The curtains raised. Lights went on. The stage was set. Audience were enthusiastic.
Nobody could point out when it started. They walked onto the stage - he and she - not as actors, but as characters. It was hard for the onlookers to believe they were watching just a play with two on the stage. He and she were so engrossing that all the settings were lost in the background. For him and for her, acting and living are synonymous. They act to live, live to act. While everything was just about perfect, call it a moment of self realization or a nervous breakdown, she broke into tears on the stage. Audience took that to script's demand, while he was left baffled. However, the brilliant actor that he is, not to forget his nimble wits, he pulled off something extra-ordinarily good. All could have been back to normal in few moments, had she co-operated. Instead, she refused to act. She had refused to be anything other than herself. She wanted to be she, nothing but she. He can't do a thing now. His supreme talents will only allow him to carry on the act, single handedly. But what about the other characters who, by then, have declared their presence on the stage? He doesn't know where to head to. Curtains can't be dropped, he doesn't hold the strings. He can't continue with what was planned, as planning something new and executing it would result in pandemonium.
The show, however - as it must and should - is going on.
