After 16 years, through some magical twist of events, he finds her. Sitting in the audience, she was waiting for the play to start. The stage is set. Curtain is being drawn. The artist is peeping from the backstage. He reminisces. He still has the letter. The letter that she wrote to him in the October of ’98. He is torn between his act and memories from the past. His turmoil is as follows:
Few laughs and parting tears
crawling through New York’s winter ground
memories come to my rescue
warming the snowflakes around
The weather is moist. So is the letter in my hand.
From behind the curtain,
I see the ink around
‘October of ’98’ standing out.
There are seven seas between us.
There is a lifetime keeping us at bay.
And once, we have sung our songs,
in this theatre of comedy.
And you still humming from the brazen page,
when the curtain falls, all I might want to ask is,
“Why don’t we meet backstage?”