Fiction Series (1) – The Ride, Home (Pt 1).


When I started this account it was mostly to be a book-blogger. However, recently my friend found out something about herself that is going to change her life forever, and to make her understand that she is one of the bravest people I know, I thought I’ll start a series called Fiction Series.

It will mostly be around LGBTQIA stories, but I hope that people out there who are dealing with a similar sort of life changing event can help find something that makes them smile and believe that our world, is a huge world and all kinds of love exist. If you think you don’t fit in the society-generated identity – then don’t worry because no one said you had to. You create your own identity, because I support you and people like me support you, and respect you.

So yeah, that is basically the thought behind this series, writing is the only way I can express myself best. So, I hope people resonate with it in someway, and much like my friend, they too realize that they are not alone.


Why can’t the cars stop honking? Maya rested her head on the oil stained window of the bus, while looking out at the cars which seemed like tiles of different colours packed together to make a floor. Her position from this height gave her a vantage point, but she could barely peep inside the windows of the other cars. All she had access to was their blaring, colourful rooftops, which reflected the sun straight into her eyes.

All sorts of cars with their upbeat, grungy music – blasting through their speakers – filtered up the open bus window. Along the music came a low tenor of buzz that resonated highly in Maya’s ears and created a slight throbbing at the back of her skull. It had been a long day, and it was going to be longer the way these cars were moving. She adjusted her legs – one on top of the other so she could occupy less space, but that made her neighbour uncomfortable. Her left leg, the one on top, kept hitting his beige jeans, making little paw like patterns on them – which he didn’t appreciate at all.

She turned her head in the direction of the outside world, to avoid the sheer animosity shone in her neighbour’s eyes. Before stepping out, she should probably apologise. As she looked outside, she saw a peculiar red coloured Toyota parallel to her bus. It was three lanes away and hence she would see a little bit through the window. The favourite part about travel was to glance into the lives of people whose faces you were going to forget – but yet got a chance to see their life from a safe distance.

She could see a foreigner sitting at the co-driver’s seat – putting her left hand in front of the air-vents to check if they were working. Maya craned her neck to see whom she was with, but she couldn’t see. The neighbour grunted from his side, indirectly telling Maya that the cute paw was turning into a full blotch of dirt that she would have to dust later. The foreigner was probably what piqued her interest. There were rarely any foreigners around here, riding in local name plates.

The bus moved at the pace of a sloth; yet honking everyone’s ears out. She continued to shamelessly stare at the car; the girl was getting something from the back seat now, which seemed like a gift. It was wrapped in a hideous shade of blue, something that Maya would’ve cringed at if anyone gave her a gift wrapped in that. The bus made a sudden jolt and a rustle of wind blew into Maya’s ears, making her lose sight of the car.

A minute later, as Maya readjusted her eyes towards the car, she saw a hand clasped around the upper thigh of the visible-girl’s right leg. It seemed like a hand that might belong to a girl. The visible-girl again set about checking the vents, and by now the car was a little bit ahead of the bus, so Maya had a clear vision of her. However, the driver was still a mystery.

(To be continued)


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