Cesium 133 - #3

#1
#2

Our smart news-woman who always knew what she did and why she did what she did, quit her job for the publishing house with a guy who never knew what was happening, why and how, was, another cesium 133; and blissfully unaware of it.

In spite of her whirl wind romance with who she called a European noble, nothing intrigued her as a fellow blogger called Rohan; a guy with a de trop interest in her blog. His interest came across as unreasonable and the guy weird! She could never understand how he managed to drop comments at precisely 0254 hours. She could never figure out those off liners that started at exactly 0300 hours. She never really figured how he managed a time so exact, so exact that it seemed artificial. Only he appeared to be human, or an artificial intelligence making real good use of case based reasoning.

That was the beginning of the eternal love triangle. Given a chance, any motion picture maker could mint millions, only this wasn’t fiction.

PK loved Rhea, or so he thought, but he wasn’t sure, as always
Rhea loved PK
Rohan loved Rhea, and this was unrequited love

Rhea was growing more and more curious about Rohan, but could never get time together. Yet, their romances continued, like those two parallel lines that are destined by the laws of geometry to never meet, not even at infinity. While Rohan was day dreaming about Rhea in his arms, Rhea and PK were arm wrestling at PK’s place! While Rohan thought of classy French restaurants, PK and Rhea spent evenings at the chat-wala on canal road. While Rohan read and re-read her blog innumerable times, Rhea and PK had finalised the first issue of their yet to be named tabloid.

And one fine day, PK and Rhea decided to get married. The marriage was a quiet ceremony, and the couple were off to Europe. PK never figured out how it actually happened, but was glad it happened. While he was busy figuring out how everything actually happened, this old lady staying next to Rhea’s apartment was missing her daily entertainment. It was a pretty absurd way to amuse herself yet she loved watching the precision with which the lights at Rhea’s house went off and on. I never said she wasn’t an insomniac neither did I say that age didn’t make her senile. Yet her senility didn’t change the fact that the lights went off and on and off and on, and the clock read 0238-0249-0420-0800 !