Somersaults of the Heart
I saw him through the library's window. His face appeared like a stone painted white and a pair of almond shaped eyes punched in it perfectly. Talking of his eyes, they change color. They're violet when he's angry and a soothing shade of blue, when he's at his pretentious best – his normal way. Having said that, whatever normal his normal is subjected to – it matters very less to me for, his soothing deep eyes work wonders on me. They're sea deep, it seems and chant mantras. I don't know if the females who drool over him feel the same too, I guess not. Perhaps, nobody knows this man like I do.
His lips pursed and his eyes still, concentrating on the tier of a motorcycle parked right in front of his eyes, the eyes that changed color. To have him unlock the grip of his lips together, seemed like the remotest idea. Although, the expression he wore was similar every time I saw him in a day, I missed the curling up of his lips that I witnessed yesterday night. When everybody laughs, Abhay Raichand smirks, I see. However, I don't know if he takes any pride in carrying that very attitude of 'distinction' everywhere he goes.
For what felt like a moment, I was informed I stared at him half an hour. He rested their like a statue, probably sick and tired of my investigations. Imagination is a threat to sanity. It is the easiest to believe, though. I wouldn't deny that every niche of this issue smells like a whole lot of trouble and this fellow, truly a knight with the shining armor. Or maybe, the knight who prefers appearing bad would be the right statement to associate with him.
Misha passed by the library! This would have been a flabbergasting moment, but it refused to ring with me. The document in my hand blurred my sight. For once, it felt like I was being dipped into acid, I had spoiled Abhay's birthday. I did not waste time in ruminating any further; I decided I should make up for what I had done. I handed over the documents to Misha and ran down the staircase like a maniac. I swear, with that speed – I could have managed to win at least one race of the many that I participated in back at my orphanage. The vision of the document with Abhay's particulars and the mention of his birthday being today flashed through my mind for the hundredth time probably, when my lips twitched into a smile on seeing him! Still, sitting like a statue. Lifeless!
He looked up to address me before I could even approach him. It was weird, as always. It seemed like he could hear the sound of my footsteps, maybe this is a little dramatic. So, it seemed like he was already expecting me. Or rather, he could just read my mind – from whatever distance he was from me. He instantly stood up and waited for me to reach him. There was a regretful anguish regulating through my body. He isn't somebody I am extremely open with, so the sorry did not occur naturally nor was it obviously displayed on my face, I am sure of that. I expected him to start the conversation, which he looked exceedingly uninterested in.
One moment, he makes me feel like his most priced possession and the other he makes me feel I am an utter pain to him, like I cause him an injury very deep with my every sight I provide him with. The words of apology felt heavier than an elephant on my heart, which thudded in my throat. And no, I never carried an elephant. I am not sure if I ever saw one really. It was like; I automatically lifted my face up to look at him with the sudden hope that had risen in me, even after his candid loss of interest in any of my talking. It showed.
He tasted defeat, I believe. He gave up all the disinterest, probably because he knew that neither I could start the conversation nor was I letting him move an inch before I recited my apology. What do you want, Pia? He questioned, and I sympathized. I knew I was being a pain and all of a sudden, the words came out right. His gaze on me did not affect it, trust me. No distraction at all, because what felt the most important was his birthday issue. That I spoiled it! I am extremely sorry for all my stupidity, mean it. Really sorry! I managed at last.
Now the strange thing happened, his sighed in relief. He never made an expression like that before, did he? He seemed so immensely normal that moment. My normal, a normal person's normal. He seemed to have gotten rid of what felt like a dinosaur's weight on his shoulders. However strong they might be, it felt like he really was relieved of some sort of baggage he was carrying. That his strength was washing away but my words or maybe something else I did not notice made a difference. The I-am-warning-you look seemed to be a thing of the past, outright history. He seemed himself again. Yes, that means the sighing session was over and he was his normal, accordingly.
You don't have to be sorry, about anything. He retorted. He was quick, I was the one busy noticing the everlasting and ironic reminder of the normal saga. And the latter two words came out from his mouth like it was against his will. That something forced him to say that, I guess. Nevertheless, the next instant in the very same curt tone of his, I received an invitation to his birthday party. Happy birthday Abhay, I mumbled. I am sure he still heard that and enjoyed his private moment of a chuckle.
In the college campus where we stood, we were surrounded by a hundred pairs of eyes and provided he always has eyes on him, butterflies fluttering and flip-flopping about him – it felt embarrassing when he held my hand gently in his and kissed it. No wonder, it was as gracious as anything he does, or that is how it appears to me! The acid in my stomach churned at a wind fast speed and only I know how humongous and difficult a task it was to hold back the tomato red color until he left. And as much as it could, my thudding heart practiced a very fine set of somersaults when it and I were alone in my room. We feared we and our acrobatic skills could be exposed to my Dobriyal sisters, though. They could come in anytime; technically it was their room I share, after all.
I dressed myself up, but couldn't revoke the authority of appearing crimson without the application of Tracker's gift, the blush-on. I am not very positive about this, but I think Misha saw my instant and natural glow when she entered the room and darted her chewing gum on the mirror. Sigh.
Edit*
There are no two ways about it. This OS, like many of your other writings, was awesome! (:
