The Irene Adler of my Life

(Bitten by love)

I was fascinated by her charming ways. But I had promised myself I would remain a bachelor and wouldn’t let my heart rule my mind. No matter how much beautiful a woman was, I wouldn’t fall for her because for the next five minutes I would envisage our future together for the next fifty years. The love that had so suddenly crept in my heart would as quietly go away, and I would be a free bird again.

So when Irene came into my life, she wasn’t different from others. Yes, she was beautiful with the charm and temperament that demanded attention! It was not strange or unusual that I was bewitched for some lovely moments by her.

‘She would be a lovely wife,’ I told myself. ‘But then I will lose my chastity and break the vow of celibacy. Her beauty will soon fade, and then I will start hating myself for making an irrational emotional decision. My love for her will go down the drain like the rest of the women I loved. They have never known the wave of emotions that I have felt for them, because of the indifference I carry on my face!’

Irene was a wonderful woman! I studied her carefully. She was witty, her remarks were sarcastic- she was a woman with a brain! Her presence enthralled the company she was in. I secretly envied her, but then I needed her as a woman I could fall in love for some time and use her as my muse. She could help me to be a better writer. Whenever we met, I preferred her company, and we talked on subjects that required deep thinking, and I was amazed at her profound knowledge. People who knew us thought we were in love, and would some time would give us subtle indications. I however reminded her that we were just friends and she agreed to the same. I let my literature mind erupt in her presence. She was a beautiful angel to kill the pain that grew in my loneliness!

When I had completed my literary work, I wanted to move on. I knew even if I proposed her, she would say a ‘NO’, however much she wanted to say otherwise. We had just maintained a casual friendship and sometimes I had hurt her with my words. So, a ‘Yes’ would be almost impossible. It was a calculated risk that I took with my lady muses. After I had completed my work, I would give them a choice to marry me. But they would refuse – they had always refused my proposal, and they would blame themselves for the refusal!

So when I proposed Irene, it was no wonder she refused me. We sat in a café sipping coffee. She however looked grave. She then, asked me to read a story she had written. I was amused. Irene could write and I had never cared! She handed me an envelope saying that her story was inside it. She however instructed me to read it alone in my lonely hours.

After I had bid her adieu, I felt the pang of separation I hadn’t felt earlier. I however consoled myself saying that she would be a part of my memory – a beautiful memory!

When I was alone, I opened the envelope and perused the content of the story. It was about a young girl who had a great desire to be independent in life! She loved making muffins, and she wanted to bake the best muffins in the town and sell them in the café where we just had coffee. She had experimented a lot on her muffins. One day while selling some samples of her muffins, she met an artist who asked her to be his subject and muse. It took some weeks for the artist to complete the painting, and during the time he was a taster of the girl’s muffins. They had some intimate moments together, and the girl fell in love with the artist. However once the painting was completed, the artist told her it was time for him to go. She had just been another subject for the artist. In the café, the artist ate the muffins the girl had baked and praised them. She would do good business! The artist left to find a different subject, a different muse, in a different city! The girl wept saying that she had added too much baking soda in the muffins of her life! She had just been another subject, and must not have held high hopes from life!

I read the story with a racing heart. My hands trembled as I held the paper. I realized the pain I had inflicted on people without their knowledge. I knew who the artist was! Or rather, I knew who the better artist was! Any guesses?

Yes, it was Irene!

She had studied me all along, all the time! She knew me better! She wrote better! And I had fallen head over heels in love with her. Yes, the story just removed the layer of my indifference. It was true. I was the subject, and I had fallen in love with her character! I had always feared falling in love with a woman’s beauty, for beauty was elusive. The beauty of a face may be lost, but those who fall in love with a woman’s character will love forever. For the beauty of character never gets diminished with time!

And Sherlock, you lost to Irene a second time!

Irene stole the show again, and instead of carrying a photograph of her in your wallet, it is better you carry her image in your heart!

(Dedicated to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. To know more of Irene Adler, read Sherlock Holmes' A Scandal in Bohemia)