In the polluted mists of the oriental megalopolis, Vijay was returning to the place he used to call home. His heavy steps could be heard from a distance and his steel glare could have pierce granite. The unsuspecting passerbies that cross paths with him, after looking into his eyes, felt as if his death stare could read all their secrets and dirt. In spite of their experience, cynicism or audacity, in front of him, they were as naked and vulnerable like a patient ready for surgery on the operating table.
"People are strange and annoying", he thought, lighting a cigarette.
For him, a summa cum laude graduate of MIT, a spiral presented more endearment than the curves of a woman. Two of his former girlfriends have left him, cursing and hissing, fed up with his indifference and aloofness. "You'd rather prefer to see a woman in a red dress from a virtual reality rather than kissing me hard!", one of them scoffed. His smirk proved her she was right. But in spite of his intelligence, his money and social standing, there was nothing about him that might have been liked by a woman. Or this was what most of the people believed. His heart had been broken once by a beautiful nymphette and after she had left him, he swore he wouldn't fall in love again.