6322 words, but I feel like there's still more to tell in this one :")

⭒

Manik

I forced my way down the narrow aisle in the General compartment, dodging outstretched legs and overstuffed bags shoved carelessly beneath the seats. A kid in one of the lower berths was getting scolded for missing a slipper somewhere in the midst of running around the bogie.

From the looks of the other passengers travelling alongside me, I seemed to be the only one out of place... with just a guitar bag on my back, instead of slugging around some heftily packed suitcases and luggages for my trip.

As my feet found gaps between the legs and luggages to fit into, the blue-speckled vinyl flooring beneath it caught my eye, adorned with a patchwork of tobacco stains, dried gum, and streaks of dirt. My gut churned at the sight, threatening to spill the lunch contents I so enthusiastically gobbled down from loving hands.

It was not the time to regret my impulsive choice to take the train to Bangalore, leaving behind a far easier, more luxurious and comfortable option – or rather, life – that was associated with my surname. Merely stating my father's fashion brand, or my affiliation with SPACE, could offer me a first class ticket, a five star hotel and a chaffeur to pick me up at the destination. I had left all those privileges behind, willingly, to travel in a more mediocre mode of transport. Strangely, that power of choice had brought more solace with it than I had imagined.

A burden had been pressing on me since I had left the recording room with only my keys, my wallet, my phone and my guitar bag that morning. Forced straight towards the Malhotra house, to where all my inner demons emerged from, I had numbly visited the dark, deserted cave that lacked a feeling of home in every sense.

I wasn't particularly searching for anything, and could not even put a finger on what had brought me there apart from a mild wish to see some light in the doom, until my eyes landed on a thick journal placed carefully on the centre table in the living room. It must have been tended to by the housekeeping staff, who found it beneath the couch I had shoved it under several days ago.

My agitated fingers had trailed the edges of the misplaced book, whose nostalgic powers induced softer emotions, none of which deserved to extend its stay in the cold confines of the Malhotra house. Decisively, I had taken it to its rightful home, the Murthy villa, a place that used to soothe me on days when my own house destroyed me, yet walking into that home brought back a rush of unexplainable memories that were almost too fresh to rehash under the volatile state I was in.

Was it because she wasn't there?

Was it because nothing had physically changed in those premises over the seven years, as much as I wish it had? 

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, and all I could register was the radiating beam of warmth manufactured into a certain middle-aged woman in the Murthy villa, who had unintentionally extended a warm air of affection when I most needed it, mending pieces of me she had not even broken. With that chunk of time in her presence, an overpowering urge to disintegrate into my darkness was replaced by a calm level-headedness quite uncharacteristic to my natural self.

I indeed had nobody else of my own whom I could rely on, it was a begruding realisation indeed. The fact was I was all alone in this world to navigate my problems and emotions without anyone else to understand me, or to care enough about it all. As sickening as that solitude was, I had felt... in control of it, knowing nobody in fact had that power over my vulnerability. Finally. And the weight associated with it had magically lifted off my shoulders.

Embarking on an eighteen hour journey on a train filled with middle-class people of all shapes and forms, a perfect amalgamation of untormentable chaos and unsolicited companionship seemed like a palatable idea as I headed towards Bangalore.

I focused on scanning the seat numbers as I navigated patient elderly couples who had been used to such trips since their times, some young, overly-enthusiastic children for whom the long adventure was new and exciting and some disgruntled young adults who could not afford an air-ticket to speed their journey even if they wished.

With a mild, unmoving smile, I double-checked the small printed sheet for my designated upper berth seat number, when my eyes fell on the passenger name inked Manik, not even realising the upper class tag associated with my last name had so naturally been dropped from the ticket altogether... allowing me to blend into a society where neither my surname, nor my scars, bore any weightage.

⭒⭒⭒

Mukti

My fourteen hour shift was ending at six in the evening. My patient had dozed off under the sedative, which meant my job was done, but I had to wait until it was time to go. With every passing minute, I glanced at the clock with an expectant thrill.

Finally, when the clock dinged at six, I was at the registry in my everyday clothing, signing myself out as my coat hung over an arm.

"Hey, you look alive?!" The receptionist quipped, shocked that I still had it in me to be energetic while she had clocked in less than an hour ago and had already lost the will to finish her shift.

"Fourteen hours... that's not my worst yet, you should have seen me pull seventeen!" I chuckled, pulling the register closer and sifting through it for my name. 

"I'm only glad I didn't choose nursing. So... any plans tonight?" She asked as one of her brows raised with a mild curve on her lips.

Plans... I didn't have any when I had woken up at five, forty-five minutes earlier than usual to prepare some food to pull me through the day. Then, I had bumped into Abhimanyu in the kitchen and was startled to see him. Nandini was usually up at that hour, freshly showered and offering her prayers so I was on some levels expecting to see her instead. Unless it was to catch a flight, he was never up so early so why had four lidded boxes already been arranged in front of him, along with two fruits on the side?

Unless... He had woken up early only to make me a sandwich for breakfast, four rotis and a paneer curry for lunch, and filled a small box of nuts as snacks.

For a girl who was used to making her own lunches for school from a very young age, as the alternative was starving, the immensely thoughtful gesture took me by mild surprise alongside humbled gratitude. As several expressions along the boundaries of those emotions painted my face, my lips moved to form some words.

"Morning!" He had said as he side-stepped me and headed into his room to have his shower, not even waiting for the 'thank you' I was beginning to formulate. A mere thanks wasn't sufficient to express it anyways, I grudgingly noted.

Then, when I was ready and wearing my footwear, he had swooped behind me, holding the door open wide until he could bid me goodbye. It was the perfect time for me to bestow my gratitude. Yet, the small flush on my face refused to let words escape.

That precise moment was when Abhimanyu mentioned he could come to pick me up, if we wanted to go out for dinner. Apparently Nandini was going to be in the lab from the afternoon until later in the evening, and he didn't want to eat at home alone, he had said. It wasn't a date at all, but the way my footsteps staggered at the offer could have easily implied otherwise.

And now, rehashing this morning's incidents seemed to conjure some questionable sensations in the depths of my heart and stomach. 

"Just... grabbing dinner and crashing to be honest, and you?" I reluctantly cocked my head up after signing my name against the vacant entry, only to see the receptionist weirdly grinning. My cheeks heated. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just... you should be exhausted and here you are glowing."

Embarrassed for not freshening up after I changed out of my scrubs, I managed to say, "That's from the sweat and oil!" 

"Hey," said a voice behind me. I excitedly turned with an uncontrollable smile embracing my face, doing little to hide my thrill at Abhi's presence. It wasn't Abhimanyu.

He waved as he mistook me for someone, and was talking to the receptionist about some visitation timings, but the lady had passed a few glances my way, trying to size up my slumped shoulders and where the disappointment was coming from.

Defeated, I pivoted to the exit, taking in a figure seated on the chairs by the reception with a bouquet. Noting the familiarity at first sight, I glanced in that direction a second time to see him standing up, dressed in semi-formals, adjusting his blazer. Shock washed over me, as I eyed the man up and down, locking at the enormous flock of roses before him.

No wonder the receptionist had attempted to tease me, Harshad was dressed as if he was attending an important conference, if not a date.

"Hi Mukti, you... wow, you – um – look absolutely stunning!" He had sounded nothing like himself, as such vocal expressions of compliments were quite unlike him. I frowned at the roses, suspicion floating around me with what ideas he had conjured when he spawned at my workplace.

He misread the look entirely, stepping closer with a smile. "Here, these are for you."

I clenched my jaw, impaled by the several instances in the past when I had made it obvious to him that I had not wanted him around and he could not get it, no matter how simply I had stated it.

"Why are you here, Harshad?" Most importantly, why was he there on the same day and around the same time that Abhimanyu was supposed to meet me? 

"I just came to see you." His eyes glistened with practiced emotion that had fooled me several times in the past. He was still so skilled with those looks, that even after all those years, I couldn't fully discern whether it was a lie or if, at some point, he truly had loved me. "I know you think that I –"

Grabbing the bouquet, I was ready to launch it across his head, several times if need be until the petals all disintegrated and what remained were thorny stems of a shrivelled woman he had left behind. Suddenly aware of the surroundings – which were neither SPACE Academy nor seven years into the past – and not having it in me to create a scene, I retracted my move and grumbled, irritated beyond repair. "Just stop it! Stop stalking me, and stop chasing me."

"But I just wanted to see the lady I love, how is that wrong?" He asked with feigned sincerity, his gaze then shifting somewhere behind me, as he passed a tight-lipped smile. "Abhimanyu, right? Hi."

I spun at the name.

"Hey."

He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans that complimented my everyday outfit style, and contrasted Harshad's over-the-top attire, and though it seemed to me that he had put in a little more effort into his appearance than usual, I shovelled those ideas to the back of my brain.

Without a change in Abhi's expressions, he sidled into me as he asked, "Are we still on for dinner?"

As if he was not at all affected by Harshad's presence at all; forget questioning whether I was still in touch with him, or wondering why he had spontaneously turned up to my workplace.

Harshad, who was obviously regarding him in that displeased manner, seized the moment and quickly inserted, "About dinner, yes, I was about to say I already booked out a nice Italian diner... I know how much you love Italian food Mukti, and I... I am sure we can all go have food there," He modified tactfully, examining both of our faces with intent.

Why was he involving Abhi in all of this drama of his?

Then, as if answering my mind question with the kind of subtle menace only Harshad could master, he fixed his gaze on Abhi. "Unless, of course, you intended it to be a date, in which case..." Though his voice stayed composed, there was an icy edge to his stare that clashed with his outward politeness.

"No no, it's nothing of that sort." Abhi said, turning to me with a small, genuine smile. Ouch.

I gulped down and justified that it pricked only because a man was admitting to a lack of romantic intentions with me in front of my ex – whom I despised to no extent. Harshad, of all people, didn't deserve that satisfaction... especially not when he was unhinged in his plans to reignite old flames, irrespective of what I said to dismiss him.

If I showed even a flicker of surprise or hurt by Abhi's response, it would give Harshad a reason to obsess on and make a despicable competition out of, and would give Abhi certain wrong ideas about how I felt... about him. Forcibly lifting the corners of my lips upwards, I matched Abhi's enthusiastic energy. "Yeah, nothing like that."

Harshad unabashedly beamed, his sly smile slicing into me. "Cool then, I can drive us there."

I clasped my hands tighter, realising that in my internal tug of war and the physical manifestation of two men either previously or currently associated with me, neither Abhimanyu nor I had determinably refused Harshad's dinner offer.

And that my hands were still wrapped around a bouquet. Abhi must have noticed the flock of roses as well when his eyes briefly travelled to my grasp earlier, but he didn't say anything. His unfaltering smile and steady gaze met mine for a moment, unreadable after Harshad's suggestion, before he turned away.

"Sure," he said simply to Harshad, sealing our fate for the next few hours of the night.

⭒⭒⭒

Manik

We had chugged into an arena of no network, I had not foreseen that. My phone as an entertainment device was rendered useless without signal on it. Seated on the lower berth, dare not removing my shoes throughout the whole journey, I stared at the landscape scooting beside my barred window for the longest time as the sun was beginning to set. Then, the vehicle halted by a station.

A snack vendor shuffled through the aisle, yelling out "namkeen, aloo samose, chai chai" as packets of fried snacks dwindled and crinkled by his side.

Beside me but across the walkway, a boy no older than six jumped at the sound, placing the two mismatched colour pencils that kept him occupied neatly between his pages. His face lit up with a childlike amusement as he begged for aloo bhujia, while his middle-aged frail mother who was seated beside him looked exasperated.

"Ruko ruko, shaant ho jao, dekhti hoon..." She urged, reached under the pleats of her saree and retrieved a small, worn coin pouch. Beads of sweat glazed her forehead, which she swiped back with cement-coated hands. That somewhat explained the whitish rings on her head which, too, were peeking through her pallu wrapped around her head.

Rifling through its contents, she counted her pennies while the boy patiently waited, after which she tactfuly zipped her purse and waved the vendor away.

The boy's hopeful expression crumpled into a loud whine. His volume spiked in protest, but before he could even finish a cry, his mother's hand came down on him, sharp and swift. "Chup!" she snapped. I flinched back in my seat, feeling the sting as if it were my skin.

That smack clearly wasn't hard, but it was enough to silence his cries, bringing him to mere sniffles as he resigned to scribbling in his book again... unashamed of the hit, and forgetting about a small joy of childhood in its impact. Finding it difficult to breathe, I nonchalantly wondered how was it fair to punish him when the child was just being... a child? I looked around at the several passengers in the bogie who had also witnessed the incident, but turned a blind eye to it like it wasn't their business to comment on.

How come it stirred something in the deep crevices of my chest then, invoking a certain choking restlessness in me?

With a haunting surge of irritation, I scanned the woman seated beside the child who had turned away, staring out the window to mask something that rendered her so apathetic. Why at all did such people take upon the responsibility to have children if they despised them to no extent, and made sure to showcase their lack of affection at every minor inconvenience their children unintentionally brought with them?!

I got up to take a breather, and invariably gravitated in the direction the vendor exited from. "Bhaiyya," I called out, motioning to the packets crinkling at his shoulder as a hand slipped into my pocket. "Aloo bhujia kitne ka hai?"

"Pachees," he replied, ripping the garland of it and holding one out. As I shuffled through the stack of notes in my wallet to find the right denomination, I blinked at a vision of the frail lady who was scanning her coin pouch in a similar manner... but I shunned the distasteful image. Out my wallet came a fifty rupee note, and I bought one of the packs the child requested and one of a different chip brand, before returning to my seat.

When I returned to the compartment, the boy was deeply engrossed in his art, his head resting against his mother's side as her empty wrist locked him in place. I didn't notice previously that she wore no bangles, and had no bindi in despite hailing from a more conservative background as the rest of her appearance suggested; I wondered why.

Patting her child affectionately yet absentmindedly, she stared out the window. There was no sense of animosity from either side; it was as if such interactions were normalised. And then, almost suddenly, the image of her going through her purse with a certain hopelessness, realising she possibly did not have enough to purchase her child some snacks, and her act of defeatedly stashing it away took a different form.

Pricked by the newfound information, the scene replayed in my head from her perspective... that despite her outward outburst as a result of her own incompetence, the overarching fact that she dearly loved her child was not taken out of the equation. After all, hadn't her expressions softened after the sharp whip, as if she had to veer her gaze away from her child because gazing at him would bring her close to doing anything in her ability to provide for him what his heart desired?

My own eyes blurred at a certain emptiness I felt at the revolting sight of the happy mother and son.

I blinked it away and leaned down by the boy, holding out the snacks. "Aapko kaunsa chahiye?" I asked, keeping my voice light. "Yeh wala, ya yeh wala?" His eyes shot up, startling his mother too. As if seeking permission, he gleamed at her in delight. Her gaze flicked between me and the snacks, perhaps confused and somewhat concerned, but I wasn't looking at her. "Ya phir dono?"

"Nahi nahi," she said quickly on his behalf, gulping down her hesitation at the beyond generous offering from a stranger.

"It's okay," I said only to the boy, lowering the options before him to help him see them better. "You can pick both if you want, I liked Magic Masala more when I was itnu sa." Showcasing an approximate height somewhere near my thighs, I devastatingly smiled. "You should try both, and tell me which you like."

I placed both the packets over his ajar colouring book and straightened up to head back to my seat. The boy's eyes sparkled, and after a moment of whispered deliberation with his mother on manners, he looked at me seated across the hallway, filled with genuine gratitude. "Thank you, Bhaiyya."

It wasn't much effort on my part at all, I regarded. So the gentle well-mannered phrase was quite uncanny for me to hear. Added to that was the sparse usage of please, thank you and sorry in my vocabulary, which I was often reprimanded for by a certain someone...

Instead, I only nodded slightly before standing in my spot and grabbing my guitar bag sprawled on my berth, unsure of why I was feeling accomplished all of a sudden. The emotion only magnified when the sound of a packet ripping brought a faint smile to my lips. For a fleeting moment, I treasured the wonderful energy I was experiencing and unzipped the bag.

Abruptly I encountered my guitar, which evoked mild disgust after this morning rather than the usual sense of comfort and familiarity. Unwilling to ruin my mood with its sight further, I hid it under the zip flap and pried into the pocket behind it, seeking something else to keep me company through the long journey. There, along with a couple of my clothes was her diary wrapped like a present.

Thoughtful acts of service relayed the most with Nandini's nature, and if she felt enormous joy in doing such things for others, I could finally understand why that was... how it felt to help others in ways they could not help themselves.

Rejoicing in my newly uplifted mood, I admitted that I was soon going to part ways with it anyways. That was inevitable. In fact, the timing of finding her diary was perfect. It could keep me entertained for the long journey.

From one of the taped corners, I tore through the wrapping sheet and flipped to the page I last left off.

12 November 2010

Today's Friday and Chikkappa's presentation to his clients went so well that he has been invited to a work conference in Dehradun for tomorrow night. Abhi had only playfully suggested Chikkamma to accompany him, but Chikkappa picked up on the idea and was passionate on making a second honeymoon out of it.

I remembered that evening distinctly. Dad's brother had turned fifty the previous day, and Nyonika and Dad had been so busy hosting a glamorous charity event on his behalf that Friday, posing as the perfectly lovable couple all day. The crowd had expected drinks, games and plenty of chatter but evidently, no other children had been invited.

For a whole day, Mukti and I had been akin to uninvited guests to their party, receiving mild pitiful smiles from other guests for our inability to be occupied by age-appropriate activities.

The Malhotra household, on the other hand, was socially unaware of our presence, and expected us to greet drunk guests as a 'family' while the visitors spoke haughtily of the Malhotras in groups and spread their name and fame amongst each other. In other words, the charity event was a glorified pity-party.

Which leaves Abhimanyu in charge of the house for the weekend!

When we got the text on our group chat that Abhimanyu's family was not home for the weekend, I was thrilled to be with the family I had chosen for myself: my friends. How ironic was it, that we felt more comfort visiting a home that wasn't even ours, than the childhood one we were raised in.

Ammamma says I wasn't this anxious until my parents' accident, so it's no manufacturing defect. She has rationalised the fear as more from the idea of them not returning safely... in one piece... but I can't pinpoint if that is accurate. A lot of events from that night were a blur to me. All I know is that an impending sense of fright washes over me with every goodbye.

I humourously noted how she had been talking about saying goodbye to her family boarding a train, and I was reading of that entry while on a train itself. Was that fate, or what? As the amusement died on me, the terror she had penned down in her words... the fear of not returning to someone safely... suddenly pricked with a certain gravity I had not imagined to resonate with.

You don't have to be in love with me, I'm fine with that, I had said to her mindlessly that pool party night. She had questioned me about it, citing that my consistent inability to give back to a relationship had exhausted her. That night, I had dismissed her refusal, not because I wanted her to love me, she had made it clear enough that such a thing was not possible ever again. Yet, there was an unnamed emotion deeper than that I had associated with her from day one.

From the night I first met her... and defied her at the SPACE school orientation party in 2010.

There was nobody else I had felt safe enough with to... be myself around, to imagine willingly spending my time around... in both my best and worst shades, without judgments.

⭒⭒⭒

I had maintained my distance with Nandini in school after Maddy and I got into a brawl, and he got slapped with a two week suspension, courtesy of our Principal, dearest Mrs. Malhotra. Perhaps she could not stand another person who wasn't herself or her lovers – both present and past – raising their hands on me, what a wonderful parent I had been blessed with!

Anyways, the punishment Maddy faced frightened his gang to keep the news tight-lipped on school grounds, and as a result, nobody in school heard of anything that had transpired on the bus.

That same day was when the PT teacher had advised me to challenge myself through coaching for sports trials, which would boost my application when it came to applying for colleges and had offered extensive training at his expense, compensated by the Principal of course. The bruises from the brawl had anyways kept me out of school until Thursday but now I had a convenient excuse to blame them on, when Nandini questioned me about my absence.

The first two of those days, she had been in an irritable mood over the phone. At the peak of what I thought was a pointless argument, she had burst out she didn't at all like that every time she exploded while expressing herself, I got angry about her uncontrolled reaction and took the fight on a different tangent. It left me baffled and confused and frankly... feeling attacked. Was that not how fights worked? It seemed to be the norm in my household, to hold each others' reactions hostage as we escalated the next move of action.

It wasn't until she calmly dissected the Diwali scene in a manner contrasting that night, where it had been an outburst, reduced herself to tears while eloquently explaining it without getting agitated, and softly confronted me about why I lashed out at her that I mildly registered another side to the scene. It was extremely new to be talked to in that way, and to be held accountable for someone else's emotions.

Having never experienced that before, it was surprising to me altogether that I singlehandedly could invoke such deep feelings within anyone. Feeling helpless, I blurted a simple word – 'sorry' – which had fixed her mood, and the rest of the week flew like a breeze with everything seemingly back to normal. How exactly that one word managed to convey what my actions didn't, I could not understand, but I had little to complain about. She was finally happy.

My features softened at her complaint about her Aiyappa finding Abhi of all people to be the best fit as her brother.

Babbu, I got to go. Rishu got sucked in, and I'm next on the list!

As I curiously began reading the page, the mild furrow between my brows subsided into a relaxed, mildly pleased expression. I flipped the page. 

⭒⭒⭒

Aiyappa! What is wrong with this boy?

Abhimanyu's friends have been here for nearly twenty minutes now and except for some distracted glances here and there – not at me by the way, Mr. Malhotra's attention has only been on his freaking phone!

Mildly grinning at the accusation, feeling guilty as charged, I mused that Abhimanyu had invited us all to hang out, cook dinner along with his siblings, and to keep each other company, and if nobody else was interesting me in a conversation, why couldn't I be on my phone for a bit?

Mukti, Alia and I had arrived together to the house and I briefly said 'hello' to everyone, including a short, thoughtful 'hi' to Nandini, before occupying myself with my entertainment gadget for the evening.

Evidently, my curt 'hi' upon seeing her, and my subsequent retreat from conversations within the group had ruffled the feathers of the angry bird. She made it obvious that she was annoyed when she poured chai for everyone, offered it to all my friends, and conveniently circled away from her designated path just to refuse a cup for me.

Could he not see that someone, who went through so much trouble with her Chikkamma to arrange him some lunch for the day, also existed in the vicinity?

The previous day, she had insisted we meet behind the Music wing just before lunch for two minutes. It was the first time I was seeing her after the bus incident earlier in the week. There, she generously dispatched a box of packed food to me. Mindful of the allotted slot of two minutes that she had requested of me, she hurried with a quick 'good luck' for my 'training sessions', which induced another wave of guilt over the lie I had told her...

I still hadn't talked to Abhimanyu about Nandini either. After my fight with Maddy, even though my feelings for her had become clearer — almost blindingly so — the thought of acknowledging them before someone who mattered so much to her was beyond terrifying. My absence from school gave me space to reflect, and the reason for my hesitation began to slowly surface. It was one thing to acknowledge my own feelings and discuss them with someone, and another ballgame altogether to confess them under the implication that I would be responsible for another person's feelings.

The truth was, I wasn't sure I could.

Nandini's illustration of how deeply certain actions of mine affected her made me second-guess shouldering such responsibilities. She wasn't angry or accusing me for hurting her; she was just painfully honest, that my actions indeed hurt her. It left me faultlessly shaken, because I was struck with the realisation that I had that much power, to both hurt and protect her.

For someone like me, who had to fend for myself all my life, I could not be trusted with that much of someone else. Not yet, at least. I sure wasn't ready for that.

But those were things I should have thought about before delving too far into those naive feelings. I was too far gone to back out now.

I had not seen her for more than a handful of minutes all week: that was maddening. How I even made it through the week was a mystery. Instead of being happy to see me in her house that night, with the elixir of an opportunity to spend the whole evening under her roof, she was feigning indifference towards me.

Perhaps it was best I hadn't talked to Abhimanyu about us, I thought grudingly. Why risk anything with him when she herself was being difficult to understand? 

No, if not even for me... for his beloved friends, couldn't he spare some quality time?

No, seriously, I want to know what exactly he is doing on it, it seemed like he was messaging someone incessantly, but who would he be so carried away with when all his friends – his family, as he called it – were assembled in my living room?!

I wasn't aware of the sly grin – upon realising I had it in me to impact her in some way – that presently endorsed my face until I stroked one corner of my lip and found it curved.

Not just that, he would always choose corner spots, or areas where nobody could look over his shoulder as he typed away with both hands.

Instead of chickening into her room and ranting to her diary, if she had spared two seconds of her time to unlock the phone I had arranged for her, she would have received those walls of thoughts that I penned down, addressed to her.

Walls and walls of unfiltered thoughts... as they mildly erupted in my mind, ready to be conveyed to the one and only person who would be beyond elated to hear anything that left my lips.

It was the most frustrating thing ever!

It was the most treasured feeling ever.

And look at my luck, I can't even discuss these things with anyone except you Babbu. Nobody understands me!

She was the only one who understood me.

I hate this feeling of being unwanted so much!

I liked that feeling of being cared about so much.

⭒⭒⭒

I was walking down the stairs, having burst open a bunch of my emotions onto the page and subsequently feeling lighter about Manik and his stupid antics.

As I descended the steps, Mukti caught a glimpse of me. "Nandini, where have you been? Come,"

Manik's lethargic eyes flickered towards me tentatively at the mention of my name, as if he had been worried about where I had headed off to. Why did he care, was he too bored of his phone?

Without meeting his impatient gaze which would not last more than a second, I let myself be dragged by her into the cooking area, who had a wine glass in her hands filled with a coloured liquid. "Hang with us girls, oh wait... where's Alia now?"

"Manik, utho toh!" Her squeaky voice emerged from the living room area. As I dejectedly looked over the cavity peering into the drawing room, I watched the casual manner in which Alia yanked Manik's wrist... which tugged at my own heart, but as his skeptical gaze met mine, I detached and turned away.

So his beloved phone could be neatly tucked away while she was oh-so-lovably holding his wrist, but when I was around... forget it, Babbu!

I grumbled beneath my breath, innately sensing that I was getting more and more irrational by the minute. There were so many other tasks I could busy myself with, instead of wondering if and when he would so much as look in my direction, forget talking to me.

It wasn't like I had spent all evening thrilled for his arrival or anything. Neither had I scrubbed down any surfaces or delightfully arranged the cushions to make the living space all the more inviting for them – none of which he even spared a glance at, by the way.

Going around the countertop, I picked some tomatoes, and rinsed them by the sink to chop them up for the bags of pasta shells stacked near the stove.

The whole 'Alia cutely pulling her brother' scene was witnessed by Mukti, who glowered at him and then came closer to me. "Hey look, um... since the Diwali thing, I know you two are... not... anymore but I swear – there's nothing between... it's just the way Alia is with – everyone – it's nothing else..." She found herself heating up around the face and neck at my blank reaction while she modified and explained on her brother's behalf.

I mutely registered that she had a misconception about what had transpired, and had not been filled on the recent magical turn of events... whereby her darling brother had analysed and apologised for a mistake he had made. But how did any of it matter, when he had other, better things to tend to?

"It doesn't matter," I uttered spitefully, opening the tap and holding the tomatoes beneath it. Mukti gave me a puzzled look, sensed that I needed some space and then gravitated towards Abhi, who was opening cabinets.

As if reading my callous body language, Manik politely asked to the group assembled, "Does anyone want water, hmm?" Twisting himself uneasily but carefully out of Alia's grip, he approached the kitchen area alone, finally deeming his screen time sufficient.

I was sure to pray tonight to whatever marvellous force convinced him to stop tapping away, seriously, it was doing Aiyappa's work!

A little hurt by his prompt withdrawal, Alia's expressions changed as she slouched on one of the dining chairs, expectantly following him.

Manik, surveying the room with the usual cool detachment, picked two glasses from a cabinet. Tipping his head low at me, he mumbled a mischievous "Hey..." and nudged my hands away to tease some space for himself, filling one of his glasses. The length of his arm fully brushed against mine, sending a small shiver up my spine.

I spitefully moved to a side, putting some space between us. Manik noticed my shift, gauged my brother at a short distance busy conversing with his sister, and then replaced himself in the gap between us, his smirk now evident. "What have I done now to deserve such hostility?"

"Maybe you should ask your phone that question," I said coolly, finally sparing him a glance. His smirk faltered, just for a second as he tried to understand what I meant, before he leaned closer, dropping his voice low enough that only I could hear.

"For what it's worth," he intentionally brushed his arm on mine again, "I would rather be talking to you," he murmured softly, a lingering smile on his lips.

⭒

Hi hello, I know I was gone for long. I had a lot of revisiting to do on this chapter after my hiatus, I hope it was still a worthwhile read.

Please drop a few kind words if you liked it :) Lots of love <3