It was the Mumbai Chowpatty again – the place where I had loved and lost.
Angela was a tourist from Scotland, who was fascinated by my commitment to social entrepreneurship. She had gone out of way to support my endeavors, and helped in getting funds from other countries. She left, never to return. Perhaps, it was only a holiday romance for her. My faithful Indian heart clung to memories of a bygone era. Life moved on.
Mrs. Patricia Jones was the investor funding my latest venture. I had taken her around the places where I worked. We relaxed on the beach, after a tiring day. She threw a stone in the water, and watched the ripples it created.
“Alok, you know what… the ripples of our good karma keep rotating somewhere in the universe. I hope mine reach the right soul, up there in heaven….”
“Whom are you referring to?”
“My daughter, Angela. I lost her in a car accident, ten years ago, while I was driving. And the guilt has never left me.”
Inspired by Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers