*#* OS 10 - Hand in Hand *#*
CafƩ 100.
Mishti looked up at the old rickety board staring back at her. A floodgate of memories opened, drowning her in some painful, some soothing childhood memories.
Shortly after moving to Rajkot she had run into her mother here. She had pleaded and cried, not understanding why her mother had left her. And in front of her group of new friends, her mother had yelled at her to stop being a crybaby, that she had had enough with her drama, and she was done with her. She had a new life now and Mishti should too. And just like that, leaving her own daughter crying, her mother had coolly walked off, not once turning to look at her.
Yes, this place held a lot of memories. Memories of a 14 year old girl being abandoned by her own mother. Memories of a 14 year old girl whose bade Papa brought her here, trying to ease her pain, teaching her to find the strength to make new memoriesā¦
This place reminded her of the abandonment. So she tried to avoid it. This place reminded her of the love her bade Papa had given her. So she couldnāt ignore it. She didnāt love it. She didnāt hate it. But it was here that the 14 year old girl also learnt to move on.
And now, so many years later, it was here, again, that life had brought her, searching for himā¦
The frantic call from nanu told her that Abir had been very angry when he had walked out of the Rajvansh house. Nanu hadnāt told her anything else, just that Abir went to cafĆ© 100 when he was disturbed and thatās where he would be, and sheād know what to do.
She wasnāt sure of that. She wasnāt sure she could help Abir. But she was sure it he was upset about something, if something disturbed him, then thatās where she would be, by his side.
She didnāt care that his mother had warned her to stay away. She didnāt care that his mother had threatened to call off kuhuās wedding if she didnāt. She didnāt care she only needed to hold back a couple of days more until the wedding happened.
All she cared for was this man and her love for him. Even if it meant stepping into cafƩ 100 again.
Because today she wasnāt that scared, broken 14 year old. Today she was his angry chorni looking for her Ajeeb aadmi.
Yeah, she hadnāt told him how she felt, and he hadnāt ā not in direct words ā but she knew. And he knew.
Sighing, she stepped inside, her eyes searching for his face amidst the crowd.
Writers. Business meetings. Friends. Lovers. Families. No Abir.
Biting her lip, she scanned the room again, her mind working up a dozen possibilities on what had actually happened at the rajvansh house.
Every possibility her mind came up with was scarier than the previous one, so she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, when she found him.
Her heart dived into the pits of her stomach, as her eyes found him ā alone by a little table in the far corner on the room, his shoulders slouched, a cup of coffee untouched before him, his long fingers idly stroking his watch.
Suddenly feeling like that 14 year old girl again, she quickly closed the distance between them, plopping down in the chair opposite to his.
He looked up briefly, recognition flashed in his hazel orbs for a nanosecond before he masked it with indifference.
And that plunged a knife into her heart. Because this man was anything but indifferent.
Anger coursed through her. Anger, not at him, but at whatever had landed him here. And she wanted to know what the hell was going on.
Clenching her jaw, she leaned forward, hooking her fingers under chin and forcing him to look up.
If he was surprised by her action inside a crowded cafĆ© he didnāt show it. His eyes were void of any emotion. She peered at him closely. Nope. His eyes. His usually expressive, filled with joy, hazel depths were...void. just void.
And the knife in her heart twisted.
āAbirā his name was just a whisper.
His name rolled off her lips, and the dam threatened to break. Closing his eyes shut to quell down the tears forming, he gulped. When he had found Babaās chain in the store room this morning, he felt like that 6 year old whose father had rejected him. Because this chain was special Because it held the last gift a 6 year old had given his father. And baba had left it behind? He wouldnāt have believed it if nanu hadnāt said so. When he had confronted his mother about hiding this from him, nanu had told him his father had left on his own and he had tossed this chain as he left. No one asked him to.
Feeling as if his world had come crashing, he had left the house. He didnāt want to talk to anyone he didnāt even want to see anyone.
But this girl in front of him wasnāt just anyone. She was the one.
He didnāt care that he could cry his heart out today if he did what he was about to do. He didnāt care for the crowd around. He didnāt care for the world. All he cared for was the girl in front of him.
Looking up into her eyes, ready to bare his soul, he lifted his arm around his neck. Removing the long chain he wore, he tossed it in her direction.
She looked down at it. There was an oval pendant attached.
āOpen itā he said softly. She could hear the pain in his voice. With trembling hands she opened the locket.
A picture of a small boy stared back at her ā the boy was seated on a man's shoulders ā both of them grinning widely at the camera. The smile on the boys face bought a smile to her face. It was unbridled, untainted, pure unadulterated childish pleasure.
Her Abir and his baba.
He watched as tears pooled up in her eyes and a smile graced her lips. The color that had rushed off her face when she had plopped down opposite to him, now returned, adorning her nose and cheeks. And his heart healed a little.
ā thereās a note beneath the pictureā he said, pointing to the picture. She looked up at him in surprise, questioning him with her eyes if he was sure.
He nodded in response, āread itā
Her heart beating rapidly in her chest, her hands trembling, she removed the old photo from the locket. Sure enough, there was a note, neatly folded. She opened it very carefully.
Inside that small rectangular sheet of paper was a little boys love for his father.
In the top left corner he had drawn balloons ā 4 of them, in the bottom there was an immaculate drawing of a cake. But the most striking part was the words it held ā in capital, and in crooked handwriting, the words āHAPEE BUDDAY BABA. I LAV YOOā stared back at her.
Mishti looked up at Abir, tears falling down her cheeks, completely at a loss for words.
āI gave this to him on his birthday. He left that monthā Abir said, closing his eyes, the memory of his father leaving too fresh after all these years, too painful even after all these years.
Mishti didnāt say a word. She didnāt need to. All he wanted was her presence. All he wanted was for her to hear him. And she knew that.
Opening his eyes, he sighed, āMishti, baba was very different. He understood that sometimes you needed to pause and smell the flowers. He understood that life is more than money. More than businessā he trailed off, his eyes distant.
Mishti watched as Abir spoke about his father. She watched that as he spoke his face changed, the warmth that she was so used to, returning slowly.
āHe taught me you need to help where you can. He was the one who encouraged my creativity. He was my heroā
The last sentence warmed her heart and wrenched her gut out at the same time. Because it held the adulation and love of a little boy, and also the impending void his baba had left in his life. And her heart ached for him. For that little boy whose father left him. For the man who yearned for his father.
āThis watchā he said, tracing a finger over the watch, āits his. I wear it everyday.ā
āand it hurtsā he said, looking into her eyes, ā It hurts that he didnāt take it with himā he said pointing to the piece of paper in her hand, āIt hurts he isnāt here. It hurts he left. It hurts, Mishtiā he trailed off, his voice breaking, tears welling up in his eyes.
Mishti felt her own eyes pool up. She knew the pain, she had lived with it. But Abir. Abir had taken that pain and hidden it under his joyful demeanour, his art, his jokes, all these years.
And she wanted nothing more than to protect him. Him and his happiness.
āall these years, I thought baba leaving was ma's fault. I thought at least baba loved meā
Aleast...Her heart broke at that.
She wanted to tell him that she loved him. Now, and forever.
She wanted to tell him that he deserved all the love in the world. He deserved to be adored. To be cherished. To be loved. And she wanted to tell him that she would spend the rest of her life showing that to him.
But she didnāt. Not in words.
She reached forward and grabbed his hand ā an action she had done a dozen times before, and yet today, with this touch, she was telling him everything she ever wanted to tell him.
Abir looked up at her as she grabbed his hand. A streak of tears trailing down her cheek, her eyes filled with pain. His pain.
Just like that an invisible warm cocoon spread around them, alienating them from the busy little cafƩ. Suddenly, it was only him and her, their fingers entwined, their hearts beating for the other.
When he had stormed in here, he had been angry and lost. And then she had come in. Not once asking him anything. Just listening. Just being there. Showing him that she was there for him.
He looked down at her hand on his. Her fingers stroking his softly. A wave of calmness spread through him as her fingers worked their magic, the soft butterfly strokes soothing him.
He had never spoken about his father like this to anyone. Not even nanu. With her, he wanted to. It was not intentional, but just natural. How do you hide something from yourself? How do you decide to accept something to yourself?
That was what she was ā a part of him, and he was a part of her.
When he had painted her, he didnāt know what to make of it. He had then quickly understood that she was his zaroorat. As he had pulled her out of a fire, fire that she had jumped into to save that painting, he had realized he loved her and his love for her only kept increasing day by day.
His lips lifting up in a smile, he turned his hand around, grasping her fingers with his. Not long ago, he had held her hand like this, telling her indirectly that his happiness was entwined with hers. He had seen her fight with her emotions. He had seen her then eventually accept it.
Mishti squeezed her fingers over his, looking down briefly at their interlocked fingers, before looking up at the man she loved. There was a sense of tranquility on his face, a soft smile grazed his lips, his thumb gently caressing hers.
Mishti looked down again at their entwined hands, agar kisiki khushiyan tumhare khushiyan se jhudi ho toh, he had asked, why did she come out in the cyclone for him, he had asked. She looked up at him, letting the answer for his questions, and her love for him shine through in her eyes.
Abirās heart soared as he looked at the love in Mishtiās eyes. The adulation in her face as she looked at him. As if she was looking at her whole world. Him. And she was his. His whole world. This was the girl who put her life at risk for him. Jumping into fire, braving a cyclone. This was the girl who was ready to give up her self respect for him. This was the girl who had rushed to his side when she heard he was in pain. This was the girl whoās support and presence soothed his deepest aches.
This was the girl that loved him. She need not say it. He knew. And this was the girl he loved back. With all his heart and soul.
A smile graced her face as she saw what was in her heart reflect in his eyes. He smiled, seeing the smile adorning her face. Their hands entwined, their hearts beating for the other, they knew that sometimes thatās all it takes. Sometimes itās as simple as that.
Sometimes you donāt need to say I love you. Sometimes you donāt need to hear it back. Sometimes they just know. Sometimes all you need to do is hold their hand.
********
Author notes:
1. I love their unsaid "I love yous" and how they seem to understand each other without saying anything. I tried to tap into their soul connection, I hope I did a fair job.
2. This is the 100th epi celebration fic - couldn't come up with a better title. :) Better title suggestions welcome and I will change it accordingly.
3. As always R&R please.
Mridz
Edited by mridhu - 6 years ago
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