our singer, Sumi is down with flu. Naturally, that makes us nervous.

However, tonight I do not feel that usual unease. It is as if I know everything will go my way tonight. I steal another glance at my band members, trying to swallow the secret bubbling inside me. Tonight nothing would go wrong. Rathi and I had already taken care of that.

At the thought, the metal heart resting against the base of my throat feels a little warmer. It is the last heirloom Dida had left me. Keep it or throw it in a stream she had said. Currently, there is a charm tucked inside it; three black beads on a red thread, coiled around a tiny seashell nobody had trodden upon. Rathi and I followed the instructions on Dida's old book to the last T, and prepared a good luck charm for ourselves. We are supposed to keep it in a dark place for three full moons and true love will find us at the end of that time.

Even before the day had come, a marriage proposal had come for Rathi. The prospective groom is visiting her this evening and as for me, I already know how this is going to turn out. I pick at a random string strumming a note that hang around for a second, there is a tilt in the atmosphere and even without raising my head, I know he had walked in.

He is still carrying that sketchbook, his fingers smudged with charcoal. He is tall and lean but not in an athletic way. There is something in the way he holds himself that speaks of manor houses and strict teachers. He has the most engaging hazel eyes that I have ever chanced upon, although purplish dark circles often surround them. He is a regular here; a weary artist spending the evening in the company of his incomplete sketches. I am waiting for the day when he would wake up from the trance they keep him bound in. Something tells me, today is going to be that day.

Amit catches my eye, a knowing look passes between Rajat and Rahul the twins of our band. I shrug at them strumming away nonchalantly. Life gets harder when everybody expect the said person know that you have feelings for them. It had been a while now, that the boys and Sumi, even Rathi had been urging me on. But isn't proposing supposed to be the man's job?

All I ever needed was a bit of luck and a slight push in the right way by a twist of fate. I tell myself for the countless time as I stare at him. No matter how many times I try to convince myself that today is different, at first it does not seem so. He still settles at the same corner table which he keeps for himself, right underneath one of those poles with lanterns, and flips his sketchbook open.

There is a dull hum in the background. Tonight the restaurant is hosting an average crowd. Rajat keys in a few notes, leaving the melody suspended in the air, waiting for me to pick up the tune. It is an old Hindi number that he had picked up, the words I've known since childhood.

Something pricks at the back of my mind. It had been Dida's favorite song. I could still recall her humming the tune as she watered the plants, or her singing along that old radio of hers. It feels like sort of a sign. As if she knew what mischief I was up to. For a fraction of a second I wonder whether she would approve of my methods of getting to my happily ever after. Then his hand pauses over his sketch and he looks up. His hazel eyes lit up as if he too had some fond memories with the tune and our gazes collide.

I let the boys take over the music and tuck an escaped strand behind my ear, before starting to sing. The song is like my toast to new beginnings, I wish he knew.

"Yeh Shyaam mastani – madhosh kiye jaaye

Mujhe dor koi keeche teri aur liye jaaye"

**

His eyes are so clear in the light of the lantern that he sits under. He seems happy. But the bliss I had felt the moment our gazes had met had long since evaporated. Soon after the first lines he had dialed someone and was busy in the call as he watched us play. Although, I knew I had caught his eye a few minutes of attention was not too much to ask for, or was it?

A young man fumbles with his drink as he makes his way from one of his friends to a group of others. The sudden wave of chill breaks my trance as well.

"I'm so sorry!" For a moment he sounds rather sincere and flustered, as he bends with a paper napkin to offer his assistance.

"It's okay," I brush his hand away, getting to my feet and carefully placing the guitar against the bench I had been sitting on. "I'll do it myself."

"No, no I insist," his hands are back, this time that touch leaves a sickening sensation behind. I take a step back. "I said I'll do it."

There is no mistaking in the leer his lips twitches into; his intentions plain in his drooping eyes. This is the reasons why I would not usually do any night shifts with the band. Had it not been for the eight o' clock restriction I might have gone home a long back. The next time he reaches in to grab my elbow his grip is gentle no more. I wince for a moment before stepping on his foot, relishing the groan that escapes him.

Was this a trick the fates were playing? Would he be my savior now?

"Let go!" Amit makes it his moment to intervene, followed by Rahul who stand on my both shoulders like two unequipped bodyguards. If I had a moment to spare, I'd have given them both a glare. One, I had the situation completely under control. Two, these two are becoming unnecessary side characters in my love story.

But then, with a sickening feeling at the pitch of my stomach I catch the sight of him standing up (still engaged in his phone) and walking away, single handedly tacking away all his art supplies. As I drag my eyes back to the present scene, I realize the drunk young man is joined by his buddies and Rajat too had vacated his post to join the other two.

"Stand aside Myra," Amit says in a low tone. He has his captain face on and I know there was hardly a point in arguing.

Rajat does not even waste his words as he pushes my gently away. I know they are going to get beaten up by the much tougher and stockier guys in the opposite fraction and in the end the restaurant manager would have to intervene with the security to break up the fight, even before it had happened. I also know that the damages would be deducted from our earnings. But still as I press an ice pack not so gently to the swollen black – eye Amit was supporting, my heart is swelling with a warmer feeling.

These three could rival Rathi for my affections. They were the brother's I've never had. Still I give them each a glare, before I hop down from Rajat's jeep at the entrance to ShriNivas –housing scheme.

They shrug and purse their lips and I shake my head at them knowing given the chance they would do it again for me.

"Apply something to your Panda eye," I say as I wave them good bye. Amit still has the nerve to stick out his tongue at me.

"Get inside," he shouts back.

As I watch them driving away I notice the time in my mobile screen. It's seven forty five. I notice with a sinking heart that I am fifteen minutes early and there was nowhere to go, except inside. Taking a deep breath and a moment to give myself a pep talk about dealing with the horrors waiting inside, I finally walk towards our front door.

**

"Witch - !" Kamini Bedi's rusty voice nips after me, escaping from the front door I had snapped shut, but the act successfully cuts off the rest of her sentence. I stand stranded at the threshold for another moment my eyes wondering the common courtyard. The lack of proper privacy is one of the mundane features of life at Sri Nivas housing scheme where we lived. There are always people from other houses loitering about, women hunting for gossip, children prying for playmates and men calling out to each other over the morning paper, or a smoking cup of tea to discuss the cricket match last night or some latest development in the political front in the evenings. My eyes catch Gobind Kaka, our neighbor watching me over his newspaper as he sat in the armchair on their porch, his thick glasses on his nose and his eyebrows high in his baldhead. His wife is sitting on the stairs leading down from their house, picking at the vegetables she is cleaning in preparation for the dinner and avoids my eye. I am sure both of them heard the entire conversation that took place a few minutes ago and as soon as I leave, she would whisk away this latest bit of gossip to Mina Das, in the house next to hers.

On the other hand, perhaps she would not bother, for I can see the stout middle-aged lady who is Mina (even though I can't see her veiled face) lighting earthen lamps around the Tulsi plant in the middle of the courtyard. Although her head is bent in prayer, I know she is burning with the need to rush over to their little mob of women and discuss the latest developments in the Bedi Family troubles. From the upper floor balcony, Priya's Dadi is also staring over the line of freshly washed, now dried clothes, sheet in her hand frozen in mid movement. I sigh dejectedly, no matter how much I try; I would never escape being the juiciest subject matter these women ever received. Ma did not.

At that thought a single tear escapes the corner of my eye, an ode to everything I've lost in the last six months of my life. I wipe it off furiously, not wishing to create a scene in front of these heartless spectators. They already had too much entertainment in the name of our family troubles. I do not linger at the doorstep any longer. Instead, I pick up my umbrella from the stand by the door and put on my sandals, before leaving Sri Nivas as fast as I could without running. There had not been a day since Dida's (my maternal grandmother)death and me moving back into my Baba's home that had gone without a jibe from KaminiBedi. I cannot bring myself to call her Dadi (Paternal grandmother) and her ever favorite person in the world; Urvashi, Masi (Aunt). She is the widowed sister of my father's first wife who was Rathi's mother. It is Kamini's dearest wish to see her married to my Baba (father), it had always been so I guess, ever since her first choice of a daughter in law died in a tragic accident. Somehow, my Ma had come between her carefully laid plans and messed up the delicate process; an act Kamini is yet to forgive her for.

It is breezy on the bridge, slightly more so than on the riverside. With every step that I take onwards, the burden on my heart gets heavier. Anger had always been a good weapon to deal with KaminiBedi. Only I could not summon some now. Instead I go for courage, my fingers unconsciously reaching out for its source laying cold against my heart, the heart shaped locket.

"Keep it or throw it in a stream," had been her last words. "It's your choice to make."

Then the words did not make the sense they made now. It had never been about the trinket to begin with. It was about everything it represented. About choosing to follow Dida on her legacy or giving up and trying to act as if it had all been a part of a bizarre dream like Ma had done. But where exactly had that taken her?

They say she used some dark magic to get Baba all wrapped around her little finger. They say I was a result of that magic, hence an ominous presence myself. It is not that the words have much effect on me. But as the time went by and my grief at losing the home I had with Dida subsided enough to let other feelings in, the jibes begun to cut in. Ma was a good woman. A good and honorable woman who truly loved Baba. They would have happily lived together if it had not been for these nagging women. She died from her broken heart, from the pain separation had caused her.

Dida has a story of her own. Although I know that she is a witch, I would not associate her with dark magic. She was more of a mystic healer who sought to help people with her gift. It was none of her fault that the society viewed her with a crooked lens all her life. Neither am I at fault for being labeled a witch all my life when I've never been able to do anything out of ordinary.

Perhaps that's why she never tried to run. There is no point in denying who you were. The society would not let you turn over a fresh leaf even if it is your dearest wish. It was better to accept what you were and live accordingly. Pay back in the same coin if possible.

I stand at the bridge, not belonging to either side. Just watching the river streaming bellow. The water glistening with a pale mauve glow, has a calming effect on me. I had nothing to do with Rathi's prospective groom declining the proposal, I tell myself more determinedly than I had done to Kamini. It was true that she and I had tried a lucky charm, but in no way would it curse her chances at finding real happiness. I have not cursed her!

Are you sure though...? A traitorous voice pops up in my head. Are you sure that spell hadn't gone awry? It didn't work for you either, did it?

Is it possible that somehow Kamini was right in her assumptions? Had I, somehow cursed my only sister's happiness? Is being a witch really a bad thing?

True. Everything had gone wrong today, the day the spell was supposed to yield results. First Sumi was sick, then that drunk man, then the fight, Amit's black eye, even he did not talk to me as he was supposed to!

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. I am over – thinking things. It can't be. Dida can't have bad spells in her collection. Dida was a good witch. Perhaps, that groom was not Rathi's true love. Perhaps he will still come. The day is not done yet after all.

A splash resounds in the night and my eyes snap open. In the lights from the riverside the ripples that break the water surface is distinct. Somebody had fallen in, or jumped, or thrown...and I was the only one who had noticed.

I brush my sweaty palms for a moment, my throat too dry to shout out. Someone is dying! I slap my own cheeks a few times to gather my wits before I could finally make a sound.

"Help!"

It takes a while and a lot of energy than I had previously anticipated. Although it was not me who had fished the man out of the icy depths, I am trembling from head to toe with exhaustion and shock.

They lower him on the pebbled shore, before a flash light is pointed at his face. He has a bleeding wound on his forehead, a cut across one of his cheeks and as recognition hits I am too late to restrain the scream that escaped my throat.

"Betiya (daughter), do you know him?"

I am sure that spell is no good. It is mischief at its best! Whatever on earth the fates were playing at? I was not supposed to fish him out of rivers. He was supposed to propose! Someday "I was supposed to marry him!"

One of the women, claps on my back, her lips trembling at my sorrow.

"Don't worry," she tells me. "God is not that cruel, he will save your fiance."

It was then that I realize I had spoken those words last few words out loud. Some lucky charm this is going to be!

**

I've put up the song, not the original but it goes with the mood here I guess. The original is from the movie "Kati patang"and the lyrics would roughly translate into, 

"this enjoyable evening is making me lose my senses...

something akin a tie, pulls me towards you..."

If you have enjoyed do not forget to press the little star below! If you leave a comment, I will be thrilled beyond your wildest imaginations.

Thank you for reading! Thanks to everyone who read, voted and / commented on forward and prologue. I love you!

Until we meet again,

Sakura