Hi fam!

Update dedicated to:

Nisshhaa_MaNan your smile lights up someone's whole world, you're so strong and YOU'RE NOT ALONE. everyone loves you.

All you lovely people who commented on last chapter and made me feel so amazing and loved. <3

a BIG BIG shoutout to all those who're struggling with anything, ANYTHING from an exam stress to a mental disorder, who're trying their best to fit in and smile and be a better person for the world they live in.
I know how it feels. I wasn't myself for months and nobody noticed. I know how being crushed and disappointed and overthinking until you cry yourself to sleep feels.
Just remember, you're not alone. You're all brave as fuck and you'll get through this one day.

Feel free to text and talk it out anytime. Sometimes, talking to a stranger helps.

Happy Reading! Your comments make me so happy.

✿

[unedited]

Nandini

I took in the gorgeous setting around me, trying to replicate it on the canvas. Green grasses. Blue skies. Long, colourful tulips. And a lot of peace. Every artists's heaven.

In case you're wondering, I haven't really eloped from the life I was living. I'm still in school. The break had ended, and we returned back to our classes, but I took my time to end up in my school's garden instead. I couldn't paint. At home as well, nothing interested me anymore, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could take a chance here.

This was the most beautiful place, not just in my school, but in the entire town. Like I've said, Folks isn't known for having blue skies or flower fields. And this might be the only place in the entire town where you could see the blue sky and greenery of flowers from once place.

Like I said, an artists's heaven.

However, I couldn't bring myself to pick up that canvas and paint anything on it. I found myself staring at the tulips blankly, a hundred thoughts running in my mind, but none that mattered–

"What's up, Murthy?" I heard a loud voice behind me and almost dropped the tulips I was studying.

"Geez. You scared me." I breathed in response, a little caught back as I kept the canvas and brushes away. I wasn't going to paint anyway. Why pretend to?

"Hey," he replied sheepishly, running his hand in his hair as he walked to me, sitting beside me on the lawn. I never really got the chance to thank Manik for the thirteen lame-but-beautiful reasons he sent me.

"What are you doing here?" I smiled softly, letting him know his company wasn't unwelcome, just surprising.

"I was at football," he smiled, and my eyes involuntarily reached the field across where I could see Cabir looking at us with a smile on his face. I smiled back and waved. "And then I saw you staring at the tulips since the past fifteen minutes like it was the most beautiful thing in the world. So I wanted to check for myself," he teased.

I contemplated rolling my eyes at him. "You don't usually leave football for anyone. I must mean a lot to you," I teased back, biting in a smirk.

"Do not flatter yourself," he brushed it away, smiling, "Like I said, it was the tulips that interested me; not you."

I shrugged, actually rolling my eyes this time. "Sure Manik; I believe you. Everyone does."

"You look sleepy," he pointed, and as if just on time, I yawned.

"I am sleepy," I confirmed, "Couldn't sleep last night."

"Except because of the little stunt you played on yourself and I had to drive by to bandage you?" He asked, and I, in reflex, pulled the shrug over my arm trying to hide the marks being the bandage more than it was already hidden.

"Yeah," I nod, not bothering to explain much. It's a little hard to believe that so much happened last night. I had a big argument with Dad, cut my arms a bit, Manik had to drive in, bandage me, burn my copy of thirteen reasons why, then I got a night full of nightmares, spoke civilly with my dad about sleeping pills and therapy, and then school, with Manik giving me thirteen reasons to live and mukti and me talking non-stop about random things. So much in twenty four hours.

"Nightmares?" He asked. I nodded, still staring at the tulips. They were suddenly a lot more interesting, now that I was having this conversation with someone.

"Not exactly nightmares. It was just a dream, actually. But it was weird... in an unexplainable way, and I woke up with anxiety and breathlessness and....," I let my voice trail. I wasn't exactly proud in accepting that I woke up crying.

He nodded, thankfully not prying.

"Therapy?" He suggests, just as softly, as if acknowledging the comfortable silence around us.

"That's what Dad said, but I don't know. Am I ready to talk to someone about death yet?" I said, more like a question to myself.

"Why death?" He looked at me, "you could talk about life instead."

"Yeah?" I said sarcastically, "This accident wasn't exactly life to me, Manik. I almost died."

"Almost," he caught on, "But you didn't die. You lived."

I took a deep breath, nodding negatively as I found words, "Trying to be optimistic and all? It is good, really. But when I'm with the person I'll attend therapy, I'm not going to talk about how thankful I should be about getting a second chance at life. I'm going to talk about being in COMA for sixteen long hours and how that felt like, how waking up to a newer world felt like."

"And that scares you," He pinpointed, not really accusing me. I nod lightly. "Why?"

"I don't know," I said, helpless.

"Let me tell you," He said softly, "It scares you because you haven't accepted it yet. You haven't accepted that the accident happened and you almost died, yes, but you lived and your mother did not. You haven't accepted that your life changed so drastically suddenly, when last week at this same time you might be having tea with your mom in her room; while today your Dad was driving you to school, something that you hadn't expected to happen in the next hundred years. Your life is different now. You are different now. The change scares you."

I don't reply back. I kept staring at the tulips and I knew my eyes were moist, but I was trying to drink it all away. Don't cry, I reminded myself, don't fall weak.

"And it's not your fault, really," he said, equally helpless, "Change scares a lot of people. Especially when it so drastic. But sweetheart, you have to remember, only in the waves of change, we find our true direction. And when thing's change around you, things also change inside you."

"I know," I breathed, trying to take the wave of emotions that was hitting me, "But you know what? I loved death. Mum knew. I wasn't one of those kids who were scared of death. To me, death was peaceful. And beautiful. And a state of rest, something you turn to after dealing with your share of problems in this world. I fantasised death as the beautiful flower fields and light and no pain and, that changed."

"What changed?" His voice was a whisper, he was trying to grasp in everything I said.

"Everything," I finally turned to look at him. "I stood so close to death. And you know what? There was nothing. No white light, or God's angels, or beautiful flowers or peace. There was pain, and then there was nothing. A big, black nothing. All I remember is an abyss, like a black hole, darkness everywhere. The only thing I thought that could bring someone the ultimate peace left me in the middle of nowhere. I don't know if that even makes sense, but I was almost dead. And death was just darkness."

He stayed silent for a long time, looking at me, his gaze piercing through me as if he could see my soul for it. I turned away, slightly more than conscious on telling him things that I refused acknowledging to myself.

"Is it death that is scaring you, then?"

"Maybe," I sigh, "Or maybe that something has changed in me. There's something very wrong with me. I can feel it, but I don't know how to help me, or people around me. It's like I can feel the fall, and the pain, but I just can't see it."

"Like the moon, we must go through phases of emptiness to feel full again," he simply said, a soft smile over his face and silence followed as I let his words sink in.

"Alright," he said, determination in his voice, "Let's take a note. What is the most noticeable thing about you that's changed?"

"I... can't paint anymore," I said as my eyes flickered to the empty canvas and paints, just like his.

"Then try something new," he pointed, and I looked at him, keeping my cheek on my knees which was folded by my chest, as I hugged my feet. "Old ways can never open new doors."

"You're like my personal therapist," I laughed, "What do you think I can do instead?"

"I don't know..." he scratched the back of his head, "Writing, maybe?"

"Writing?" I raise my eyebrow.

"Yeah... I mean, I'm not a reader and I most definitely cannot write anything more than my songs, but I think you'd get it. Writers are people who carry the weight of all those lost souls who never got to live. And can you imagine the power you'd have, to create an entire world in someone's mind, every small details full of colours you get to decide; using only words that are in black and white. Imagine you being inspiring, your words making a difference, and imagine the one sentence a reader might send in to you one day, saying they were about to give up on life and it is your words that gave them hope and your story that gave them inspiration. Someone will live a better life because of you. That sounds lovely, doesn't it?"

I looked at him a little in loss of words.

"And you know who is the most powerful writer?" He asked, and I raised my eyebrows.

"A person who's felt pain," he smiled, "Who's been through so much that they can word their pain, and make readers feel it. A writer is a writer not because she writers well and easily or because of her talent or words. A writer is a writer if they have the ability to paint in colours in a reader's black and white world, leave their words as hope in even the most hopeless hearts. And having read your diary, I think you can do that."

"Wow..." I say, dazed, "Really. You're wow. Here's something I can try then.. writing."

"See," he smiled proudly, "Thing's don't always change for bad. Sometimes, change can be scary, but it's beautiful."

I nod. "So, therapy?" He asked, a slight grin on his lips.

I nod, smiling back enthusiastically. "Dad's friend is a therapist, it'll be a week's course in New York."

"New York?" He raises his eyes, "I am going to New York day after for a week.... to Dad's house. I'll take you around, I'll show you New York. It'll be so much fun. You can attend therapy, I will make it fun for you?" He proposed.

"That sounds like such a plan," I smiled. Finally, something that lights me up.

"Yeah, we can Mukti and Cabir to join us too. Mukti will want nothing more than to spend time with us, I think she has a crush on you," he laughed.

"What about Aliya?" I asked, and I watched the smile of his face vanish. Aliya is Manik's girlfriend. He's my best friend's boyfriend.

"Actually...," his voice faded a bit, "I and Aliya, we're on a break."

"Oh," the words simply left my mouth. And she didn't even tell me once?

Oh.

"Why didn't either of you tell me?" I couldn't help but ask.

"I don't know why your best friend didn't tell you," he mocked, "But I do know why I didn't. I mean, like I said, I wanted to be your friend. I didn't want to just be your best friend's boyfriend, you get it?"

"I don't get it, Manik," I implied , instantly. Hell. Blame the tongue.

"I like you, Nandini," he replied, as simple as that. My words stuck in my throat and cane running out as coughs.

"You, what?" I asked in between coughs.

"As a friend," he instantly added as I calmed a bit. "I want to be with you despite what relation I and Aliya share– whether we're dating or not, even friends or not on talking terms; I don't want that to affect what I and you share. Is that... Is that alright with you?" He asked, hesitantly.

"It is," I replied, a smile lingering on my lips. This felt different. He was someone to me, someone more than a just friend. He meant something to me. He was, perhaps, the only other person in my life who wanted to be with me not because I was the diva– Aliya's best friend, but because who I was, as an individual.

"I think I have to return back to the field, at least before Cabir kicks a ball in here or sends Mukti to beat me up," he chuckled and I smiled, nodding.

"I'll see you, around," I reply as he gets up and turns back to wink at me.

"You might see me sooner than you think, babydoll," he adds with a smirk as he runs to his side of the field, leaving me smiling like a fool.

I smiled, nodding in disbelief to myself as I saw something he had left behind where he was sitting. It was a diary, looking used, which made me believe he hadn't bought it just for me, and a pen clipped on the first page. I wondered how off minded I could be to not notice he left it there, and wrote something in there for me.

Before you get pissed, I didn't buy this for you beforehand. This diary is one of my Mum's. I keep this with me, always. This is where I wrote my first song, and I'd like nothing more than this being where you write first of yours– quotes, poetry, whatever.

And before you say no, keep it. This deserves a better owner, someone who can make use of it better than I do.

It's yours.

I was speechless. This was more than something anyone has ever done for me except my mother. It meant more than what a million dollars could.

But did I really deserve this?

My eyes searched for Manik in the football field, who was just passed the ball and as if right on queue, he scored a goal. His team cheered as he did some weird bro-hand-shake with Cabir, his eyes reaching me, and our eyes met.

I gave him an unsure look, my eyes twinkling. He gave me a generous smile and pressed his eyes in reassurance. He lipsed something, I'm not sure what from the distance, but something like 'yours'.

I gave him a smile, finally tearing my eyes from him and flipping the page across, taking the pen in my hands unsteadily as the words almost flowed out magically.

As I stared at the small piece of poem, there was one thing I knew.

I liked Manik Malhotra. Maybe a little more than how much I should.

I might be
the writer,
But you'll always be
the words.

~and in the middle of my chaos, I found you~

✿ ✿ ✿

That lovely poem in the end is by Ben Maxfield. We're going to need a lot of snippets/short poems ahead. Any person out there who'd like to give in their poems, please PM. You'll be receiving all the credits. :))

Questions:

1. An all MaNan update on request. Happy?

2. Did you like the update?

3. What's your fav part?

4. MaNan are going to be in New York. Anything you'd like the see in there?

5. What do you think will happen ahead? ;)

6. Nandini finally accepts she might like Manik. Expected that?

7. Aliya's out of the way. Or is she? ;)

8. I hope you don't think it moved a little faster?

9. Would you like to see pieces of Nandini's therapy or do you want me to skip that part totally?

Let me know everything you think about this update!

✿ ✿ ✿

Don't forget to vote.

Lots of love.
-H.