Kshitija and Dakota: a Chance Encounter
Read the prequel first.
Human Editor’s Note: I fell in love with Suno the first time I became aware of it, developing my last project, so I plan to keep working with it, letting it lead me in many ways. As usual, I wanted to make more than a random song so instead developed a multimedia story worth a glance, a read, a listen, and perhaps more. I won’t bore you with my story prompt for once and go right to the literal and figurative heart of our narrative. See if you can tell where AI ends and I begin. As for Suno, I hope it’s the beginning of a beautiful working relationship.
Regarding the song, wait for it.
– JJ
[Verse]
City of light in the moon’s soft glow
Infinite whispers where the rivers flow
Endless love no beginning no end
In this moment we transcend[Verse 2]
Reincarnation lives through time
Sacred chants in the heart’s deep rhyme
Central path we walk so free
Together in this cosmic sea[Chorus]
Love is love it never dies
Soulmates under starry skies
Hold my hand let’s touch the sun
In this journey we’re as one[Bridge]
Eternal echoes lifeline trace
Meeting you in every space
Cycles turn but we remain
Through the joy and in the pain[Verse 3]
City beats where dreams are born
Hearts entwine and souls adorn
Endless time love’s refrain
Reborn anew in the loving rain[Chorus]
– JJ and AI
Love is love it never dies
Soulmates under starry skies
Hold my hand let’s touch the sun
In this journey we’re as one
Without using the term, everyone has marked out a path in life–a path can be defined as a road map that guides you to a goal.
– Deepak Chopra
It doesn’t have to be a conscious choice.
If you want to eat breakfast, make friends, do something you enjoy, or have any other everyday desire, it’s logical that expanding your desires and following a bigger dream should serve as a reliable path in life.
Seeing the downside of the path of desire doesn’t free you from the problems created by desire.
This, finally, is the best path in life, which can be called for the sake of simplicity the path of the self.
To know that you are enough, and that existence will unfold your inner potential transforms daily life in profound ways.
By JJ and AI
Kshitija’s sneakers pounded the pavement as she jogged through the bustling streets of downtown Chicago. Her music played loudly in her ears, the rhythm of her breath punctuating the beat. She was lost in thought, her mind swirling with the vibrant colors and spices of her homeland, the distant sounds of her mother’s laughter echoing through her memory. The brisk autumn wind nipped at her cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth she had left behind in India.
As she rounded a corner, a sudden collision sent her sprawling. Her gear and a flurry of papers flew everywhere, and she found herself on the ground, her legs tangled with those of a man she hadn’t seen before. She looked up, and the music in her ears was drowned out by the sound of her own heart thudding in her chest. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue-green that she had never encountered before, met hers with a mix of surprise and concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a sudden comfort.
Dakota, the man whose papers she had scattered, bent down to help her up. His touch was gentle, his grip firm but not overpowering. He gathered her things first, placing them back into her arms with care. Kshitija nodded, a little dazed from the impact. “I’m fine,” she assured him, “But I’m so sorry for ruining your…whatever it was you were carrying.”
He waved away her apology with a chuckle. “It’s just work stuff. Not as important as making sure you’re okay.” His eyes lingered on her leg, where a thin line of blood seeped down one of her calves. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his smile fading.
“It’s nothing,” she replied, brushing it off. “Just a scrape.”
But Dakota insisted, “Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a coffee shop across the street. Can I at least help?”
Kshitija did not know this stranger in the least, but she could not resist.
They crossed the street, his hand hovering protectively near her elbow, as if she might vanish into the throng of pedestrians if he didn’t keep her close. The bell above the coffee shop door jingled as they stepped inside, the warm scent of roasted beans enveloping them. Kshitija nodded towards a vacant table outside the window, and they exited the shop and sat down, the noisy street outside somehow now a muffled backdrop to their small talk.
Dakota pulled out a chair for her, his chivalry surprisingly welcome in the midst of the chaos. He grabbed a handful of napkins and began to dab at the blood on her leg. She winced slightly, and he paused, his touch gentle. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I’ve got this.” His voice was low, soothing, and she found herself relaxing under his care.
He helped her sit and immediately tended to her injury. She was his sole focus, not his possessions, not his job, not his schedule, not himself – Dakota saw only Kshitija. “My name is Dakota, by the way,” he laughed.
The waiter approached and asked if they would like anything and Dakota looked up from her leg to tell her, “It’s on me. Anything you might like.” So she ordered a Bella Kaapi. Dakota told the waiter, “I’ll have what the lady is having.”
“Mine is Kshitija,” she said.
He looked up momentarily from her leg to her gold-flecked brown eyes, “Kshitija? I have never heard that name before.”
“I am from India. It means Horizon, where sky and Earth meet.”
“You’re gorgeous, I mean, your name is gorgeous.”
They shared their coffees together and small talk grew into a deeper conversation about their very different histories and identities. Time slowed to a crawl… As they finished their drinks, she remarked that was it already lunchtime and asked if he would care to join her for a meal. He agreed, so they agreed to take the trolley to Navy Pier, where Kshitija had recently noticed a new Indian restaurant and asked Dakota if he liked curry. He said that he did but explained he has only had Thai curries, never Indian, so she added they are different but similar. He thought that he understood, kind of, but regardless, he continued to trust this stranger for some intangible reason, so he spontaneously agreed.
The trolley jolted to a stop, and they stepped out onto the cobblestone walkway of Navy Pier. The lake breeze ruffled their hair as they strolled towards the Indian restaurant she had in mind. The aroma of various spices wafted through the air, and Kshitija felt a sudden pang of homesickness.
“So, what’s the plan?” Dakota asked, his eyes searching hers.
“They serve authentic Kashmiri cuisine. You said you’ve never had real Indian food, so I’d love to introduce you to it.”
They stood in line, waiting for a table. As they did, Kshitija couldn’t help but notice the tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve – reminiscent of something fundamental, essential to her: the symbol for Infinity. Shocked, she told Dakota to let her see it.
Kshitija instinctively reached down and removed her shoes and socks.
Dakota was clueless but Kshitija was not. She demanded to know why he got his tattoo.
“I don’t know, to tell you the truth. It was one of those late ’90s nights out with my friends. We ended up in this parlor because one of my buddies was so trashed that he demanded a tattoo of his girlfriend’s name. YOLO. Anyway, when we got there, and he was getting it done, I saw this symbol in a photo on the wall. I was drunk too so maybe it was the booze but I really don’t know why – I just stared at it, like I had tunnel vision or something. The next thing I knew was that I was sitting in one of the other chairs, getting it tattooed on me. For years I have been told it’s unprofessional, but nobody sees it, really, except me. I like it actually. I don’t know why. But I just can’t bring myself to get rid of it. It’s weird, don’t you think?
“No, it’s not weird,” Kshitija said. That symbol is meaningful in India, for a few reasons, and that’s why I have mine.” She fell silent.
Dakota nodded, his eyes never leaving her leg. “It’s incredible. So much meaning in something so random, to me, I mean.” He gently applied pressure to the wound, his thumb grazing her skin as he tried to stop the bleeding. “Alright, I think we’ve got it under control.” He took a deep breath, his hands lingering on her before finally letting go.
The moment was charged with an unspoken understanding. Kshitija felt a strange connection to this man, this stranger from a world so different from her own. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dakota cleared his throat, a hint of a blush creeping up his neck. “It’s the least I could do.” He sat back, his gaze still locked on hers. “You know, I’ve always wanted to visit India. The culture, the food, it’s all so fascinating to me.”
Kshitija’s eyes lit up. “Really? You’d love it. The energy, the colors, it’s like nothing else in the world.”
“I’ve heard that,” he said, his voice filled with genuine curiosity. “So, what’s your favorite part of India?”
Kshitija took a moment to consider. “It’s hard to choose just one. But if I had to, I’d say the festivals. They’re so vibrant, full of life and color. And the food!” She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the memory. “Each region has its own specialties. Like the Bella Kaapi and what I will give you next.”
The idea of sharing another part of her culture with him was thrilling. He was like an open doorway at her feet. She agreed, and Kshitija felt a strange excitement at the thought of introducing this piece of India, of herself, her authentic self, to him.
Dakota’s eyes lit up. “Lead the way,” he said, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. As they waited in line, they chatted about their favorite dishes, and Kshitija was surprised by how open and eager he was to learn about her culture. When they were finally seated, she ordered a dish called Rista, a specialty from Kashmir, known for its fiery red color and rich, tender meat.
The conversation flowed easily as they waited for their food. They talked about art, music, and the little quirks that made their hometowns unique. Kshitija found herself drawn to Dakota’s easy smile and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. He listened intently to her stories about the Bollywood movies she adored and the sitar music that filled her childhood home.
When the Rista arrived, the aroma was intoxicating. The tender meat, floating in a sea of fiery gravy, was a stark contrast to the white plate beneath it. Kshitija watched as Dakota took his first bite, his eyes widening with delight and surprise. The spicy warmth danced on his tongue, and she couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction.
“It’s different, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a sip of her own water to cool her mouth.
Dakota nodded, his eyes watering slightly. “It’s… intense. But in a good way.” He reached for his glass, taking a sip of water as well. “I like it. It’s got this… this kick to it.”
Kshitija laughed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Just wait until the aftertaste hits.”
Dakota took another bite, nodding in agreement. “It’s definitely an adventure. I feel like a culinary virgin,” he laughed, as his face turned redder from the spicy fare.
As they enjoyed their meal, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the pier. The lake’s surface shimmered with a golden hue, reflecting the changing colors of the leaves. They talked and laughed, their conversation veering from light-hearted banter to deeper, more personal topics. Kshitija spoke of her move to Chicago for her job in IT, leaving her family behind in a quest for a better life. Dakota shared his love for the outdoors, growing up in the vastness of Montana before moving to the city for college.
The spicy warmth of the Rista mingled with the cooling sweetness of their Mango Lassis, creating a symphony of flavors that mirrored the harmony growing between them, a queer familiarity that seemed to be reawakening. As they ate, the silence between them was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding.
“I’ve never had anything quite like this before,” Dakota said, his eyes then nose watering from the heat. “It’s incredible! Don’t get me wrong. I love it but it is kicking my ass!”
Kshitija smiled, watching him take another bite. “It’s one of my favorites. Spicy food is like a warm hug from the inside.”
Dakota nodded, his cheeks flushed from the heat. “I can see why.”
Their plates emptied, the conversation deepened and widened with every shared experience. As they sat in the warm embrace of the restaurant, the outside world felt distant, the cacophony of the pier a faint echo. Kshitija felt a bond forming, something she hadn’t anticipated when she set out for her jog that morning.
“This was amazing,” Dakota said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Thank you for introducing me to this.”
“You’re welcome,” Kshitija replied, her heart fluttering at his genuine appreciation. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
As they stepped out of the restaurant, the cool air hit them like a wall, a stark contrast to the warmth they had shared inside. The sun was now setting to the west, behind the skyline, leaving in its wake a canvas of deep purples and blues that kissed the entirety of the lake behind them. The lights from the Ferris wheel twinkled in the distance, casting a soft glow on the pier. They strolled along the wooden planks, their footsteps in sync with the rhythm of the waves lapping at the shore.
Dakota stopped cold. Kshitija asked him, “Are you OK?”
“Kshitija, I had a… a surreal time today,” Dakota said, his voice a gentle reverberation across time, but yet right there, next to her, in the moment. “Thank you for sharing your day and everything with me, but I just had the strangest déjà vu. It was like… like that moment, that instant, was actually eternal but not now. Not here. Man, I can’t explain it. It’s like I knew it, like how different the lake colors are right now, how the sunset spills down the river, how that taste in my mouth just won’t let go, and the smells… it’s like perfume. Like the scent of someone you love that lingers after they are gone. But the weirdest part is it’s all like the stuff they put on stage for a play, what is is called… props! Except there is a spotlight on one person. You. I see you in that light. I can’t explain it but it was real, like it actually happened, before. I know I sound crazy, but you asked if I was OK so, there’s my answer.”
Her heart fluttered at his words, the realization of their shared experience, now, and then, sinking in. “The pleasure was all mine, Dakota. I didn’t expect to find a little piece of my first home here.”
They walked slowly, the quiet of the evening pier pierced only by the distant laughter and the occasional seagull’s cry. The Ferris wheel spun lazily in the background, its lights reflecting on the calm waters of Lake Michigan. It was a moment frozen in time indeed, a chance encounter that had turned into something more. So much more. And they knew it even if they were unable to articulate it.
Realizing by the setting sun in front of them that they had spent almost the entire day off of their schedules, Kshitija reservedly stated the obvious, “Well, I should have been home hours ago.”
Dakota nodded. “Yeah, I missed a meeting at work.”
Kshitija was surprised and asked, “No! Are you going to get in trouble, Dakota?”
He looked down at the boardwalk, shuffled his feet, and boyishly replied, “Kshitija, you are so worth the trouble.”
Without another word, they headed back to Park Drive, and silently awaited the trolley, together. A few minutes elapsed as they stood next to each other in a strange yet familiar hush, an odd but comforting quiet, a genuine peace and stillness that neither could recall experiencing before in their lives.
The trolley pulled up and Dakota stepped up first to extend his hand to Kshitija who took it without hesitation and joined him. The tram was almost empty as rush hour passed long ago, so they took their time and walked to the very back of the traincar, draggingly, and sat on the last bench, instinctively close together, as another silence fell upon them and the trolley departed.
After a few moments, Kshitija reached over and took Dakota’s hand as they rode back, down the central path, in the city of life, returning to where they had met, in a new, but ancient, tranquility.
I don’t see much download activity for these AI Gen projects, so I will clean up some space in The Cloud. From now on if you would like a WAV, MP3, MP4, or any asset, please let me know and I would be happy to share.
The province of British Columbia is witnessing a gold rush of epic proportions, but the…
Indonesia's Indigenous Papuan population has long faced racism and discrimination, perpetuating a cycle of poverty,…
As the world prepares for the UN Biodiversity Conference (COP16) in Colombia, concerns are growing…
As artificial intelligence (AI) continues to shape our world, it's essential to recognize the importance…
A recent land dispute in Brazil's farm state has turned deadly, with an Indigenous man…
New Zealand's Indigenous Rights in Jeopardy New Zealand, once a beacon of hope for Indigenous…