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.
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.
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.
oh god i feel like iam going through arshi life which is on another planet
This is like eating the Oreo icebox dessert, where there's one layer of cool sweet awesomeness, after the other.
Topic started by greenteaholic
Last replied by sadhnasoumya