The walk back from the BSD headquarters seemed excruciatingly long since the last few nights. The usual of the paltry ten minutes felt much prolonged to his tired feet, as they lumbered along the way to home. The eight hours spent in his dreary cabin spent looking at the men decked in foliage green uniforms wandering in and out of his office, filing reports and paperwork had taken a toll on his mind that had recently started getting accustomed to having an almost continuous blur of colors flitting around him incessantly. And annoyingly enough, these very hues, the magenta and the yellow along with the light bouncing off the tiny mirrors embossed generously over her skirts had stared to grow on him, tiptoeing under his skin silently, with extreme naivety or probably with careful eloquence.
A stream of a warm, piquant aroma invaded his senses and he turned his sight to the tea stall that had by then fallen behind his footsteps. He let out an exasperated groan. Even the rudimentary amenities of his life had been glazed by her essence, sliding so very slowly over his cautious smokescreens and hurtful taunts, that the very glass of tea he had been drinking all his life from the headquarters' canteen had started tasting dreadfully bland to his taste buds. Rather, the sight of those hands, the painted red nails against the pristine white cup of steaming tea, the morning after their return from Jaipur still haunted his mind from time to time probably stealing away his ability to ever come close to liking another cup of tea, from elsewhere.
She had begun to evoke feelings in him; he didn't know he was capable of experiencing. Every so often he would sense the fog breaching in again, slowly diminishing the tangible into a blur. A blur of crimson red and intoxication. He had wanted to kiss her that night, just comply with the lure of the silken skin beneath his hands, and the soft lips beneath his gaze. But surprisingly enough, having her in the vortex of his arms, secure and wound around him like a vine, her face tucked under his chin, life seemed wonderful. There wasn't a thing he could have asked for, to make that night more flawless than it already was. That night was wedged in his heart - their befuddled bodies slipping into layers of cotton sheets and tipsy nuances.
The first thing he heard upon stepping foot into the house was Maithili informing him that Paro had been running a fever. She had also tactfully mentioned that it was just slight and that she had taken the required medicines, but he had chosen to overlook it, though subconsciously. Stupid, stupid girl -the words ran through his mind in a loop. He had begun to understand that his wife seemed to be incapable of taking care of herself. He also fixated upon the fact quite often, that being somewhere around her, having her face in his direct line of vision could somehow miraculously save her from all the despairs of the world. The monumental ridiculousness of this notion though didn't strike his otherwise intelligent mind, not once. Yet, this time he hadn't evaded from acquiescing to the small skip in his heartbeat when he saw her sprawled across the bed limply. He had deliberated on giving her a good shouting the second he had barged into their room, but somehow all that strength left his body in a staggering whoosh upon seeing her face. Dappled by the light from the small lamp, on the bedside table, her face seemed unruffled and at peace. A stray strand of hair flitted over her brow, and his fingers itched to put it away. And so he did, letting his inhibitions run awry till they lingered over her skin, that night - slightly warm. Slowly, the hesitance harbored by his hands slipped away leaving in its wake a delicious, leisurely pace. For more than a flicker of a second, the visual of his fingers digging into her cheeks, as they held her chin cruelly, fuelled by heedless anger scorched his mind. A bitter ache shrouded his heart spurring it into analyzing and probably overanalyzing the occurrences of the past few days. And of late, that had been happening a lot. His sitting down on a chair in a room cloaked by darkness, fingers trailing over the wooden armrests as he thought, and wondered for nights galore, of this guilt, this pain delineating his body, his organs, all brewed up due to the limitless affection her eyes conjured up for him.
The universal ailment, of falling in love with that one person who defied everything sane in his world had somehow seemed to befall him, and how. That transitory moment from when she lifted up her eyes from someplace else to his own, he felt at such surreal peace. Peace that reminded him, that possibly he had finally found someone, somebody he could always come back to, a place, where he finally belonged to. It oddly felt like home, a term he hadn't familiarized with, in a long, long time. With these bursts of realizations also came afloat another line of thought. Something he was more than familiar with. The pain of his physical wounds withstanding of the many battles he had waged, had near about healed or would completely, in the years to come. But the damage done to his spirit, the other kind of hurt still persisted. But like a fistful of sand, that too seemed to be slipping away from amidst his fingers. Those scarred places, he had been so careful with were being painted over by the sweet, contagious words slipping from the mouth of the woman who slept before him without a care in the world. Her drunken confessions had somehow managed to get stuck in his brain with the strongest of adhesives, not that he wanted to get them out.
And this wonder of a woman, with her persistent declarations of love had managed to make his dreary soul sing (albeit, very badly), dance and smile like he never had in ages, in all but a span of a week. He had brushed off the layers of dust settled upon the roguish corners of his brain and spouted up a prank, to which his delightfully nave wife was subjected to. Then he had done the unthinkable, by sitting across a bangle seller discussing in detail, the various shades of pink for nearly an hour. Yet the sudden torrent of joy leaping about in his chest at the dazzling smile she bestowed on him upon eyeing the stack of the bangles in his hand was unexpected, to say the least. And, this entire ruckus, for what? The simple need of her forgiveness. He hadn't wanted to care, had he? But it seemed grossly unacceptable to him, that she wouldn't speak to him. And so he wondered if this meant that he would stop being the reason behind her hurt eyes, her bruised ego. He wondered if he could stay away from acceding to the appeal of the resentment, the insecurities that he had built his life with. They after all, were simpler to deal with than this sudden adulation he was being presented with. Because lately there had been a buzz within his heart, something he hadn't noticed with other women. The hum seemed to only get louder, making him dizzy. And whenever she walked away from him, it only intensified. He marveled if this sweet, strange pain could be love?
He felt her stir beneath his hands. Her lips parted ever so slightly, as he felt this innate need to touch her reassuring himself that she was really here, in his bed and with him. The last thought on his mind as he kissed the corner of her mouth, was that, giving her up was no longer an option. He would apologize and make up for every fight he engaged her in. He would compensate for every tear she shed with a smile next day, but letting her walk away from the picture of his life was inconceivable. And so, he slipped into his bed, next to his wife, pulling her close and taking her hand in his. He could after all, just tell her she took hold of his, sometime during the night, he thought with a small smile playing on his lips.
Topic started by mistyrains
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