Trouble Sleeping
This is an attempt to show Ishani's thought process after everything. Here, since they're still married (right?) Ishani comes back to the house, but everything is not okay between them. Please do read and leave your thoughts.
Change is something that scares us all. It comes and goes like the seasons, leaving behind gifts of crystallised snow or sun split dirt; breeze-pink cheeks or sticky yellow pollen. We can try to ignore it, pretend it isn't happening, but we can't discount the mark it leaves behind: resenting the blistered heat of the summer, yet yearning for the sun to sneeze its warmth and cut through the cold when it's winter.
Change is the growth of the strange wrinkly layer that magically appears one day in place of healthy, smooth, young skin as you wake up, wondering where the decades had past, how the youth had been lost. You cling to it, searching for it in the gap between your two front teeth that never really went away, find it and tell it that you need it to stay.
Find it nestled inside the chest of your grandmother who doesn't know how to be strong when the ghosts of your grandfather stroke her hand.
Change was a girl making little houses with matchsticks to live out the possibilities of everything that could be, and it was the woman who would crush them all to live out her reality, telling herself she didn't need matchsticks to burn herself when she had the history of her past, trying to balance the weight of the world on bones that were never given enough time to grow.
Ranveer was her change, doing to her what spring does to cherry blossoms. He made her heart feel brand new. Every time she thought it couldn't possibly hurt more, one look at him from across the room as she stood inShikhar's arms mocking him, his eyes looking devastating and devastated, the pain pierced her just a little more.
Razor sharp.
A warning.
Every time she'd see Ranveer and the scalding pain in his eyes, she'd think about telling him the truth, making the plunge, him whispering encouraging, reassuring words.
Jump.
Fall.
Don't be scared.
Real love is the painful kind.
I'll heal your scratches with a kiss. I promise.
Then she'd see the way his eyes were guarded, reflecting the cracks in his heart she had left, knowing in that moment, she couldn't ask him to take on any more devastation. With what face could she ask him to forgive her?
Her mistakes were the only thing keeping her company in this excruciating loneliness.
Sleep wouldn't come. Her eyes closed, fluttering lashes, a blind search beyond, but she couldn't switch off. The self-loathing thoughts wouldn't go. The night was still;no wind, no rain, no creaking floorboards. Only restless limbs on dark cotton sheets. There was no peace here, no reprieve, just sleep-lusted electric thrumming through her veins: vibrant blues and purples that fizz like sherbet. She thought of Ranveer's palm pressing into hers, and the warmth in it. She thought about the million times he spoke about his heartbeat belonging to her.
For you and no other.
His only fault was that he'd loved her so deeply, intensely enough that it left his heart open, vulnerable for her to stomp on, again and again. There was a time when she'd been foolish enough to think that the writing in journals he always seemed to do was for some other girl.
"Ranveer Vaghela keeps a diary!" She squealed delightedly, and pounced on it before Ranveer could grab it. She took it in her other hand, well out of his reach and opened it.
"Ishani! Give it back."
"Nope."
She climbed on the couch to keep away from Ranveer, laughing at his frenzied expression, as he swiped at it, grabbing only air. Her eyes stilled on the page as all amusement faded away. They were ink written murmurings of the soul.
There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the passages that stared back at her, simply puzzle pieces that had yet to fit together"random thoughts exported to paper. Her finger paused on a particular segment, shaky breaths and goose bumps.
She doesn't realize how special she is, always hiding behind her hair or smiles. It's what first drew me to her"her blushes, her silent communication. Every time she flashed those dark eyes at me I'd think things I shouldn't, hope about situations I shouldn't, like her gaze always searching for only me.
Her eyes squeezed shut, blood warming, her pulse crazy in her ears. She turned a page, and another, brows furrowing as her eyes scanned the next words in front of her.
She's the sun. She's golden and yellow when everything is dark. Energy seeps through her pores and illuminates the world. She smiles, she laughs, she absorbs, she radiates and she helps. But when was the last time she did something for herself? Just for her? She's so concerned about making other people happy that I think she's forgotten to care about herself in the same way. I should ask her. Make her see.
Ishani looked for a date, a hint as to when this was written, but there was nothing, just negative space above a singular paragraph on an otherwise blank page. She swallowed thickly and look away, pressing the journal closed with a resolute palm. Her throat felt dry. There was so much love poured on those pages.
A series of blinks until it was the same face she saw - except with a completely different expression. Gone was the manic fear and slight hint of embarrassment. It was replaced by a tight, blank expression, the kind that indicated that it was filled to the brim, and if forced to take more, he would explode.
He was furious.
She gave back the journal, without a word, swallowing to alleviate the parched condition of her throat.
"Ranveer, this is..." She shut her eyes. "Is this for that girl you told Chirag you liked?"
He turned back without a word.
"Ranveer, I'm sorry I read that and invaded your privacy. But that was..." She shook her head. There were no words to describe how that made her feel. She continued, a little hesitant. "If there really is someone you feel that way about, she deserves to know."
His reaction was nothing like she expected. He let out a bitter laugh. "Trust me, if I told her, it would destroy everything I had with her."
Ishani shook her head in disbelief, wondering how something that beautiful could destroy anything.
She wondered now how they went from being so close to becoming this.
But they could.
They did.
They had let themselves get to this point. Not to hurt, not to spite, but to guard, protect what scared them the most. Life was hard. People like Chirag and Ritika kept getting in the way of their happily ever after. But more than them, it was her own stupidity that was to blame.
She was the common denominator, the reason the two of them were always pulled apart. They both had hated and loved each other with such intensity until they were tired sick. Until there was only destruction in their wake.
How could she pick up the mosaic pieces of his heart and slowly rebuild his trust? She was no artist.
He hadn't said a word. Sure, they were still married, and he let her back into their house, but the wariness, weariness and sheer...emptiness in him was something she knew food could never rectify.
Her words had turned him into a corpse. Despairingly, she wondered if he even believed in love anymore.
The small things got blown up; a balloon to the lips, and blow, push, bigger and bigger until it burst wide open: a shocked silence, a thumping fear-beat heart. Shaking hands and fleeing words, and all that was left behind was this shell... this pretty, pretty shell that promised so much. And she thought that was the hardest part to deal with.
There was no one else. Just them. Just life. Just a flurry of every day obstacles that hit over and over, their point accurate and sharp, knowing just where to hit. Knowing just where it would hurt the most. And it was terrifying, because you wanted an instigator, a life-course changer... something, anyone else to blame but yourselves. That way you could fix it. Have a mark, a starting off point: head bent, gun fired, and fly. Run. Off.
But without it... it was impossible to hide from. Because you couldn't hide from life. You're forced to live it. One way or another. And now... the doubt was at its strongest, even though there was nothing more she wanted in this world than for her and Ranveer to be okay"for their hearts to mend themselves and go back to the beginning. Anything was better than this.
Because if they weren't able to handle it together before, if they let it defeat them once, what was to stop it from happening again? What were the signs, the flashing lights and screamed warnings that burn inside your lungs? The heat on your finger before a flame?
Herself. Herself. Herself. It was her. She was own warning.
Ranveer, his.
Those self-inflicted wounds. She swallowed back the salt tears in her eyes, from the back of her throat and roof of her mouth, and pulled in a deep breath through her nose. Time was lead in her hands and she just wished these ghosts were gone. She tried to clear her head for what felt like the hundredth time tonight, the ticking clock in the room a time bomb, counting down the seconds until her imminent implode. Her body felt heavy and her chest felt tight, and suddenly, she hated that the space beside her was empty. And closing her eyes to think of somewhere else didn't help her this time.
She knew what was keeping her awake. It was the same thing that had been for what felt like an eternity; an eternity of hollow hearts and empty lungs. An eternity of smiling eyes and kissing lips. An eternity of pretending neither of those things existed.
She thought about reading. She thought about sitting up and drinking the glass of water on her beside table. She thought about doing a lot of things. But only one seemed to matter. One that both terrified her and filled her with warmth, flushing her cheeks with the hue of a multitude of reasons. One that was screaming and screaming and wouldn't be ignored any longer, tattooing itself beneath her expanding ribs.
Her hand reached down to touch the stab wound on her stomach. This time, her hurt was no match for his. One gash was no match for the thousand blows of her words that brought him to his knees.
She counted to thirty"counted her breaths and wished for lullabies"but the sheets were cold. And she didn't want to be alone. Her toes curled into the carpet as she perched uncertainly on the edge of the sofa, her fingers tugging the end of her top back over her stomach as her hair fell over her left shoulder. It tickled her skin on its descent and added to her nervous longing.
Ranveer would play with her hair while she was sleeping; caressing her belly while they both drifted to dreams that were never better than the present. His touch was always gentle, swirling finger tips like plant life in the ocean; comfort and serenity and easy love. Long nights in summertime heat. Cool cotton kisses. Matching heartbeats.
Now, all she wished for was stronger pillows with arms around them.She ran her hands through the strands and it wasn't the same. It would never be the same. She pushed herself up, muffled footsteps that seem to know the way, leading her to the stairway. It was here that she paused, wondering what he would think, how he would feel if she entered his room like that. She started to move once more, knowing hesitation will only cripple what impulse she had left"crush it to ash within a steel grip"and climbed quietly up the long staircase, and walked up to his door. She pushed the door open slowly, the natural light of the moon bathing everything in its pearl-like glow. Ranveerwas sound asleep on top of the covers, his arms wound around his stomach as if he were holding himself together. In that moment, he looked so lonely, it broke her heart.
The rise and fall of his chest looked even, and she was afraid to wake him; afraid he would open his eyes and question why she was here.
Because she didn't have an answer, she just had a feeling, an inherent want that wouldn't let her sleep, crushing her chest with the weight of its desperation. She couldn't explain that to him and that left her with no words.
This shouldn't feel wrong, She shouldn't feel fear, she justified to herself. This was normal, natural, and a human comfort. He was her husband, her tether, and the person at the other end of the string.
She just wanted to sleep... be near him.
If only for a little while.
She closed the door softly behind her, not quite letting it catch, leaving it exactly how she'd found it, not wanting to create another shift in their already spinning world. Shivers trembled across her skin, like the breeze through the trees on a tempestuous day. And before she could change her mind, she carefully lowered herself into the bed beside him, immediately struck by his warmth and scent and the relief inside her chest. The urge to get closer and closer and closer, like magnetic hearts, a matching pair, was an insistent tug, threatening to overpower her. He showed no signs of being aware that she was here, no shift of his body or change in his breathing. His face was turned towards hers on the pillows, and she was afraid to touch him, afraid of what would happen if she did.
But that urge wouldn't let up, and she couldn't stop herself from reaching out. She started off small, running her fingers over his hand between them, over the ridges of his knuckles, half reassured that he hadn't woken, half scared that he would. Her fingertips slid over his jaw, feeling the scratchy stubble on his skin, finally getting to make her music. Her touch was feather-light and pulse-racing, and she was unable to look away, unable to stop. They swept down the bridge of his nose, down his throat and back up to his chin, pausing at his lips. Her hands were nerve-shaken with so much want, so much need, so much unplaced fear - adrenaline a circus ride inside her veins. She pulled her hand away a few moments later, feeling the onslaught of tears burn her eyes. She didn't know what she was doing here, hated that she felt so misplaced, and she got up and got off the bed and was about to leave when she noticed his eyes were open, staring right at her.
She stopped breathing, eyes wide, as embarrassment heated her cheeks in the dark, his gaze a brown-spun web that held her in place. Time slowed, became meaningless as she got caught up in shadows. He didn't say anything, just looked, and she was too shocked to move. His eyes cut to hers and her face felt hot, her chest, a butterfly trapped in a jar, wings to the glass as her heart beat crazily. She curled her right arm over her chest to her left shoulder, hand balancing on bare skin, fingertips still.
She'd inadvertently created some form of shield over her wildly pumping red-beat muscle, and she wondered if he could hear it, almost certain that he could. It seemed so loud to her, swallowing her whole like a pill, crashing over her like the single hit of a drum as it resonated through her bones like chattering teeth.
She wasn't sure how to act, how to go forward, the very sight of him stripping her mind bare, leaving her with nothing but an empty blackboard, the white-chalk words wiped clean. Her teeth found her lip, remembering his lips on them at the Ganpati shop, fierce desperation in the form of gin and tonic kisses and warm tongues. Anger with an amber burn. It made her stomach tingle, the feeling spreading through her chest on a wave, warming her neck, flushing her skin a consuming pink.
She inched closer to the bed, sitting down and lying in, holding his gaze the entire time, as if challenging him to stop her.
The sheets stirred as he shifted closer, his hand finding her cheek, thumb lazily stroking her skin before he placed his palm over the crazy, crazy, crazy beating.
"I can feel your heart," he whispered, hand on her chest. "It's beating so fast."
It knew him. Liked his attention. Loved his palm right there, she wanted to say. He picked up her hand, placing it over his own heart, and she stilled, feeling that tick-tick, dhak, dhak, dhak beneath his palm. His eyes held hers, and that beat was so fast below her touch.
"What do you want, Ishani?" he asked.
And it was not unkind, just a question.
But did he mean now?
Tomorrow?
Forever?
"I just want to lie next to you," she told him with a whisper. "I just want to sleep."
His breathing was loud in the quiet of the room. "I can only give you what I've got," he said, his eyes showing the first hint of vulnerability she'd seen in a long time.
He was scared, just like she was. He was human, just like her.
Her lips parted. "That's all I want," she answered, trying to make him see. He studied her face, gaze back and forth between her eyes.
"What if it's not enough?" he questioned, his hand still keeping hers in place on his chest. "Will you run away again?"
Ishani blinked back tears. "It will be," she told him. "I'll make it enough. I'm sorry Ranveer. I'm so, so sorry." His hand went up to her cheeks, his fingertips softly wiping away the tears.
"You're my this," he said, brushing his fingers from her cheek, trailing them down the front of her throat, right down the middle of her chest, sweeping them left to her heart. "Which is what also gives you the power to break it, over and over. I know it, and yet, I wouldn't change a thing."
He removed his hand from her skin, and lifted his arm in silent invitation. She curled into his warm chest, burrowing her face into his T-shirt, her hand over his heart, his own arms filled with her, his own heart. And just as she thought he'd fallen asleep, his breathing now even, his other hand moved to her hair, playing with it so softly, causing the very best of aches to bloom in her chest.
It was like first kisses. First embarrassed glances. First smiles.
His breath was hot on her skin, his face closer, the best kind of I'm here'. The best kind of burn. Better than the burn of alcohol, the burn of stubbles and more intimate than poetry or words. This was just two people, holding and fitting into each other's pieces.
She wanted this moment to go on for ever and ever. Except she knew it wouldn't.
Yes, there was the pile of lies they both had to sift through. There was a world of hurt that had to be dealt with. The million things she had to apologize for, even though she knew it would mean nothing.
They both had apologized to each other so many times after every vicious cycle of hurting until sorry lost its meaning.
Still, she drew hope from the fact that they kept returning to each other - just like the sea returns to kiss the shore every time it was pushed away.
They would deal with everything tomorrow. For now, she just wanted to rest in her husband's embrace.
She closed her eyes and felt her hair become sun-kissed by his lips, on and off until she eventually fell asleep, fully clothed and completely exposed.
Comments (0)
View all