I stand by the window with my head against the wall.

A thousand lights blaze. Bouncing off the glass pane. Shattering into a million pieces. Taxis screech, two men holler. A young couple walks past holding hands. A middle aged man speaks on his cellphone. Like a kaleidoscope, the city unfolds before me. And I stand by my sixth floor apartment – a mere observer. I almost get the feeling that I am standing by the ocean, watching the distant horizon.

The phone rings. I rush to pick it up.
“Rashmi, what time are we meeting for Anne’s birthday dinner?”
“ I don’t know maybe around 8: 30. I am not even dressed yet.”
“Should Dhruv and I pick you up on our way.?”
“No, thanks. The restaurant is just a couple of blocks from my place. I can walk.”
“Are you sure?”
“Seriously, its fine. I will see you guys later.”
“Ok, see you later then. Bye”
“Bye.”
Click. I hang up.

Suddenly, I feel a complete silence descend on the apartment. I can hear the sounds of the city in the background, and yet I hear nothing. I feel paralyzed – unsure of what I am supposed to do. A few minutes later, I snap out of my reverie and look at the clock. It’s almost 8:15. I rush to take a shower.

As I browse through my closet trying to decide on a dress, I feel a sense of apathy seep through me into my veins. It clings to my freshly shampooed hair, to my manicured nails. I even smell it in my 200 dollar shoes.

I watch myself in the mirror. I pucker my lips and apply gloss. I put on shimmering earrings. And I smile. I look like the confident, young, successful investment banker that I am. I look at my reflection. It doesn’t seem real. I feel as if I am playing a part - still waiting for my real life to begin.
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I enter the dimly lit restaurant with candles flickering on every table and successful yuppies having animated conversations about Syriana. It occurs to me that hundreds of similar scenes are being played out in the city at that very moment. Soho. East village. Upper Westside.

I catch a glimpse of the birthday girl. Anne. She is a friend from business school and works at another investment bank. She looks at me and waves. I walk over to the table and meet an eclectic collection of friends , acquaintances and lovers. We drink merlot, kid Anne about her new dating strategy, and then like all wannabe New Yorkers lapse into a discussion of the property market.

The waiter comes by to get our orders. I can’t hear him in the midst of all the chatter, so I turn around. And there he is.

He is almost exactly the way I remembered him. He smiles. Hesitantly at first and then it gets surer. I think of all the things this was what I loved the most – that unguarded wholesome smile. That smile was like my piped piper – I followed it even when I knew better. I was completely entranced. With the sun our faces, and wind in our hair – nothing else mattered.

A minute or perhaps two pass. My friend nudges me with her elbow. I smile back at him tepidly. I turn around and feel the moistness in my eyes. And a strange pain sears through the bottom of my stomach.

I walk back to my apartment. I jump across a puddle of what looks suspiciously like urine in my expensive new stilettos. I hear the cars. I see the lights. And suddenly everything seems louder and brighter. I feel the city in me. It’s visceral and fierce.

For the longest time I have felt that I was merely in between places. And my real life was around the corner – waiting to begin. I realize now that this is it.

It’s 1 A.M on the corner of 64th and 2nd. I can no longer hold back my tears. I crouch by a graffiti filled wall. And feel the waves come crashing down on me.