POORVI (A BREEZY, CHIRPY AFFAIR)

 “The man of my dreams!” Poorvi whispers so loudly that it is audible to the old lady sitting next to her, who stares at her –intrigued and a little angry. Poorvi grins at her and gestures her to go inside before her… a favour she is going to give to the rest of the patients in the waiting room as well. She is the first one to reach Dr Vihaan’s Clinic but shall be the last one to get herself treated. Poorvi does this every time, she visits his Practice. Sitting in the plush waiting lounge of one of the city’s best ophthalmologists, Poorvi is tempted to reveal her love and fondness for him, but she can’t do it unless she knows that he is partial towards her. She whispers, “Nooooo! It’s too early. I can’t put these ‘professional meetings’ at stake.” Poorvi is 27, established as an entrepreneur, not in a hurry to marry. Her first romantic encounter with Vihaan was at her own Fashion Boutique some months back, when he was buying his mother a designer dress for the inauguration of his new clinic. Since then, Poorvi has been getting regular eye checkups –a bit too regular, rather unnecessary. She would not mind if Vihaan sees through her smartness –it would rather save her from being audaciously vocal about her madness. Poorvi is sitting in her usual place –the sofa somewhat at 65 degrees angle from the doctor’s glass door, through which she is able to have an uncompromised view of Vihaan. Today, he is in a cool white t-shirt and a pair of basic blue jeans. Poorvi’s heart is pounding ‘lub dub dub’, as she scans every little detail, from writing prescriptions to using those complicated machines to check the patients; from his wrist watch to the placket of his t shirt; from his beautiful doe eyes to his thin shapely fingers… Another whisper escapes her lips, “Hot and sexy!”  Finally, after an hour and a half, the guy at the reception calls her name, rudely pulling her out of her dream world. She looks around, relieved that she is the last to go inside –that no one would be pressing her to come out quickly. She gets up, runs a hand through her hair, smoothes the folds of her magnificent pink designer dress, and whispers, “I wish I could hug him!” Pushing the glass door of Vihaan’s cabin, caching her intense passion, blushing and smiling from ear to ear, she tries to sound as mild as can be, “Hey Dr Vihaan! Hope you are good.”