Chapter Three
Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia
The familiar sound of waves—faint at first, coming from afar, before slowly amplifying as though someone were gently turning up the volume of their music system as their favourite song played on the radio.
The bright sky nearly blinds her, her eyes shut quickly, involuntarily, and neon figures dance in the darkness of her pupils.
She takes her time to open them again, like a photographer adjusting the exposure of their camera—slowly, cautiously, gradually.
Blinking furiously all the while, her mascara drawing faint lines under her eyes.
The sun is about to set; it is now orange like runny yolk—rich, resplendent and hot, making the sky blush.
She watches it wink one last time at the sky before dipping into the cool blue waters, leaving its warm aura behind so the sky wouldn’t feel lonely until the moon makes its appearance.
Is this Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam ? Is Ajay Devgn the Sun? Is he giving Aishwarya, the Sky, away to Salman, the Moon? But Ash goes back to Ajay? Wow. SLB must’ve written the plot on a beach …
She giggles at the ridiculousness of her musings and digs her feet a little deeper into the sand as she walks along the sea, barefoot and sans company.
There are lights and people at a distance, with the promise of good times and great cocktails.
Singing‘If You Like Pina Coladas’in hushed tones, she picks up speed.
‘The drinks are calling and I must go,’ she exclaims to the empty beach and skips along.
Is that a UFO flying towards me … she asks herself, frowning hard and squeezing her eyes to focus on a hazy object hurtling towards her at great speed. Before she can find an answer, it has hit her, she has lost her balance and fallen prey to gravity.
I’m falling, I’m falling. Oh, wait. It’s just sand. I’ll be fiiiiiiiiii …
Eyes shut tight, body tense and curled, her wild thoughts run amok.
She hears voices—they are close and sound concerned. One is high-pitched and panicky.
‘Are you all right?
‘Are you okay?’
‘Bro, grab a chair … quick!’
‘Dude, water?Splash some on her face, man!’
The voice closest to her feels warm and mellow, or maybe it is the warmth from his body.
His body? Whose body? Where am I? Where did I fall? Did I fall on someone? Oh, shit. What have I done now? Maybe I should pretend to be asleep and they’ll just leave me here …
‘You’ve got to wake her up!’
‘Argh, this is such bullshit!’
‘Does she need CPR?’
‘What? She didn’t drown!’
‘But she’s passed out!’
‘Should we just take her to the ER?’
‘CPR, who said CPR? Yeah, you’re right. Let’s give it a shot. Do you know how to?’
Now in peak panic mode, she knows she has to act quickly before being turned into the inflatable doll the boys (men?) probably practised their suspect CPR skills on during adventure workshops in middle school.
Coughing like she has learnt from movies and tele dramas and rubbing her eyes, she fakes a perfectly raspy voice and speaks meekly.
‘Um, hi. Hello, hey. Excuse me.’
Some more coughing and laborious breathing. Her eyes wore an incredulous expression.
‘Oh, hi! You’re awake … are you alright? Here, have some water!’
A man in his early thirties, with prominent tan lines and a head full of curls, hands her a bottle.
‘Sip on it slowly,’ he says. She has counted six men. All young-ish, lean and tan. None of them look like they’d own a UFO.
‘I’m sorry to have troubled you. I feel fine, really. Please don’t worry. You guys, please, be on your way. Don’t let me hold you back. This is really embarrassing,’ she blurts out, red in the face and wanting to run at the first opportunity.
‘Aw, nah, man. We should be apologizing. We went a little overboard with the frisbee.’ Oh, so they do own the UFO!
M for men, M for morons , she thinks to herself, before adding, ‘Oh, no, no. I should’ve been more careful and watched where I was going.
’ Who plays with a goddamned frisbee anymore?
How old are these guys? Why do I meet all the clowns in the world?
Must be because my life has turned into a circus!
Not wanting to waste any more time with the men-children, she announces, again, that she is feeling fine and is ready to leave, but suddenly remembers that she has no recollection of how she escaped unhurt.
She looks at the curly-haired boy who had given her water, and assuming him to be her saviour, extends her arm towards him.
‘Thank you for catching hold of me. You must be stronger than you look, hehehe,’ she laughs nervously.
‘Wasn’t me,’ pat comes the reply, Shaggy-style.
‘The guy who saved you is out to get you first aid from the lifeguard.’ First aid?
Why? Am I hurt? But I don’t feel any pain.
Good grief! ‘He should be back soon, so you can thank him,’ he adds with an unnecessarily cheeky wink.
Is this Baywatch ? Why is it Baywatch ? If it has to be a movie, since I’m in Bali, can it be Eat, Pray, Love , please? Oooh, Italy … PIZZA! But, wait, that’s ‘Eat’. Fiiiine. ‘Love’ is fine, it’ll do. I’ll take Javier Bardem over pizza any given day.
Lost in her thoughts, twirling the baby hairs along her sideburns around her index fingers, she doesn’t even realize that her saviour is back.
‘Er, hello.’
A low-pitched but slightly raspy voice breaks her reverie. It sounds warm and oddly familiar. Curious, she expectantly turns to face the owner of the voice.
‘I love you. Will you marry me?’
Throaty laughter follows. All the men join in and the guffaws only get louder.
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Will you marry me?’
The voice keeps repeating these words and starts to echo. The face keeps getting bigger. And bigger and bigger … Until there’s only silence.