The next afternoon, Chennai's old temple streets glowed under a soft sun. Mani wandered, lost in thought, remembering Sunitha's radiant smile from yesterday. But today, the universe had another surprise — a new presence that seemed to float among the flower stalls.
"You are like Janaki strewn among flowers,
Janaki who is more shy than anything.
Come, come, come with me, to that place where joy lives."
It was Laya, shy and delicate, moving carefully among the marigolds and jasmines. Her bangles jingled softly, her ornamented belt catching the sunlight. Mani's pulse quickened.
"You, with the hurt marks, wearing bangles and tying an ornamented belt, you are the one I like so much, oh precious."
From nowhere, random friends appeared — Bharath holding a bunch of roses he had bought for fun, Krishna teasing Monal about her oversized hat, Ashik laughing at Ranganathan's clumsy attempt to photograph the flowers. The lively, chaotic energy of the streets made Mani's heart beat even faster, yet his gaze never left Laya.
"Hey Janaki among flowers, with how much shyness, Janaki! Let me see your face, let me come close to you."
Laya picked up a blossom, holding it delicately on her palm like a silken cloth. Her small, abrupt movements were like music to Mani. He noticed every detail: the bracelets dangling from her wrists, the faint scent of jasmine in her hair, the sway of her dress as she walked.
"Those ornaments, that dangling bracelet you've worn, I like them so — every little thing about you."
Walking beside the small stream that trickled near the temple steps, Laya's presence felt like a cooling breeze on a scorching day. Mani thought of all the little ways she moved, the shy glances she threw, and the way her eyes seemed to awaken rhythms in his heart.
"In your eyes and your small shy smiles, you awaken the beats in my chest, you stir the longing in my heart. When I see you, the night seems to dress up in festivity, my breath catches as if a drum is beating, my heart pulses like a festival bell."
Gajanan and Akshara wandered by, whispering jokes to each other, while Sunitha from yesterday's encounter appeared, smiling at the scene and offering Mani a playful wink. Even random strangers — Parthasarathy, Pooja, Monal — became part of this melody of fleeting glances and heartfelt admiration.
"All these small gestures — your glance, your sway, the way your clothes sway, the way you move — they enrapture me, full intensely."
Mani realized that each random meeting, each shy smile, each playful appearance of friends and strangers alike, was like adding colors to his living canvas. Today, Laya was his Janaki among flowers, and the streets themselves seemed to pulse with festival bells and gentle rhythms, echoing his admiration and the delicate magic of fleeting beauty.