Chapter 12 – The third First Night – Part 3
His sense of smell had always been quite strong since he was a child. He had found that it was not always a good thing because the memory of smells decayed much much slower than that of any other senses.
He walked into their room and was struck with the overpowering fragrance of a hundred flowers that were in multiple bouquets around the room, hanging off in streams from the canopy, wrapped around the bedposts, and sprinkled all over their sheets. It was disorienting after the pungent smell of liquor downstairs from the bottles that had Rishab had broken. He would like to think that is reason why he missed the smell of blood.
When he returned with a warm towel from their bathroom for the bruises that were sure to have formed on her shins, he saw her quickly turn around from sliding a book under her pillow, looking at him guiltily. He was amused and thought of telling her that he had no interest in her secrets; that he was so filled to bursting with the skeletons in the Jhaakar closet that he cared not to know anymore. But then, he became distracted by the sight of the red dotting the white of the sheet just around her feet. He rushed over to her side and lifted the edge of her skirt up to her bent knees. She was too surprised by his action to protest, but then she too noticed that her shins were not merely bruised, but leaking blood from several jagged cuts.
"Glass" they both said in unison as they looked up at each other.
He placed the warm towel over her shins and it quickly stained red as it absorbed her blood.
"Does it hurt?" she shook her head when he asked.
He lifted his eyebrows at her blatant lie but she clarified, "The chair did more damage than the glass. My entire leg hurts so much that I can't really feel the cuts."
He was taken aback that she was so candid, but pleasantly so, and told her after a pause, "Good. Don't think that suffering in silence is a virtue. It really is not…"
She appeared to think of that statement in earnest as he took the towel to the bathroom to rinse it out.
"You really think it's not a virtue? I thought that it is the best virtue in a woman…" She told him when he came back, cringing a little now as he pressed the towel back against her shin.
"No one suffers in true silence. You either expect someone to notice that you are without you having to say it, or you believe that the almighty is in fact seeing your suffering. If the former is not happening and the latter is not within your belief system, then what is the point?"
He thought that she would immediately question him about his admission that he did not believe that there was a higher power looking out for everyone, but she did not, at least not right away.
Instead, she said, "I never thought about it that way. I don't even know if I have ever suffered anything in silence that I wanted anyone else to find out without me telling them. If there has been something like that, it's usually been because I really wanted no one else to know."
He paused in his care of her wounds to look at her and wanted to remind her that she had married him without seeming to have any liking for it, but he didn't, and instead said, "I'm glad. That's the only reason to do it."
There was then a few moments of silence. When it lengthened into minutes, it made the awkwardness between them return and she finally noticed that she was missing her dupatta. Even though it startled her for a moment that she had been sitting there like that all this time, she did not want to call his attention to it and tried to be inconspicuous as she lightly shrugged her shoulders so that her hair would fall over to the front. It did not cooperate right away and she pretended to be working the kinks out of her shoulder as she gently pulled her recalcitrant mane forward.
She was sufficiently distracted with her efforts that he felt permitted to grin as he snuck a look at this struggle with the return of her modesty.
"So, are you always as gutsy as you were downstairs?" He asked as he walked back to the bathroom a second time to rinse out the towel and also give her some privacy.
She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her hair forward and covered herself before he came back.
"I don't know." She answered him when he placed the towel on her legs again. The bleeding had turned into just spotting now and he thought that this last compress would suffice to curb it completely, even though she was bound to be in much pain tomorrow from the bruising to her shin bone from the impact of the chair.
"I have never had to be fearless before." She continued as he took better stock of her wounds. "In fact, I would have thought the opposite. I hate confrontations and I never seek out any thrills. Not even scary movies or novels."
He was starting to notice that she answered each question only after giving it some consideration. He thought that it was a quality most people did not possess.
"Don't you know the true definition of brave? It's not being fearless. It's being scared, but doing it anyways." He held her gaze as he told her.
He walked away after making that statement and she looked after him, wondering. She had not thought that she was doing anything brave. In fact, if she had been given enough time to think it through, she likely would have realized what folly it was to jump in front of a raging, drunk, bull of a man and retreated to search for better options. She told him as much when he returned with a dry towel, antiseptic ointment, and bandages.
"No one with a sound mind would ever jump in front of a raging, drunk bull. You only do it if you are brave or foolish and impulsive."
"What if I am just foolish and impulsive?" She asked him seriously, not entirely ready to own a badge of bravery that she remained unconvinced of as being in her possession.
"You may be. You would know better than I. Are you?" He asked, trying to keep from smiling.
She looked away from him in thought. By then, he had finished bandaging her legs and had opened the closet and found that she had several of her clothes hanging up there already. He did not find any salwaars there though and finally pulled the shawl of one of his few sherwaani's and walked back to the bed.
"I may be…" she told him just as he handed her the shawl and gestured to her top. Her face colored at this reminder, but he did not wait around to increase her embarrassment and walked off into the bathroom to change out of his clothes.
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