A Short Story: Mr. Sen's Story

A cold bottle of beer, bright yellow sunshine, and a warm beach, it carries an irresistible charm about it. But Mr. Sen, adjusting his trousers to hide his enormous belly, fail to see any charm about that day. Mr. Sen along with his wife Zoya- Mrs. Sen, who was busy fondling her long jet black hair, sat under the bright summer sun. Mr. Sen looked sideways at his wife, she didn't look at him even once during this whole time. Always busy caressing her hair or toying with her tall milkshake glass. He felt morose, then an anger peeped in. Can't she, for once in her life, act like she likes him? She remained unintentionally unaware of his daunting gaze, and when she looked back at him, he was again fidgeting with his trousers. Such a fool, she
Mr. Sen carried a large blanket over his shoulder and with the other hand he held a can of beer; he saved the last one for any unfathomable emergency he could face. Mr. Sen wasn't an alcoholic, at least that's what he kept telling himself after every bottle, every single night. One could sympathize with him, albeit, his career took a toll on his heavy body, his short, bulky neck, tea bags around his eyes, displayed every passerby of his nocturnal sleeping habits and late working hours. In almost surreal contrast, Zoya stood lavishly beside Mr. Sen; her eternal youthful body with the firmness of a fully grown woman was almost intoxicating to the eyes. She was an interior designer, but her job never demanded her to abuse her sleep or her health in any manner; she always found a right balance between her passion and her hedonistic lifestyle; ignoring precisely things that could potentially ruin her immaculate sculptured life. Biju with his eternal pursuit of alluring wealth, also with his pursuit of a single well-crafted distraction made the thick walls of their marriage a bit more tolerable. Opening the door to his room, he looked down the aisle, wishing that the woman on beach materialize somehow, but the corridor was quiet as an abandoned house, and he felt stupid. He sighed, entering the room only to hear the inevitable whining of his wife. Her perfect hair now opens in
Namrata folded the page of the novel and leaped forward to open the door. she peered at the long corridor searching for the source of the commotion. Perplexed, she saw a giant figure, probably a man, walking towards the fire exit. "Hey mister, try not to slam doors, people usually tend to sleep at this time of the night." her own angry voice startled her. The giant figure stopped in his track and thought for a moment then replied in a low voice, "Well, you aren't sleeping, are you?" as he walked towards the exit. The sorrowful voice didn't match with his humongous figure and his sudden and absurd departure further intrigued her. She made a point to enquire about her noisy neighbor tomorrow and returned to her room. An uneasy thought popped into her mind; she began losing grip of words she was reading, it was the man from the beach, wasn't it? she asked herself or was it her predominant desire that has brought a sense of delusion to her fairly well observant senses? This predicament brought an acute sense of exhaustion and a delayed realization of sleeplessness. A wave of restlessness washed over her, "I need a drink," She thought to herself "And coffee won't suffice." With an enormous effort, she stood up, dressed up in her comfortable jeans, and then strolled out with an air of murkiness. The scarily lit corridor made her nervous, she knew every corner of this resort, but that failed to be of any consolation. This narrow dark