Posted:
All grammatical mistakes should be blamed on my sleep.
Also if you like my OS, see more of them in the Naamkaran forum.
😉😉
Also if you like my OS, see more of them in the Naamkaran forum.
Stupidly, naively, he thought that by filing first it would mean less pain - for her, for him, for everybody.
Isn't that what filing first was supposed to be about? Somehow, he had thought (rightly or wrongly) that the person who files first is the one who is letting go, the one who is giving up, the one who is stronger.
But he is not strong at all, he thinks.
He wasn't strong when he signed his name on the dotted line next to that slip of yellow. He wasn't strong when he she'd signed hers. He wasn't strong when his lawyer called, saying that it is now done, that he is now not married (divorced), and that she is now back to being Ms. Annika again.
He is anything but strong.
It has been three whole months and yet here he still sits, staring into his cup of coffee, twirling his pencil between his fingers, and looking through a bunch of paperwork that could have been written in Greek for all he knows.
File first, his lawyer had advised. Such bullshit.
- 10:15 p.m. -
His call went straight to her voicemail.He's glad of that. He doesn't think that he could have done it; he's the one who called her after all. He had given himself a pathetic excuse to dial the number, telling himself that he needed to hurt her.
But to be honest, he simply wanted to hear her voice.
Goodbye.
"Shivaay...
Om is hovering by his desk, looking... well, as concerned as someone like Om can possibly look.
"I saw you on the phone.
"Work stuff, he says, gesturing lamely at the mountains of paperwork before him.
"You are an adult, Shivaay. You should be better at lying.
His laughter is forced, humourless. He takes another sip of his cold coffee.
"I just had to -
"Check in? The expression that On wears is not disdain exactly, although it has traces of that. It is more like pity, pain, mixed with a little bit of anger. "It has been three months, Shivaay. You need to stop calling her. She is not even calling you.
Shivaay doesn't bother to correct his brother. Of course, he hasn't told Om about the incident a few weeks ago when she rang him at four in the morning, drunk and rambling. It is not right to humiliate her, he keeps telling himself. Om would worry even more if he knew, and it would only make him hate her more than he already does.
And, despite everything that has happened, Shivaay thinks he can stand most things, but he can't stand that.
So he says instead: "I don't call her very often.
"I talk to Saahil sometimes. I know you call her more often than you're telling me you do.
"I don't want you to -
"What? Worry?Om scoffs. He looks around at the few occupied desks in the office before lowering his voice. "I am your brother, Shivaay. At least have the decency to be honest with me.
The words twist in his gut like a knife. But then, for the past few months, just breathing feels this way. He drains his cup of coffee and stands up so that his height is level with his brother's.
"Om, I know you mean well, but please...lay off. Things will get better.
It gets worse before it gets better, he wanted to say. But now, all he can think about is how much the phrase sounds like a bloody slogan.
"Shivaay, things are not getting better. You've been sleeping at the office for weeks now. People here are starting to think that you're homeless.
"Don't be dramatic, Om. Nobody thinks I'm homeless.
"Oh, please! snaps Om, his lips curling into a smirk. "Yesterday, Mishra asked me why you have been wearing the same clothes for two days in a row.
"Don't be ridiculous, says Shivaay, rolling his eyes. "I've just been working late.
"You can at least come and stay at my studio.
"We're together all the time, Om. I need some space.
"Then go home, Shivaay.
A pause. It might be Om who uttered those words, but it is her voice that he hears.
Go home, Shivaay. It's late.
But he can't, can he?
Home is no longer there. It is now just a collection of empty spaces - of where her clothes used to hang, of where her books used to be, of where she used to be. He is not ready to live in all of those empty spaces just yet. Stopping by to get his things once or twice a day is already bad enough.
"I'll go, he finally manages to say, his eyes dropping from his friend's face to the grey tiled floor. "Soon, okay?
Om nods, his mouth tightening as if he wants to say something else but can't.
"Just make sure that you do.
- 10:47 p.m. -
"Hey, Oberoi!
Shivaay is at the coffee machine when one of his executives strides pass, pulling on his jacket with his car keys in his hand.
Sharma.
"You're not leaving? asks Sharma, slipping naturally into friendly mode like he does every time he talks to Shivaay. "It's almost eleven.
"How come you're still here then?
"The Steel Factory fiasco. An absolute pain in the ass, says Sharma, cracking a tired smile. "But I'm heading out now. The missus will murder me if I'm not home by midnight.
Shivaay's throat clenches, and "ah, yes, is all he can manage to offer as a reply.
Sharma's easy smile drops immediately.
"Oberoi, listen, I -
"It doesn't matter.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -
"Really, Sharma says Shivaay, with a little more bite to his voice, "it's fine.
He knows that he's being a bas***d, but he doesn't need the entire office to comment on why he is being a bas***d. He already sees it in their eyes everyday: Is he going through a divorce? Is he getting a divorce? Is he already divorced?
They don't quite know how to approach him now. The fact that Sharma is trying at all only means that the man has more guts than common sense.
"Shara and I have been talking, says Sharma,cratching the back of his head in an awkward manner. "You should come around for dinner sometime. Maybe tomorrow? You can finally meet the little guy.
"Oh, yeah. The little guy, replies Shivaay, trying to return his voice back to normal. "What's his name again?
"Param, says Sharma, grinning proudly. "He'll like you.
I doubt that.
"Thanks for the invite, Sharma. But maybe not. Okay?
"Oh. Sharma's grin slips slightly and he looks...disappointed. "Okay. Well...
"It's just not my thing, says Shivaay quickly, trying to offer a friendly smile. "And I'd be rubbish company anyway.
"Oh, I don't know about that.
"Trust me. I'd only ruin your evening.
For a fraction of a second, it looks like Sharma is going to keep insisting. So Shivaay does his best to hold his strained smile in place. Finally, the other man shrugs and sighs, accepting defeat.
"Alright, Oberoi. Suit yourself. See you tomorrow then.
"See you tomorrow, Sharma.
The man lifts a hand to Shivaay in a gesture of farewell as he continues to stride towards the exit, and Shivaay turns back to the coffee machine. But just as he is about to fill his cup with more coffee, the same voice rings out again.
"Hey, Oberoi!
Shivaay looks up to find Sharma halting at the door. There is a strange, somewhat daring look in his eyes.
Shivaay frowns, confused. "Yeah?
"It'll get better, says Sharm, mouth tethering between a smile and a wince. "I know things are a bit shit right now, but it'll get better.
Shivaay sucks in a short breath. He feels like his hand that's holding the cup is shaking a little.
He should be angry with Sharma. He should be curling his hand into a fist and maybe considering punching the living daylights out of his fellow colleague . Sharma means well, he knows, but how can he possibly understand?
("The missus will murder me if I'm not home by midnight, "Shara and I have been talking..., "You can finally meet the little guy.)
Shivaay should be angry, but somehow, he's not.
Again, it is her voice that he hears, whispering to him just as clearly as it did Everytime he closed his eyes.
Don't shut people out, Shivaay. I know you're good at that, but it will make you miserable.
When he finally finds it again, his own voice comes out all strange and strangled: "About that dinner, Sharma. Maybe ask me again next week.
A ghost of a smile. A wave of a hand.
"Will do, Oberoi.
- 11:50 p.m. -
He lights a cigarette and breaks out the whiskey after everyone has left.
He wants to laugh. (She would be laughing too.) He has become a goddamn cliche - drinking late at night, sleeping over at work, spouting out phrases like a walking post-it commercial...
But as he pours the golden liquid into the glass and watches it swirl around in there, he tries telling himself that this is normal. People drink when they go through breakups, don't they? It doesn't mean that his life is falling apart. He is simply going through the phases: denial, anger, grief, acceptance...
Damn it. Is that even the right order?
A sip of whiskey. A drag from the cigarette.
Goodbye.
He should call someone. He should't be alone, he knows that. But he can't call Om because Om was just here. He can't call Rudra because he knows what he's going to say. And he can't cal Dadi because they have put Dadi through too much already and Shivaay has a hunch that they will put her through even more in the future.
(Because despite their attempts to minimise the damage, everyone around them keeps getting hurt anyway.)
The only person he wants to talk to is her. But here he is, considering calling her again. He does not even know what he would say; words do not seem enough.
There is also the matter of whether she would pick up the phone. What if he calls again and she does? What if he calls again and she doesn't? He cannot decide which scenario would be worse.
Either way, it would be pathetic for us both, his brain reminds him just in time - before he has looked her up on the phone, before he has dialled the number - and his eyes sting with what he realises are tears.
So he forces himself to turn off his phone and store it in his drawer. Her face grows blurry around the edges as he wipes his sleeve over his eyes.
It gets worse before it gets better.
It gets worse before it gets better.
It gets worse before it gets better.
Maybe if he keeps telling himself that - maybe if he keeps repeating it like a mantra - it will become true.
Another sip of whiskey. Another drag from the cigarette. And he watches the lights on the highway, blinking and twinkling in the darkened distance.
It will be over soon, he thinks.
Udne Ki Aasha
