It was particularly chilly. There was no wind actually, but she felt a shiver up her spine. It was not like she was freezing, but it felt like she might be. The air was not actually cool, but the nervousness it brought within her was causing a quite shudder within her.
This always happened.
She decided to do something.
She tried to do it.
She could not do it.
She stopped breathing.
Then he came.
He came.
She breathed.
She did it.
He watched her do it.
He watched her.
She did it as he watched her.
This always happened.
Well, it wasn’t going to happen now.
She had decided to do something.
She had tried to do it.
She failed to do it.
She could not breathe.
She knew he would not come.
He would not come.
Jeet Sir will not come.
Saumya had to figure out how to breathe again.
And soon.
Because the chill within her, the shaking of her hands and the shivering of her body had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the mind-numbing anxiety of failure she had developed in her sorry miserable life.
The guilt of the failure and the accompanying disappointment she knew her father would feel at her incompetence was freezing her spine, making her body unable to do anything.
The source of her warmth would not come, gone from her life.
The thought of him not being there caused her to tremble more than any guilt or any anxiety she would have to suffer. The thought of him finally gone was something that hurt her more than the feeling of her disappointing her family ever did.
His absence was causing more hurt than the crushing agitation she felt at this failure.
How could she do this?
How could she let the one person who was unwavering in his support of her cut himself off from her?
How did she allow herself to enter circumstances that brought upon his absence from her life?
How could she let her hurt at his absence of any expectations from her be the reason for her not upholding the expectations she had of herself?
He’s never expected anything from anyone.
He was the most self-reliant person she ever met. He never wanted a family, a friend, a confidant or a partner. He never expected anyone to enter his life as someone who would end up mattering to him and he guarded himself so that no one could enter his life. Period. His shields never allowed him to venture out for someone who wanted to matter to him.
And because of that, because of him not asking anything of her, because of her not doing anything anyway, she knew. She knew he would not come.
Life was supposed to be easier, better, now she had spoken her truth.
Instead, it had turned into even more of a labyrinth.
The constant track she kept over who knew and who she should tell was a continuous struggle. Some days, more days, she wished she never told her father. Other days she wished she never told him.
It was a never-ending battle she fought daily.
But then, then he would come and save her and encourage her and stand by her and she would feel a rush of warmth coursing through her veins and the giddiness of his presence would buzz within her and it was like she was winning the battle.
And then her father would look for another guy to marry her off to and her mother would incessantly beg her to get over her touch phobia and her aunt would try to support her and make her remember all the ways she had taunted her in the past and it felt like she was losing the battle.
It was strange.
Her family was supposed to be the people who made her feel like she was winning. She constantly felt like a failure, a disappointment with them.
Instead, it was him.
A glance from him, a word from him, a lesson from him, a tease from him, and it felt like she was soaring through the sky. His words, his gaze, his attention, his presence, it all made her feel like she was finally moving forward.
His ultimatum for her to tell her father.
His insistence that she deserved happiness.
His guidance for her to get over her under confident self.
His teasing over her previous Rishta so that she could relax with another guy.
His trust in her learning to fight the world by learning to fight for herself at hockey.
His friendship in his offers of fake beers so that she could relax enough to show the magic within her.
All of this to say, she hopes he is okay. Cause he’s the reason she’s okay.
And she had failed to do anything for him.
He’d stood, undefeated, but shattered within, unfeeling, his shades hiding what he truly felt, unsaying, his mouth unable to convey what he wanted said. And she could see the glass of his heart, shattered at his feet, she could feel the hurt he hid in his eyes behind his shades, and she could listen all the things he left unsaid.
But she didn’t do anything.
She couldn’t.
Because he wouldn’t look at her.
He wouldn’t even turn towards her.
He didn’t even register her.
Such brutal was his defence, that her presence was undetected. Such fierce were his shields, that she could not penetrate them had she even tried.
But she didn’t even try.
She hadn’t said anything as he left, the weight of the world on his shoulders. She hadn’t done anything to stop him when he’d left, his Baby, the one thing he let himself be attached to, with him on his journey.
It’s been a week since then. No one has heard anything of him since then. The only way Saumya even knows he’s alive is that he keeps posting ridiculous mountainous scenery on his social media. She wishes she could say that she isn’t keeping track of whatever he posts on there and she wishes she could say that she did not try to find the places he posts, but Saumya was never a liar now, was she.
Every single post, and there had been three, she awaited them, she had stalked him, tried to find where he was, but could not.
She tried to call him, but her fingers would not cooperate. She wanted to reply to him as “MuphatLadki”, but her brain would suddenly stop replying to her, she wanted to text him, but what would she even say.
She was worried.
She was really worried.
He had been really hurt.
He was not all he made himself to be.
He was really a softy.
And once he established a connection with someone, he cherishes them with his life.
One such connection he established when he came to live with them was with his grandmother. She slowly became very important to him. So important, that he couldn’t deny anything she asked of him. He was playful with her, he teased her, got teased by her, and slowly began to love his Dadi.
Nevertheless, the elder Saxena couple cannot bear to see him happy. They cannot just let him live in peace.
He wasn’t even doing anything. He was just sitting there, playing carrom with his grandmother, Krish and Tania. There was no actual need to interrupt them. They were in their own bubble. She had seen them together and she had seen the happy glint in his eyes, and she had seen him be happy after a long time and she had seen the glimpses of him that were untainted by the things he was tainted with.
She should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
She should’ve anticipated the need to stand by him.
She should’ve mustered up all the courage she reserves for herself to fight to keep him happy.
But she didn’t.
Afterwords, she would be reminded of the look on his face again and again. The expression on his face when he realised what the elder Saxena couple was saying. When he realised that he could’ve had a father, a happy mother and a full life, had it not been for the woman he had just begin cherishing. When he realised that his grandmother was the one to force his father to leave his mother alone and return home to his wife and children.
That his grandmother too, was responsible for some of the wrong in his life.
That she was also doing everything, connecting with him, loving him and accepting him, out of a place of misplaced guilt, guilt of making a father leave his son and lover alone, so that he could live the rest of his life in penance with the woman he was married to.
That she had inadvertently made Jeet a victim by punishing her son and his lover.
Saumya should’ve said something when he was walking away, but her tongue was stuck, unable to form a word. She wanted to reproach, his father, his grandmother, their entire family, but her gaze was stuck on him.
He did not even look at her. His gaze had made a beeline towards the exit of their neighbourhood, and she had done nothing but stood as he had left.
He’s done so much for her, and she did not say anything when they were hurting him, she could not say anything when he left. Hell, she couldn’t say anything even after he left.
What she could’ve done was not console his grandmother. What she could’ve done was blame his grandmother for being a part of the reason his life was ruined. What she could’ve done was shouted at the rooftops that her Jeet Sir did not deserve this.
That he does not deserve all this hate, all this hurt, from the people who are supposed to be his own.
She didn’t do anything of the sort.
She consoled his grandmother, she did not blame her, she did not shout.
She certainly didn’t say anything, not for anybody, not for him.
She thinks she is being punished for it.
She’s not seen him for a week.
She’s been alone for a week.
She knows he is not coming because last night, she’d seen another mountain scenery on his social media, and she’s not been able to figure out where he is since.
She knows she is alone, on this stage, somewhere she had agreed to stand on because she had seen the mischievous glint in his gaze when he had indirectly challenged her, teasing her for her lack of coordination, goading her to enter a dance competition and then shutting her out of his life.
He was the one to goad her, tease her, challenge her, how could he not be there for her when she needed him.
Her hurt slowly turned to anger.
Fury.
At herself, for not stopping him, at him, for not stopping, at herself, for not making him stay, at him, for not staying.
Amongst the jeers from the crowd that were supposed to be her peers, Saumya, for the first time in a long time, felt livid.
The seething wasn’t enough to drive away the chill she still felt. Her blood boiling wasn’t enough to chase away the freeze she felt in her bones.
Hot and cold.
Both, at the same time.
Oh, how she wished he was there.
Actually, he was supposed to serve no purpose whatsoever for her performance today. She was supposed to be dancing with a partner, a female partner, someone she had been training with for over two weeks, someone who had fractured her foot that morning.
He was just supposed to be here.
Watch her succeed.
Or fail.
She sighed, took a deep breath, and moved towards the corner of the stage she stood on, where the mic was placed, to announce that she would not be able to perform today due to a distinct lack of a partner for her.
A sudden warmth coursed through her. The chill in the air vanished. A brush of air at the nape of her neck made her shiver, the cold no longer was the reason.
She felt his presence before she even heard his voice. She breathed in his scent before she even turned to look at him. She tried to calm her static heart long before she could let his effect take over her.
She settled as soon as their gazes met.
Before she could say anything, before she could get angry, before she could even talk to him, the tune to the song she’s practised on for two weeks now, started in the background.
She looked up, and then around, and then down, realising that the music coordinator had started the music as soon as he’d seen a partner with her on stage.
She moved towards the edge of the stage, looking down where the coordinator was on his computer and was just about to try to grab his attention and make him stop the music when she was stopped.
Jeet Sir was not her partner.
She could not even touch him.
How was she supposed to perform a dance with someone she couldn’t even touch?
How was she supposed to dance with a partner who was a guy?
How was she supposed to dance with him?
How could she dance with her Jeet Sir?
However, before she could even try to reach the edge of the stage, he was there, between her and where she wanted to be.
Their gazes met again as the music intensified.
He began to move towards as the song progressed. She moved backwards, towards the centre of the stage as he followed her footsteps.
Her eyes moved from his eyes to his feet, in sync with her own feet, as he didn’t stop moving, and looked up to his eyes once again. An unspoken conversation happened between them, him asking her to let him dance with her.
An unspoken ask was answered as she raised her hand when she reached where she was supposed to start the dance. Her hand was raised flat in the middle while her back faced the audience, her heart anxious for how she would react if her toucher her.
He didn’t.
His palm faced hers, his front faced the audience.
His black outfit was a perfect contrast to her white one.
She was covered from head to toe, in a white full sleeved blouse with a full skirt in white with silver accents. One could only see her face, her collarbones, her hands and her feet.
He was as he always was, his black kurta unbuttoned halfway, below which he wore his black pants, loose fitted. He too, was barefoot, and his abs a peek away, his hair flowing without any help from the air.
Their gazes met as they turned, their palms like parallel lines, together, yet not touching.
Hona, Tera Hona…
They changed their palms, once again parallel, not touching, as they changed the direction they took turns in.
Paana, Tumko Paana…
She turned to face the audience, yet again in the centre, aware of every step he took around her, before he stood, just a step behind her, following her every step, just as she had practised.
Jeena Hai, Yeh Maana…
She stomped the ground as she jumped, her hands flowing in the air as she landed, hyper aware of his breath as he followed her.
Pal Bhar Mein Sadiyan,
Hai Sadiyan Mein…
Her arms spread to embody the whole world as her feet took her sideways, to accommodate his presence behind her, her eyes found his, the question of how he could follow her perfectly when they hadn’t even seen each other for a week.
Jeena Hai, Yeh Maana…
She turned away from him as he reached for her, his touch entirely unwanted as she escaped him, but a touch she craved from within her. She surrounded him, spinning around him as he looked at her, taking in the hand that had almost touched her, near his face, as he took her in.
Haath Mein Teri Khushboo Hai…
His hand then landed on his heart, a smile on his face as his hand slid from his heart to his neck, to his hair, as he shook his hair and threw his hand away from himself.
Khushboo Se Dil Behla Hai…
His other hand followed his first, imitating sand slipping from his fingers as she leaned down to catch the imaginary sand slipping away from him.
Yeh Haathon Se Yoon Phisla Hai…
She landed on her knee in front of him, her hands cupped together, to hold the sand he had let go of. She looked up at him to find he was already looking at her.
Ho Jaise Rait Zara Si…
He backed away from her, looking away from her, letting her breath again, as she began looking at her cupped hands while standing up, reading the book of love the singer sang about.
Roz Mohabbat Padhta Hai…
Her hands found her heart as she intertwined her fingers, swaying to the tune of the song as he took a turn around her this time, not spinning, just observing her.
Dil Yeh Tumse Judta Hai…
She swayed her hands away from herself, catching on to the sand flying away from her.
Hawaaon Mein Yoon Udta Hai…
Her fingers imitated sand slipping from the gaps of her fingers. His hands came close to her again, cupping together below hers, him being the one to catch the sand this time.
Ho Jaise Rait Zara Si…
He kneeled before her, a something in his gaze, a something that looked a lot like reverence. He stood slowly, his hands moving towards hers as she turned hers so that their palms were facing each other again. Parallel and untouching.
One of her hands waved, his other followed, they leaned away from each other, in opposite directions, one of their hands behind them while the other still stayed parallel from each other. They faced each other again, lifting their untouching hands above them. He flattened his palm above her, over her, while she kept her hand in a fist, spinning in her place. They were a hair’s breadth away from each other but still remained untouching.
She stopped spinning for him, facing his chest, breathing deeply, her heart continued lurching.
Yeh Halchal, Dil Ki Yeh Halchal…
She leaned away from him, leaning back as his hand followed her body, his fingers waving as if to pull her back to him.
Bole Aaj Aas Pass Tu Mere…
She followed his fingers, controlling her like she was a puppet with her strings attached to his fingers.
Bikhra Hoon Main Toh…
She let her body free, as if she had cut the strings away, drifting away from him, letting herself flow away from him.
Kuch Pal Hawa Mein…
She flowed as he followed, a step away from her, his body dancing with her, parallel to her as she let the wind guide her.
Tere Bharose Ko Thaame…
As she turned when she couldn’t feel him anymore, she saw he didn’t follow behind her. And suddenly she was the one following him.
Chalna Bhi Hai, Badalna Bhi Hai…
She followed as he danced away from her, as if he was the reason she was existing after all, her strings reattached, she being the one reattaching them.
Tujhmein Hi Toh Dhalna Bhi Hai…
She leaned down, shrinking herself as he turned to protect her from an imaginary adversary. His body still not touching her, his breath still heavy above her, his gaze still revered.
Dil Thoda Jazbaati Hai…
She looked up at him, their gazes meeting again, lost in each other again. Everything melted away when he was with her. She felt the calmness she hadn’t felt this past week. She felt like she could face the world with his eyes on her.
Bhar Jaata Hai Baaton Se…
She had to say so many things to him. She was angry, she was sad, and she was hurt. She blamed him for not even keeping her in the loop about his whereabouts. She was angry at him for backing away from his promise of staying within her line of sight.
Yeh Phir Chhalke Yoon Aankhon Se…
But most of all, most of all, she was angry at herself for letting him do this to himself. Her eyes shone with tears as she stood slowly, his gaze filled with unshed tears also, as he let her stand.
Ho Jaise Rait Zara Si…
As her tears escaped her eyes, he rushed towards her, his hand cupping her face, almost, untouching yet, but she wasn’t afraid. She desired his touch.
Haath Mein Teri Khushboo Hai…
He chuckled, stepping away from her, looking at the hand that had almost touched her just now, and looking at her again.
Sach Poochho To Ab Yoon Hai…
And he broke into step, and she followed, his hands covering his face as he looked up, before moving to the centre stage once again, his palm in front of him, his gaze finding hers again.
Tu Chehre Pe Mere Thehra…
He waited as she spun towards him, her palm flattening parallel to his as they stopped at once again at the centre of the stage in their first position.
Ho Jaise Rait Zara Si…
They spun, their hands in the middle, parallel and untouched as the song ended.
Her chest heaved. She was tired. She was refreshed. She was cold. She was hot. She felt everything all at once.
She felt alive.
Finally.
There he was, his expressionless face unable to hide what he was feeling, no, not from her.
She tilted her head, inquisitive, when she finally realised something.
She finally realised that he too, was glad, as glad she was, to see her.
She finally realised that he too, felt what she felt when she saw him again after what was only a week but what had felt like a lifetime.
She finally realised that they could’ve avoided all the hurt, all the fear, all the guilt, all of it, had he not left her in the wind, uncaring and unable to follow.
The irritation she felt was not at his running away, it was at him running away and staying out of touch and his unassuming failure to tell her his whereabouts and making her worry over him.
Her annoyance was at herself too, she was unable to stop him, unable to stand by him, unable to make him care enough to tell her what was hurting him.
But her fury was reserved for him.
How could he dare to assume that she would be okay for even a moment if he ever disappeared from her sight?
How could he possibly be stupid enough to assume that she wouldn’t look for him if he ever disappeared from her life?
How could he even think that she would be able to live without his presence in her life?
All these questions, unanswered, but his lips were set in a smirk that made her register the applause that echoed around the auditorium. She startled, looking away from him towards the audience. She did not care for her victory now.
Not when all her questions were unanswered still.
She huffed, picking up her full-length skirt, before she dashed away from the stage to the back room, to the exit, to finally towards the open ground.
He was gone.
For one whole week.
He was gone and she had worried and she had felt guilty and she had felt sick and she was tired and aimless and sad.
And he was back.
Just like that.
She had stalked him on the internet and now he stood behind her.
She had cried herself sick and he was giggling behind her.
She had crushed in self-doubt, and he was smirking at their win.
She turned around as he called her.
The tone of his voice as he called “Junior” irritated her to no end.
His grin fell as he looked at her and finally noticed her state.
She moved towards him, rushed towards him, stopping just a step away from him, and pointed at him, glaring, she stopped him, “Mujhse toh aap baat hi nahi kijiye.”
His face fell, an unknown emotion, that looked a lot like rage, flashed behind his gaze, and he asked, his voice low, “Kya hua Junior?”
She scoffed, he was angry, he, who had dropped off the face of the earth and was back like nothing was wrong, she huffed, “Kya hua? Kya hua? Yeh aap puch rahe hai?”
His jaw clenched as he swallowed, his eyes flashing, “Haan. Mein puch raha hun.”
She threw her hands in the air at his audacity and turned away from.
He called her again, his “Junior” a balm to her body but a burn to her heart, but she interrupted him, “Ek hafta.”
She turned to face him again, his face dropped, “Aath din, baara ghanta, tera minute aur---", she glanced at her watch, “unees second.”
He tried to speak again, to maybe explain himself, but she didn’t let him, “Itna waqt beet gaya hai mujhe aapko dekhe hue.”
She looked as he looked away from her, but she didn’t let him, forcing herself into his line of sight, she continued, “Itna samay meine sirf yeh sochte hue bitaaya hai ki Jeet Sir kaha honge. Kaise honge. Theek honge ki nahi honge. Ke unhone jaate waqt bataya bhi nahi ki woh kaha jaa rahe hai. Ki unhone jaate waqt meri taraf mudke bhi nahi dekha. Kya mujhe unhe call karna chahiye. Kya unhe ek message kar dun.”
He scoffed, interrupting her, “Toh kar deti thi naa. Kisne roka tha?”
She snarled, “Kaise karti thi? Kaise? Aapne kabhi bhi yeh dikhaya hai ki aapko meri baaton se, mere calls se, mere messages se, mujhse farak padta hai? Aapne kabhi yeh jataya hai, ki mere hone yaa naa hone se aapko farak padta hai?”
She sighed, defeated as he looked away from her again. She looked at him and then at her feet, before continuing, “Par aapko toh pata hai naa.”
He looked at her again, his eyes questioning, and she answered, “Aapko toh pata hai, ki aapki baaton se, aapke dohon se, aapki seekh se, aapke hone se, aapke naa hone se, aapse, mujhe kitna farak padta hai?”
She couldn’t look away from him even if she wanted to, and she didn’t even want to, lest she missed him again. She sniffled, “Ek call, ek message, kuch toh chod dete mere liye.”
He moved towards her, slowly, as if she was a small animal he was afraid to spook. He began, his hands in front of her to calm her down, “Dekho Saumya, mujhe sach mein nahi laga tha ke tumhe meri itni chinta hogi---.”
But she interrupted him again, almost shouting, almost begging, “Kaise nahi laga? Aapko yeh kaise nahi laga ke mujhe aapki chinta hogi?”
“Kyunki kissi ko nahi hai,” he shouted, “kissi ko bhi meri chinta nahi hai Saumya.”
Her heart shattered again, the usually hidden hurt in his eyes was clear as daylight in that moment. The usually hidden pain in his heart was spelled on his face in that moment. The usually strong defence laid crumbled at his feet in that moment. And her heart broke for him.
He moved towards her, leaning down to her eye level, unshed tears unhidden in his eyes, “Maa aur Nani ke baad iss duniya mein koi nahi bacha hai mere liye care karne wala Saumya. Koi nahi. Apne dil ki karna, kissi ko bina kuch bataye apni zindagi jeena, kissi ko apna haal bina bataye kahi se bhi ghum ho jaana, yeh sab meri aadat ban gayi hai Saumya. Koi nahi hai aisa iss duniya mein jisse yeh farak padta hai ki mein kaha hun, kya kar raha hun, kyun kar raha hun. Arrey aisa koi nahi hai iss duniya mein jisse iss baat se farak padhta ho ki mein zinda hun yaa fir ma---.”
She couldn’t stop herself.
She couldn’t stop herself from stopping him as he was about to speak of himself like that.
She couldn’t stop herself from stopping him of speaking of his own death.
She couldn’t stop herself from covering his lips so that he would stop speaking of himself in such harsh words.
His eyes widened at her touch while she gazed at her own hand covering his lips in shock.
She looked at her hand touching his face in wonder.
A crack of lightening hit the sky and the rain soon followed as soon as the sound of thunder was unheard under the beat of her own heart. The rain had an apt timing. She had laid herself bare to him in a moment similar to this. His weakness, his vulnerability mirrors what she had felt that day. She knew he had reached out to comfort her that day, he hadn’t when she had shifted away from him in fear.
She didn’t fear him now.
She was touching him.
And all she felt was relief.
The rain poured, wetting them to the bones, but they remained.
Her gaze met his in wonder, in disbelief, in shock, in giddiness.
She took a step towards him, the sound of rain surrounding them, and she wanted to let her hand slide away from him, but it had a mind of its own. She ended up cupping his jaw, her palm feeling the coarseness of his beard. He swallowed, his gaze stuck on her. Her fingers moved, her hand sliding towards the side of neck.
He shuddered under her touch, a small tear escaping his eyes as he closed them, blending in the rain that fell on his face.
Did he only let himself cry in the rain, she wondered.
Her hand moved to cup his cheek again, her thumb catching the stray tear drop, when he opened his eyes again.
She shivered, “Mujhe farak padhta hai.”
Her gaze was unwavering as she continued, “Aapke jeene se, marne se, hone se, naa hone se, mujhe bahut farak padhta hai. Mujhe fikr bhi hoti hai, bechaini si hoti, saas atak jaati hai, jab aap mere aas pass nahi hote hai.”
He looked away from her, his gaze moving behind her, but she nudged him, with the hand she had on his cheek, to look at her, and continued when his eyes met hers, “Please, please aainda se mujhe fikr mat karne dijiyega.”
He chuckled at her request, sniffling too. Then his hand raised to hold the one she was touching him with, but his gaze found hers, in question, in permission.
She smiled as she nodded and shuddered when he held her hand, closing her eyes at the warmth she felt from his touch. His asking for her permission, his moving away from her without her prompting him, his speeches when she was stuck, his fear for her, his fight for her, his care for her, his touch for her, everything made her feel safe.
His touch was life-changing, his touch filled her with hope, with care.
With love.
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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