Part 6 and I'm feeling a lot more relaxed! I hope this lives up to what y'all had in mind! I had a blast writing the angst. Grab them tissues! (Joking 😆 I doubt it'll be that emotional.)
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It was only later when his mother had kicked him out of Ishqi’s hospital room for the sake of hygiene and his dangerously drooping eyes, and he was nursing a scotch did he finally have time to catalog everything that had gone on in the last few hours.
“Ahaan, ghar jao. Main hoon yahan Ishqi ke saath subah tak.”
“Nahin. Iss baar nahin. I’ve already made a mistake of leaving her alone once. I won’t do it again. I want my face to be the first one she sees when she wakes up. The first thing she needs to hear from me is an apology. I want to apologize to her. I need to apologize to her.”
She extended her hand hesitantly towards his bowed head, feeling him lean in on contact, “Beta, I know ki Ishqi is very important to you. Lekin another fact is that you can’t do anything to help her tonight. You heard what the doctor said. She won’t wake up tonight. Tumhaare yahan rehne se kuch nahin hoga. Ulta tum aur tired ho jaaoge aur phir kal agar Ishqi uthi, toh you’ll be of no use. You need rest Ahaan, if not for your sake, for hers. She will need you at 100% when she wakes up.”
“Taiji sahi keh rahi hai bhai.” Kartik. When had he entered the room? How had he not noticed? “Bhai bhaabi abhi ke liye sedated hain. Who chahkar bhi nahin uth sakti. Aura ap yaha devdas types banke, unke hospital bed ke paas baithke, kuch nahin kar sakte. Meri maasi se baat hui hai, who bhaabhi ka samaan ghar bhejwaa rahi hain. Chaliye, main aapko ghar drop kar doonga. Wahan aap Ishqi ke ghar aane ki taiyaari kar lena, put her stuff away, order comfortable pillows wagera wagera. Abhi aap chalo.”
He let himself be pulled up from his seat before resisting even occurred to him. “Kartik Ishqi needs me,” he turned to his mother and repeated his statement, “She needs me.”
“You won’t be any use to her if you’re dead on your feet bhai. Ab toh maine aur taiji, dono ne keh diya. Isse pehle bhaabhi apne sedation se bahar aakar aapko sunana shuru kare, aap chalo. She’ll always need you bhai, but she has a family with her now, just like you do. You can rely on us.” Kartik had coaxed him gently, brought him home, gave him a drink ("just one bhai! No more!") and sat with him for god knows how long before the bell rang and he had to go answer it.
Ahaan hadn’t moved from his position at the foot of their bed. Their bed. Was it still? Would she accept him again, after he had made the mistake of not trusting her for the umpteenth time? Once was forgivable, twice was too. But not trusting her, not trusting his heart had latched onto him like a bad habit; a leech that was slowly draining everything out of their relationship every time it reared its ugly head.
Kartik’s voice brought him out of his stupor, “Bhai! Ishqi ka samaan aa gaya. Kahan rakhoon?” When he looked up, his brother was lugging a blue bag in one hand and a black handbag in another. Everything she had left with. Her whole life wrapped up in one bag.
“Ward – wardrobe ke side mein rakh de. Main k-kal unpack karloonga.” As he looked around, all he saw was him. No sign of her existed in this room, save what Kartik had just delivered. There was no intermingling of their stuff, no his side and her side of the dresser. No dupatta lying haphazardly across the back of the chair. No pictures of Ishqi or her family. Only a lone picture of their wedding on a shelf to his right. Had he been lost in his misplaced hatred that he had neglected his love to the point where it was relegated to a small shelf when it should have been surrounding him, reminding him of their love?
Why was he gripped with an icy feeling when he should have been cocooned in their love?
Why should she forgive him and let him back into her heart when he couldn’t even get her to settle into this room before ruining everything?
THUD
He looked up, startled to where Kartik was struggling with the bags, muttering to himself, “Ladkiyaan itna samaan kaise sambhaal leti hain? Kitne haath hote hain inke? Bag, suitcase, upar se unke itne complicated outfits. Yahan se chunni, wahan se jewellery, aur baal alag. Agli baar se kabhi Sonu ko gaali nahi dunga jab purse pakadne ko bolegi. I swear.” The bag rolled over his toe and a shriek escaped him as Ahaan watched on, amusment and only mild concern registering in a small corner of his mind not pre-occupied.
Looking around to investigate the source of the sound that had snapped him out of his melancholy, he spied a book laying open a few feet from where Kartik was engaged in a one-sided verbal battle with luggage. He extended a hand and brought it closer to himself, inspecting. Looked like a diary of sorts.
Ishqi’s diary.
His blood ran cold.
Her personal diary. Everything about her was probably written in this. A small glance at the already open page confirmed the innermost thoughts of his wife’s mind. The current entry, a small poem was dated for the night before the wedding. When he and Ishqi had called a tentative truce by poolside.
Teri fikar ki aadat ho gayi hai mujhe
Zindagi meri adhoori hai tere bina
Sanam tune dost bankar zindagi sawaar di
Haal-e-dil ab kaise karein tujhe bayaan
The words numbed him. This was Ishqi, raw, unfiltered. The Ishqi that no one saw, and he had caught in only fleeting glimpses. This was sweet Ishqi, who hugged Sonu when she cried, took the blame on herself for a practical stanger, who was ready to sacrifice herself so his family would be alright. The one who kept mum when she was verbally attacked by those she had thought would support her. The Ishqi who helped from the shadows, taking no credit for herself.
The one who had been ready to sacrifice herself if it meant uniting a mother with her children.
His body felt like it was moving through sand as he moved to put the book away, every limb resisting his commands to act. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered Kartik gently placing the now closed notebook on his desk, moving him to help lay on the bed and the weight of the blanket coming to rest on him before the room was shrouded in darkness. Sinking down into the bed as much as his weight would allow, her written words danced across his vision tauntingly every time he dared close his eyes for more than a few seconds.
Ahaan’s eyelids felt like lead, barely keeping open, but he fought sleep even as it threatened to take him under several times. If he slept, he would dream. And dreaming meant facing Ishqi and her broken trust, even if only in his head. And he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.
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Part 6 and boy was that a heavy one to write! Stress week is officially over, so I get a little more free time (at least for the next 1.5 weeks before another stress week 😆) Part 7 is in the works and it may have another tiny poem, just like this one did (written by yours truly). Poetry is not my forte by any means, but calling on the minuscule rhyming skills I have, I wrote 3 small ones. 1 down, 2 to go!
Batana haan, kaisa laga?
Bade Achche Lagte Hain Naya Season
Bigg Boss 19
Real Estate
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