Love of my Life

By K'Anne Meinel

When I meet the love of my life, a whirlwind romance of love, passion, and happily ever after will follow, right?  Marriage…until death do us part.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadoe Publishing
• Release date: Feb 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386030423

K'Anne Meinel

K’Anne Meinel is a prolific best-selling fiction writer with more than one hundred published works including shorts, novellas, and novels.  She is an American author born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and raised outside of Oconomowoc.  Upon early graduation from high school, she went to a private college in Milwaukee and then moved to California.  Many of her stories are noted for being realistic, with wonderfully detailed backgrounds and compelling storylines.  Called the Danielle Steel of her time, K’Anne continues to write interesting stories in a variety of genres in both the lesbian and mainstream fiction categories.  Her website is @ www.kannemeinel.com.  K’Anne is also the publisher and owner of Shadoe Publishing, LLC @ www.shadoepublishing.com and in December 2017 she started the Lesfic Bard Awards @ www.lesficbardawards.com.  In December 2018 she launched the Gay Scribe Awards @ www.gayscribeawards.com in hopes of duplicating the first year’s success of the Lesfic Bard Awards and to showcase more LGBT literature.

Book preview

Table of Contents

LOVE OF MY LIFE

Love of my LIFE

~THE END~

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

TO BE CONTINUED...

LOVE OF MY LIFE

A Short Story by K’Anne Meinel

E-Book Edition

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Published by:

K’Anne Meinel as an E-Book

Copyright © K’Anne Meinel January 2014

2nd Edition Copyright © K’Anne Meinel February 2018

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LOVE OF MY LIFE

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Love of my LIFE

Her smile is what captivated me from the moment I saw her.  I was shopping in Mumbai, looking for a Pashmina to match the Hijab I had already purchased and worn.  If I found a beautiful Abaya, I would purchase that instead and keep the lovely Hijab for another time.  Not to be confused with a Burqa which would cover me completely and you would be unable to identify me as a woman, an Abaya is a long black loose-fitting cloak that often zips or buttons up the front.  The Hijab I found stylish, and with the red dot, or Bindi, I wore between my eyebrows, it brought attention to my eyes and, I thought, made me look so ‘eastern’ as I shopped for certain fabrics.  Seeing another woman shopping in the same stalls I was surprised to see her face exposed.  I wore these foreign clothes to ‘fit in’ and keep the fact that I was an American tourist hidden.  These kinds of clothes frequently kept the fact that I was even a woman anonymous.

She must have realized I didn’t know what I was doing as it looked like she was laughing at my attempts to find a silk Pashmina to ‘match’ my Hijab or head covering.  It was probably my American accented English that gave me away though.  I had been thrilled and surprised at the venders, who spoke English, British English, but that I could communicate with them when I needed to.  Money spoke where words did not when I wished to bargain for the fine silks they were selling.

I wandered on after the startling million watt smile I had glimpsed.  I didn’t want to stare but she was so worth staring at.  I’d found that the vendors didn’t want you looking at them too long but merely the products they were offering.  Not wanting to offend anyone, I purchased the beautiful Hijab and with the help of the vendor’s modest wife put it on to cover my brunette and blonde locks.  She showed me how to cover my face and her husband explained that in some areas it would be best for me to remain covered.

When I explained to her husband my desire to obtain a Bindi, he instructed her to take me elsewhere, and she led me to another stall where they applied the vermillion dot between my eyebrows.  They also showed me jewelry that could be applied in place of the dot, which was a stylish alternative.  I had fun pantomiming and they showed me how to apply it with glue.  I bought several because of their beauty and thanked the women with plenty of bows.  They smiled at my enthusiasm.

Now as I shopped for more silken treasures I couldn’t help but notice the woman with the smile that had caught my attention.  Was she following me?  I couldn’t be certain but something told me she might be.  I was cautious.  Shopping alone in the stalls was not always a good idea but I wanted to feel the ‘real’ India, experience the culture here without being hassled by men or their religions.  I had hesitated to get the Bindi, as some thought it a religious symbol, but my research said no, not any longer.  It was a decorative item now, and no longer a way to tell if a woman was married or of a certain caste.  I found it beautiful and had wanted one since I had landed on this beautiful and dirty place.  It was so crowded that I was grateful for the native clothing to allow me