LK INNOVATE

By Dr Lokman Khan

A rhythmic bass thrummed through Nadia’s chest as she navigated the throng at The Hideaway, a hidden club tucked beneath a bridge along the Aire. It wasn’t the traditional Bengali music her parents played, but the pulsing energy of the underground electronica scene in Leeds had her hooked. Little did she know, another melody lover was in the crowd.

Asim, a research scientist with a mop of fading hair and a worn copy of “Electronic Music for the Soul” in his bag, was captivated by the same sounds. He was surprised to see Nadia, a sharp, suited banker he often crossed paths with at community events, bobbing her head next to him. 

Their eyes met. A shy smile tugged at Nadia’s lips. “Enjoying the set?” Asim asked, his voice warm.

“Absolutely,” Nadia said, her voice surprisingly melodic. “Never thought I’d hear dhol beats in a club.” 

They spent the evening dissecting the music, Nadia pointing out the intricate layers, Asim explaining the technical wizardry behind it. As the night wore on, their conversation flowed, easy and comfortable, like a well-worn record.

Over the next few weeks, their “accidental” meetings at The Hideaway became planned outings. They discovered hidden gems in the city’s underbelly, debating the merits of each set with playful jabs and shared laughter. Asim, usually reserved, found himself animated around Nadia. Nadia, known for her quick wit in boardrooms, was drawn to Asim’s gentle intelligence.

One rainy evening, huddled under a shared umbrella, Asim confessed, “You know, I write poems for a local paper.”

Nadia’s eyes widened. “The one I read religiously? You’re ‘The Audiophile’?”

Asim grinned. “The one and only.”

Their platonic love, nurtured by the rhythm of the city, seemed ready to bloom. Then, one Tuesday evening, Nadia didn’t show up at their usual spot. Her phone went unanswered. Worry gnawed at Asim. The next day, a news report sent a jolt through him. A fire had ripped through a building by the River Aire, several unaccounted for. 

His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs. A picture on the screen – it was Nadia’s house. The report ended, leaving a deafening silence. Asim stared at the blank screen, the melody of their connection hanging heavy, suspended in an unbearable silence.

Asim woke up. His younger sister was standing by his bedside with a fuming cup of tea.

15 June 2024