Life, meet metaphor. Metaphor, meet Arnav and Khushi.
*****
There are days when all he wants to do is sleep-in,
imagining he was ten again surrounded by warmth of family. He makes
himself sit up in one slow and torturous motion, ignoring the nagging
pain at the base of his skull. He ignores the pain like the constant
ache in legs to move, to run away and alleviate the irritation
induced by borderline allergy to humans and mornings. Aman, his
personal aide, waits for him in the foyer talking easily with his
sister. Her smile grows brighter when he walks into her vision. He
smiles in response, almost routine like.
He slides aviators in one smooth move and sighs when
coolness settles around his eyes.
The world seems less harsher, less optimistic and
more...realistic to deal with.
*****
She talks.
He watches her, mesmerized at her ability to drift
from topic to topic with ease of a shooting star trotting across the
galaxy. She never stops to explore one topic in detail and that
fascinates him. He watches her from afar and is entranced the way her
hands flail and her body moves when she talks.
She is a walking phenomenon. Or a shooting star. He
has been stuck in a cold space between stars for so long that the her
brightness and warmth both blinds and scorches him.
He is okay with both.
*****
They collide.
Aman gives him a look of disappointment which clearly
says 'stop being a misogynistic asshole' and the people in his office
give him a sour look. He is far too gone in this whirlwind of
dislocated logic for him to hold on to thread of rationality of the
argument. The insults spew from his mouth without regards for the
human - woman in front of him.
Hours later he finds her in the almost empty parking
lot where he had earlier directed her to. It's hard to differentiate
her tears and pouring rain. Tears have seeped into her shadows.
Her eyes shine beneath her lush eyelashes as we both
get drenched in the downpour. When she looks up, its rhetorical to
pull her towards me.
*****
Her dress sticks to her skin and her skin is
freezing. He stands in front of her, imposing in his very presence
but she is too tired to be even care. She jumps when a car horn
disturbs the steady rhythm of rain and bad decisions.
His hands are rough on her skin, callous on his palm
leaving an imprint on her skin and vibrating with the space that has
nested between them. The space is growing, expanding and has started
to take a life of its own without either of them realizing.
She is trapped under his imposing form, warm and
shielding. She leans forward and settles her forehead on his
shoulder. A shudder runs through her body when his warmth seeps into
her skin and starts marking its territory.
"Let's get some coffee," he says pulling back.
"I don't like the black goo you consume in copious
quantities," she mutters in a tone that suggests the space between
them has morphed irrevocably to something else.
He smiles unnecessarily throughout their walk to the
coffee shop, their clothes sticking to their skin and shoulders
barely touching.
She starts filling the echoing silence between them
with words, he moves closer to her and their arms are touching.
His smile widens when she leans in to his touch and
continue to browse through myriad of topics.
*****
He
isn't the one to keep scores but its an inevitable byproduct of his
temperament. He sees the bubbling girl in his arms and berates
himself for enjoying her closeness when the situation evokes misery.
Her father lies twenty feet away amidst beeping machines, doctors and
nurses.
"I
am sorry for...losing it." She blubbers on his green sweater.
"It's
your father. You are allowed to." He pats her back. Her palms
clutch the front of his sweater tighter.
Pulling
back, she takes his hand in hers and explains about her adoptive
parents.
He
thinks as a courtesy he should reciprocate that by telling her about
lack of parental presence in his life. She squeezes his palm gently
and shakes her head.
"It's
okay." All she says.
He
believes her.
*****
He
watches her family from afar, sitting in his mammoth SUV. She bounces
from one spot to the next, chattering about an obscure event, hand
actions and everything. They haven't lived in the house for long but
their shadows seem to have etched a place for themselves in nook and
crevices of the house. She knows he is waiting for her, for the
goodnight kiss she promised him.
He
complains every time she makes him wait and takes great pleasure in
the way she tries to pacify him. He doesn't tell her how much he
loves watching her family interact. He laughs when she crams entire
bar of chocolate in her mouth when he threatens to take it away from
her. Laughter comes easily around her and amusement is his constant
companion.
She
plants a kiss on his cheek which is more like a smear of chocolate
and runs home, her anklets ricocheting in imbalance.
He
captures the picture the family paints and layers them on top of the
dozens more he has captured in past. He runs his index finger on his
cheek, cold of chocolate transferring to his finger now. He licks it
off clean and smiles when he repeats the process.
Its
the physical manifestation of a smile.
Diabetes
be damned.
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