"Don't be late, okay? At least don't make me wait for you today."
He shut his eyes as the words rang in his ears, yet again. It had become a habit for him, losing his consciousness to the labyrinth of persistent memories, and going through every minuscule detail of that fateful night in his head. As he pictured her face a-lit with contentment, the memory of each word pierced through his heart, slowly ripping it apart.
His eyes clenched together tighter as he felt the onslaught of his emotions, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. A realisation churned inside him, weakening him. He had failed to keep his promise. He had failed her.
A bitter cry whispered from his mouth and he banged his fist against the steering wheel, giving in to his frustration. He ran his hand roughly through his unkempt hair, his throat burning with heavy emotion. Drums hammered against his head, and he swallowed thickly to ease the dryness.
He blinked his eyes several times, and slowly his eyelids parted. As the white light burst into his eyes, his eyes felt heavy with a sharp tingle and his hand reflexively shot up to cover his eyes. Gradually, the severe frown on his head eased and his eyes opened, adjusting to the light.
He sighed, surveying the surroundings. As far as his eyes could see, the snow had formed a dense sheet of glistening white, encompassing in its thick folds the coniferous trees and their blade-like leaves, the slanted rooftops of the houses -- near and far -- and everything else in sight.
An involuntary shiver ran down his spine as he observed the continuous pace of the falling snow. He swallowed thickly, his frustration increasing as he felt his tongue swell from lack of moisture. A wry laugh escaped him, and he impatiently broke into a frantic search for the bottle of scotch that had continued to lie in his car for the past months.
Violently yanking open the dashboard, he threw the papers aside, scattering them everywhere carelessly and then stretched the seat pocket, attempting to locate the bottle. Finally, his fingers came in contact with hard, glass edges and he pulled it out in a hurry.
However, as he stared at the empty confines of the bottle that had once been filled with the dark, amber liquid, he felt his muscles coil in vexation and he thrashed the bottle against the leather seat of his car.
His knuckles whitened as he clenched his hand around the steering wheel, and he inhaled deeply, reminding himself with each breath of his purpose behind coming to the small town in the hills during the frosty, winter months of the year.
As he felt his breathing return to normal, Payal's words reverberated in his mind.
"I still resent you for leaving her alone that night, but I want to know that my sister is safe. It's a terrible world out there, and it crushes me to think that she is all alone. Her parents used to live in Shimla. I know she wouldn't have gone to Lucknow after all that happened, but please go find her. This could be our last hope."
Payal sharp gaze had been focused accusingly at him as she had disclosed to him a part of her sister's life that he had long been forgotten by their family. For weeks, she had silently watched him drown himself in expensive whiskey and his own sorrow, after a series of his unsuccessful attempts at discovering Khushi.
It was only when she had realised that offering the information to him was their last shot at discovering Khushi, she had sceptically done so. He had discerned it from the way her eyes had flashed fiercely at him.
Regret. It had scratched at the walls of delusion he had been manipulated into building around himself. The night he had lost Khushi; he had been blinded by the harsh memory of another unfulfilled wedding, of his sister's heart wrenching cries. He had heard the traumatizing sound of two successive gun shots again. He had felt the stench of fired gunpowder and burnt flesh filling the air with solemnity.
Forced to relive the pain of the fourteen year old boy who had watched his mother die in his arms, he had given in to his grandmother's deranged version of a truth that had cost him the lives of his parents.
The older woman had believed her son to be innocent. She had sworn that it was Khushi's aunt who had lured her son with her charms and engaged him in an illicit affair. And for that brief hour of unbridled emotion, he had believed that it was her who had led his mother to commit suicide.
On the night they were to be married, he had been swept away by a maelstrom of circumstance-derived sentiment, sending fury spiralling through him. All that he could see, that he could pay attention to, were the similarities between the woman he was to marry, and the woman who had apparently destroyed his childhood.
He had abandoned Khushi at the pavilion, and driven recklessly through the city. And by the time his mother's memory had helped him escaped the storm of his own rage, it had been too late for him to recover.
His last memory of the night was the flashing headlights of a vehicle blinding him and his car flipping about after ramming into a large lorry. Khushi's face had flashed before his eyes, and then suddenly everything had gone blank.
He had woken up three weeks later in a disoriented state with numerous tubes attached to his body and an excruciating pain searing through him. For another week after that, he had continued to slip in and out of consciousness, and when he had finally come to awareness and asked for Khushi, he had watched despair and regret filter into his sister's eyes before she had broken into relentless sobs.
She had left. Khushi had left.
He was told that while he had been unconscious, she had visited him once in the hospital. She had quietly watched him from afar, not speaking to anyone else and left as suddenly as she had come.
She had never returned to her house that night. Or any other night after that.
It was as if she hadn't wanted to be found by anyone. She had disappeared away from all their lives, taking with her their happiness and what was left of his heart.
Arnav clamped his fist together and shut his eyes but for a moment, collecting himself. He was here to find her, and he would.
Turning off the ignition and slipping the keys into his pocket, he stepped out of the car. With his gaze focused on the flat tyre that was fast being covered in ice, he examined the damage. He then glanced around, and realised immediately that he would not find any help whatsoever.
A brief memory of a lithe girl expertly changing the tyre of his car flashed before his eyes, curving his lips in a rueful smile. With his car parked at the corner of the road, he walked towards the crooked railing on its side, watching the deep valley that lay before him.
His gaze flitted across the beautiful landscape, and he watched the mountain peaks blanketed by snow that was glimmering under the faint and scattered rays of the sun.
The view reminded him of her, like every little thing had in the past months. She was like an allegory of the sun, a lone ray that had wandered into thick woods, and had shone her way into his cold existence, penetrating through the thick blanket that he had wrapped around himself and she had melted it away, dazzling him with her innate radiance.
An unexpected shiver made him tear his eyes away from the mountains and he turned around, realising that he wasn't exactly dressed for the low temperature in a thin jacket and his worn-out jeans. He looked farther ahead and saw a few streets lamps glow, noticing that the road was connected to the main part of the town.
He could see a few shops at a distance and hoping to find a decent shelter, he strode in that direction, rubbing his hands together to induce warmth into his body. As he got closer to the shops, he noticed that the shutters of most of the shop were dropped down. Only the streetlights on the sidewalk were glowing against the grey skies.
Disappointment stained his features, and he continued to walk ahead for a few minutes before he stopped in front of a small shop, its pink exterior catching his eyes. Emma's read the sign -- covered almost entirely in snow. As he strode closer, he observed movement through the glass windows of the cafe and watched a warm light flow through the flowered wreath that was hung on the door in welcome.
With a sigh, he pulled open the door, and heard the incessant ring of the wind-chime announce his arrival. As he stepped in, he felt three pairs of eyes turn towards him and coughed awkwardly at the sudden attention. Carefully, he lifted his eyes and instantly relaxed in the toastiness of the surrounding, the smell of freshly baked bread reaching his nostrils.
The shop looked larger than it had from the outside, and he glanced across it, taking in the few wooden tables splayed across the floor, the simple sour-cream walls decorated with glittering fairly lights -- in preparation for Christmas, he was sure -- and observed the browns effortlessly fading into pastel shades that gave it a distinct, old world charm, adding to it an aura of a quaint, French patisserie.
While he had taken his time observing the place, from the corner of his eye he had seen one of the two girls disappearing into a room that had 'Staff Only' labelled sternly on it. The other, no doubt was expecting him to take a seat and place his order, her head now buried into what he presumed was an account book.
However, just as he turned to occupy one of the tables, his gaze unexpectedly clashed with warm, grey eyes hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses. The owner of the eyes, an old woman was smiling pleasantly at him, as she leaned against one of the glass cases that housed a lavish display of exquisite patisserie. He felt himself returning a smile, and walked towards her.
"How may we help you, dear? You must be cold, out in that weather. Would you like a warm drink?"
The woman had a distinct British accent, and in the light he carefully noticed her kind, wrinkled face framed with silver hair that was turned up in a neat bun. The colour of her blue cardigan reflected in her eyes as she looked up at him expectantly.
"Just some black coffee, please."
"Of course, Meera will get it right away. Won't you, darling?"
The woman turned to the girl sitting behind the counter, who looked up from what was a novel -- and not an account book -- he realised and nodded at them, before disappearing towards the kitchen.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it. We are grateful that you came by, and in such unpleasant weather too. But what could you be doing out in such awfully heavy snowfall?"
"Searching for something...someone. My car broke down just down the road and I had no place to go."
She regarded him with an amused expression for a second before replying, "Ah! Don't you worry. We'll have it fixed just as soon as the weather calms down. Something tells me it's going to be a white Christmas this year for us hill folk. But you can stay here with us for as long as you like."
He smiled at her in gratitude. Just as silence was beginning to settle around them, the girl from earlier, Meera entered the room and served him his coffee. Surprised, Arnav noticed that she looked very young -- not more than sixteen.
Even though she smiled at him politely, it didn't reach up to her eyes, which were lacking the usual sparkle one expected in a teenager. On the contrary, she seemed oddly withdrawn an dull. In her vacant eyes, he briefly saw the reflection of the boy he used to be."
"Would you like something to go with it, dear? I wouldn't brag, but our chef here does bake some delicious desserts."
Turning away from the girl, Arnav answered, "I am sure you do have great desserts. Unfortunately, I am diabetic."
"Oh! Don't worry; we've started a sugar-free section very recently. And we have a savoury collection too. I am sure you could use something right now."
Her voice was laced with a barely perceptible command, one that he would have missed had he not spent his life scrutinising people with limited glances at them. He understood that it came from her pride for her profession, and instantly drew a hint of the strength that lay behind her seemingly delicate frame.
Arnav nodded at her. His eyes moved towards the direction that she was pointing in and he started to skim through the items on the special's board. His gaze then strayed to the glass case that had a vast selection of sugar-free desserts.
However, as his eyes flitted across them in an odd mix of marvel and disinterest, a bright orange caught his attention.
His eyes widened as rapid vignettes dashed across his eyes. For months now, he hadn't seen the twisted orange dessert Khushi had found her solace in. The bright colour stung his eyes and involuntarily, he placed his hand against the glass case for support.
"Our special Jalebi-pie then?"
"A Jalebi-pie?" his eyes narrowed incredulously.
"Oh yes! Our chef here, she invented it. It's been one of our best-selling items ever since."
Arnav felt his blood thump in his ears with anticipation. He felt the ground move beneath his feet, and clutched on to the counter to steady himself. As the ground ceased to revolve, and he returned to his senses, he turned to the woman behind the counter.
With a sense of urgency, he asked, "Can I meet the chef, please?"
Taken aback, she regarded him seriously, her eyes turning grim and then answered, "I am sorry, dear but I cannot allow it.
"Pl-please --"
However, he was cut in as the kitchen door burst open and a young girl ran towards them breathlessly.
"Gran! Gran it's Khushi, I don't know what happened. Please come inside fast!"
A/N - The story will have weekly updates, preferrably every Wednesday.
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Edited by 8520NK - 8 years ago
Cricket
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