"METRO MAGIC " CHAPTER 2 : subramaniyan alias siddharth

 

METRO MAGIC

Chapter 2: subramaniyan alias siddharth 

Oru dreamy morning scenes at Bessy,antha bessy waves oru close companion to Siddharth, their rhythm like soft music in the background as the sun stretched its first golden rays across the horizon. 🌅 The sand, still cool from the night, cradled him as he sat slouched, facing the sea. His thick black-framed glasses kept sliding down his nose, a familiar annoyance he chose to ignore. His unruly, curly hair whipped in the wind, as if trying to escape the weight of his thoughts. 🌬️

kaila avanoda note book , neraya ideas anga anga kirukki vechrupan. ⏳

avanuku ennavo antha beach antha waves avanukulla iruka writer ah velila kondu vara mathri oru feel , that waves helped. They always helped. 🌊On most mornings, he sat at Bessy before heading to work. There was something about the place that made things feel possible. 🌅

Apdye yosichitu irukum pothu , phone ring aaguthu ....

"Subbu, na seekram kelambanum da office ku ," his mother's voice crackled from the other end. 

"Idly hot box la iruku da, saptutu office po. Appavum ennoda vanthruvaru da , lock pannitu porom , key mat keela iruku."

"Haaan, okay, ma. Bye." Siddharth replied, his fingers already reaching for his glasses. 👓

Back home, in the modest apartment in West Mambalam, amma — a maths teacher 📚 — and appa an LIC agent,.  salary on time, dinner at eight 🍲,

 news at nine 📺ipd deciplined ah oru life . 

avang avana subbu nu kooptanga la .,

yes !!..They still called him Subbu... Subramanian., that was his name.

He hated it.and changed it 

Siddharth. That was the name he had chosen in college. It sounded freer, lighter. Less like an uncle who ran a provision store and more like someone who could belong on the cover of a novel. Or a byline in The Hindu Literary Review. ✍️

He worked as an editor at a small magazine — the kind that paid in compliments and filter coffee ☕ but gave him room to write. Profiles of local artists. Stories on fading Tamil scripts. Sometimes ghostwriting blog posts for influencers who thought "Sangam" was a fashion label.

But his real dream — quiet and burning — was journalism. Not the chase for TRPs or press meets, but the kind that revived forgotten voices. Siddharth wanted to bring back ancient Tamil works, not just translate them, but retell them — shaping them in words the new world could understand without losing their soul. He was already deep in research, sometimes in dusty libraries 📚, sometimes through long conversations with elderly scholars, scribbling down lines that lingered like old songs. 🎶

By 8:00 am, after several half-formed ideas and strikethroughs, Siddharth stood up.veetuku kelambran, veetla already ellam ready ah iruku . He bathed, packed his bag, had breakfast and left — 

stepping into the rhythm of another day. 🕒

By 9:00 am, he was on the metro, as always. 🚇

---

His friends — Aravind, Madhu, and Bala — were his constant companions on the metro.  Same train. Same time. They knew both his names, and all his secrets. Whenever he got too philosophical, they’d tease him:

“Subbu pa, stop writing poems in your head, da!” 😂

He’d roll his eyes, pretending not to smile.

They had his back. Fiercely. Wordlessly. 💪

Every now and then, they’d meet at a tea kadai ☕ outside the station. Argue about cricket 🏏 and poetry 📜 like both mattered equally. Laugh too loud. Speak like the city was theirs to rewrite. ✍️

That morning, Siddharth leaned against the metro window. The train rocked gently, 

 Madhu was animated, avaloda veetla mapla pathrukanga avar pathi pesitu iruntha  , cheeks pink, hands flailing. 

The boys were already halfway into teasing mode. The worst of them? Siddharth.

“Oh ho, love letter ready-ah?” he grinned, dodging a playful punch. 😜

Their laughter bounced off the metal walls, warm and effortless.

And a few feet away, someone watched him. 👀

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did — just enough to wonder. 🤔

A flicker of awareness. A pause between laughs.

yao avana pakra mathri oru feeling ,,,,,,,

Before the feeling could settle, avanoda stop vanthrichu , avlo crowd la adichu pudichu velila poi. lift la yeritan 🚶

And then again — that prickle at the back of his neck. Like footsteps syncing a little too perfectly behind his own.yaro varanga yara irukum , but note panna lam time illanga 👣

He didn’t turn back. Didn’t check.

If someone was following him… well, they’d have to keep up. He had a day to get through. Work to do. Words to wrestle. ✍️

ipdye konjam days passed.

His world remained steady

— work, home, writing, his friends. 

Oru eveing Aravind oda favorite coffee shop poitu ,

veila friend car ah parking larnthu eduthtu

varathukaga wait panituranthan siddharth ,

apdye bala kooda oru CSK vs RCB debate,

sudden ah antha feeling ,

That same awareness.

Someone watching? ,

or yaro koopdra mathri oru feeling .........

He glanced around.

Nothing obvious. A girl crossed the street,

head down. Scooters blared. Life moved.

hey car ulla va da traffic ah aaguthu

......aravind kathikitu irukan !

Inside the car,

Aravind caught the distracted look. And asked,

“What da,?”

Siddharth smirked. “onnu illa da.”😅.....

(as usual onnu illangarthu poi thanagana 😂)

“But antha feeling irunthathu . Soft. Strange. Unnamed.”

As the days went,  now, avaoda life same cycle illa ,

that strange feeling had stitched itself

quietly into his days.💞

Once, it happened again. Outside a hospital.🏥

He hadn’t planned to go —

Professor Kannan had summoned him.

Palm-leaf manuscripts. Scanning permissions.

As he exited, head still full of verses and

ancient scripts, he paused.

again antha feeling . .💝

Across the gate, a girl in a green kurta walked by. 💚

Eyes ahead. Didn’t look at him.

But something about her pace,

her presence — familiar.

Like déjà vu in slow motion.💓

He almost said something. Almost.

But poitu enna pesrathu ?😅

Hi,

are you the person haunting my peripheral vision?

keta eve teasing la jail ku anupiduvaley ......!😂

Instead, he told his friends.

Big mistake.😂😂😂

They laughed for hours.

Madhu dubbed her "Green Kurti Ghost."😂

That month was hectic.

But Siddharth found himself thinking of the

green kurta girl more than he admitted.💚

And Madhu—his best friend—

engagement confirm aaidichu ,.

He was happy for her.

The engagement was at an old temple in Mylapore.

"He showed up." in a white shirt and white dhoti.
The temple stood just as he remembered

—carved stone, a thousand soft prayers echoing

through air thick with incense.
Inside, oil lamps flickered against granite walls.

A nadaswaram whined somewhere in the

background, stretching its note like a yawn.

He prayed.

Not for anything in particular—

just a moment of quiet.🛕
Later, prasadam in one hand and a

crumpled vibuthi packet in the other

, he sat with his friends near the Tulasi madam.

They were, of course,

teasing Madhu again.

About her crushes. Her blushes.

Her dramatic “this is not a crush, guys!” declarations.
Siddharth laughed. Easy, open.

And then—that feeling returned.💓 .

suthi suthi thedran

andddddd avala pathachu ,,
Not green kurti.

Red this time.

red nga red 💕

Cotton, plain.

A loose braid trailing over her shoulder,

Jasmine tucked gently near her ear.😍
She stood near a pillar,

holding a packet of Archana flowers—

but her eyes… her eyes weren’t on the deity.
They were on him.

Or were they?

haaannnn enna pakrala ???

illa pinnadi ah ?

thirumbi pakran , yarum illa ,
She wasn’t smiling.

Wasn’t blinking.

Just watching.

Still, grounded, unreadable.
Was she praying? Dreaming?

Did she even know he’d noticed?👀

Siddharth turned back slowly.
Didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask his friends.
He didn’t know how to explain it.

That this wasn’t infatuation. Or a crush.
It was something quieter. Stranger.😌
The weight of a connection before words.

And how does one walk up to a stranger and say,

“Hey, I think I’ve been feeling you for days now—

in coffee shops, outside hospitals, on trains?”😓😓
No. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.....

He offered a final prayer,

pressed vibuthi to his forehead, and stood up.
He didn’t look back.
But as he walked away,

the silence of the temple clung to him

tighter than it usually did.

rendu perumey peslaye ? is it the end of metting?💔

No..........

But something had begun.💓 wait for it to bloom 💗

🔸how are they gonna meet ? 

any idea? 

tell me in the comments below !

Happy reading ✨