Note: Once again, not fully edited- I'll get on that after I am freed from the bonds of calculus. It's a sort of sequel to Khamoshi, although, not totally one- I'm not sure how to describe it. I hope you enjoy it!
The sputter of the motorcycle outside caused her to rush outside, dropping the pans she had been washing with a clatter on the floor.
Her face fell when she realized it was only a random man, traveling on a broken, scarred red scooter. She watched from the doorway of Mamisa's house as he drove up down the road.
Her throat tightened as a woman opened the door, her face lighting up at the sight of the man. She didn't hug him or openly display affection, but the love emanating from her, the gentle brush of her hand against his, made her own eyes well up with hot tears.
She had left a week ago without a word to him. No apology, no explanation. She had tried to write a note, grabbing a pen and a torn, worn sheet of paper and sitting on the cool floor while everyone napped in the afternoon.
She had scratched out the first letter of his name, barely able to recall the curves of the letters she had learned so long ago. She tried to write the rest, but found that she couldn't. Her hand stiffened at the noise of the pen scratching against the paper, the sound grating and harsh to her ears.
Her fingers tightened around the pen, attempting to make the twisted half circle of the second half of his name. She knew how to make it, but her hands wouldn't obey her mind.
Only one letter was burned into her skin, his fingers ghosting over her wrist over and over again. She could feel the cool mehendi that made her tremble, his seductive, deep timbers caressing her, taunting her as he dragged the tip slowly in the shape of an 'r'.
Her lower body clenched at the memory, the heat pooling at her center. Her eyes fluttered shut as her breathing quickened, her tongue unwittingly slipping out to lick her chapped lips, her face heating up at the thoughts running through her head.
She longed for him to draw all over her, write his name over and over into her bare, naked skin. He would make her shudder with desire, engraving himself into every portion of her as he wrote his name over and over again, the tips of his rough, calloused fingers using her as his canvas.
Her hands moved of their own volition, writing the 'r' over and over again, until her entire paper mirrored her own body. It was covered in the first letter of his name, the blue ink seeping through the pages and staining her palms with the letter, the faint lines of her impeccable penmanship dotting the fair skin.
If she didn't learn anything else, she wanted to learn his name. Her hands still remembered the engraving outside of his office, the smooth, crisp letters that stood on the shiny sign on the door.
Her hand shook as she turned the paper over, lifting the pen to attempt it once more. This time, she strayed from the familiar strokes of Hindi, allowing her mind to travel back to the sign she had seen.
R.
She made a straight line down, pressing into the paper with force. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to remember how the letter looked, the words she shouldn't understand, but somehow intuitively did.
Her hands moved again as she drew the gentle curve, moving in a precise diagonal line carefully. She lifted the pen from the paper, examining the large letter in the center of her paper.
She didn't notice the tears streaming down her cheeks until they splattered onto the paper, causing the calligraphy to smudge as the ink separated. The tears came faster and harder, her chest heaving as she cried, the paper completely soaked in the salty water.
Her tears seemed too hot, scalding her skin as they fell. Her eyes burned as the salt settled in, stinging her and turning them a violent red that matched her parting. She crumpled up the paper in her hands, allowing the smudged ink to stain her hands once more.
When she looked down, the R that had been imprinted by the leaky paper in her palms was gone, smudged and broken.
She had left that night. Her hands had reached out before she walked out of the door, brushing away the piece of hair on his forehead.
She stilled for a moment over his skin, relishing the soft heat traveling through her fingers.
Her hand moved once more, in a pattern familiar to her.
She drew the final line through the tops of the letters, picturing her own name in his skin. She wanted to leave him with something, burn a part of herself into him the way he had for her.
Her name would have to do.
She sat on the porch of Mamisa's small cottage that night, devastation tainting her every pore. Her hands held the small, corded phone, winding the curly wire around her wrist as she listened to the empty dial tone.
Mamisa had begged her to come in, to grab a shawl at least. She ignored it, wanting the cool night air to calm her heated, pained thoughts.
She could hear his gruff voice coming across the line, whining like a little boy in shoes too big for his own feet.
He could take care of himself, he would insist.
But he allowed her to do it anyway, let her pamper him and heal him in her own way. She would call every day, even though she knew he could remember on his own.
She needed him to need her.
Her eyes drooped, her mind conjuring up the sputtering sound from earlier that morning, picturing a shiny black motorcycle driven, sparkling aviators hiding the expressive dark eyes.
She stilled when a rough, calloused finger brushed against her wrist, grasping her hand tightly and lifting it towards the bronze arm.
He held her fingers gently, guiding her hand in the shape of her name across the skin dusted with coarse hair.
She didn't want to open her eyes, fearing it was a dream. Her throat burned with unshed tears, unwilling to allow herself to believe.
Her eyes flew open when the callused hand reached up to her eye, brushing away the stray tear that had escaped the confines of her lids.
He had come.
Geet - Hui Sabse Parayee
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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