17

WE ARE DREAMERS, NOT IDEALISTS

May

Kids want to be grown-ups. They want to go off to college, leave the nest, and earn for their parents. But when that day comes, they want to transform back to the toddlers who used to be carried around by their parents.

Reality is always scarier.

But it is scarier if it is the reality you have been trying to run away from.

So, when Bombay Times and Hyderabad Times had confidently printed 'Trouble in paradise for Mr. And Mrs. Sharma', the Mr. and Mrs. did not know how to act. They wanted to do what they have always done- run away. But running away did not seem like a viable option this time.

The press had reported that Aastha was not living in her and Abhishek's apartment anymore. Some apparent 'insider' had also confirmed that she had been living in Prateeksha's Navi Mumbai apartment. The one moment she had opened that window, one pap camera had already captured her stare out of it, longingly.

Okay, yes, Aastha was not particularly fond of the photo they had published. That was an entire other thing. No time for that. The glossy newspaper skid from her hands, the supplements falling onto the floor. She could feel the slight tremble of her hands, her nervousness palpable. It was her mother calling.

Her parents would for sure be shouting profanities at the television.

She tapped the green button, inhaling sharply to prepare herself. Her parents had made her promise. You'd never, ever let the media make a spectacle of your life.

"Hello Maa," she whispered. For a moment, she heard dead silence.

"So...it's done?" she heard her mother's voice break at the end. "Are you and Abhishek done?"

_______

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING THEN?" Abhishek snapped at his manager. "It's been quite some hours since the news broke, and you haven't been able to get one positive story about my marriage, not one post supporting us, no Instagram accounts posting about Aastha's recent attendance at the Gujarat match, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Abhish-

"No. Next two hours. I want damage control,"

The call ended, Abhishek throwing his phone on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair, anxiety crawling over him.

"Fuck," He couldn't let Aastha break her promise to her parents.

The ruins could not possibly ruin everything. He'd let go of too much, too much to let go of this too.

Abhishek was tapping his foot on the wooden floor when he heard the cafe door open, and his head immediately snapped. There they were. Aastha's parents- Ashish and Meera Sharma. He felt his stomach clench in anxiety, inhaling sharply. He got up, clearing his throat, forcing a smile on his face as his future in-laws walked up to him.

"Abhishek," Ashish greeted the young man, sitting down on a chair. Meera simply smiled in acknowledgement, sitting down as well.

"So, how are you, Abhishek?" Meera asked, smiling as he poured her a glass of water.

"Uh...uhm, I am doing good, aunty. How are you?" he asked. Meera took a minute before replying.

"Abhi, tayyari start ki shaadi ki?" (Abhi, did preparation start for the wedding?)

"Uhm...ji, aunty," (Uhm..yes) his smile wavered, nervousness catching up to him.

"Mummy," Ashish corrected. Abhishek froze.

Right. Of course. But before he could reply, Meera spoke.

"Abhi, you call me whatever's comfortable. You can call me Meera also, if you want,"

He just nodded, forcing a smile again.

Had the a.c. stopped working? Whatever.

It was something about the Indians associated with the Indian Institutes of technology, they were always intimidating. We as a country are too focused on academic hierarchy, aren't-

"Abhishek. We- I, I will be honest with you. I am not happy with this marriage,"

"Uncle, I lo-

"It's nothing against you. I have nothing to say about your relationship. Your family is also very pleasant, I enjoyed golfing with your dad," Ashish paused, "It's your profession, it's the world you live in. We have seen enough women dragged into the mess of your mistakes on the field. What sane father will want his daughter to be a part of that?" he scoffed, upset at people being upset because of lack of enthusiasm.

Abhishek exhaled. Okay. Something I can control. Or at least try to.

"Uncle, I promise. I will do everything in my power to keep her away from all of that. My entire life is cricket, uncle. No one can take me away from the ground, but that does not mean I won't stand up against the wrong. My game, my responsibility, not hers. I love her, uncle, I really do. I have a PR manager, an entire team which looks after my image, my reputation so that I can get brand collaborations. They will be there. It won't be just me. My life outside stadiums will never be their business. I promise,"

The knock on his door snapped him out of his thoughts. How he wished he could be the same Abhishek again, whose only problem in life was trying to impress Aastha's very reasonable father.

"Room service," the waiter said and Abhishek nodded, mumbling a thank you, letting the person in. The waiter quickly kept the food on the table, walking away speedily. Abhishek thanked him again, closing the door with a thud. For a couple of moments, he just stood there, staring at the wooden door.

"Food," he said out loud, walking to the small table by the window. The city of Hyderabad looked calm, disguising many people's pains under its blue sky. Abhishek liked looking out of the window- even if his current problem had emerged from Aastha doing the same. He softly smiled as he saw an elderly couple, silver shiny hair, hand in hand, buying a balloon from the balloon seller. In a few moments, he saw their grandson who wasn't visible before as the man picked the little boy up.

Abhishek shut the blind, but the smile on his face did not disappear. You need to find happiness. There's no happily ever after. There's life. It's a roller coaster. One moment, it's happy, one moment it's not. One moment it gives you the world, the next second it snatches all of that.

One moment will change the trajectory of your life, but it's never the end. There's no forever joy or sorrow. There's life.

Abhishek fisted his left hand, his introspective train of thought abandoning him as he scrolled in his contacts, his thumb lingering over the pinned favourite.

His favourite face stared back, smiling. Aastha's photos were always a rude awakening; her bright, unwavering smile never foreshadowed the future/ the present. They say that your eyes cannot lie, but had their eyes managed to deceive for quite some time now?

The call was received by an evidently groggy old man, who Abhishek assumed to have cussed at him in Tamil.

"Fucking cross connection," he thought as the call ended. The next time he called her, the call did not connect. The number you are trying to call is currently switched off.

The phone slipped out of Abhishek's hand as hope began to fade away. Perhaps his prophecy was to stay a dreamer forever. A dreamer who dreams of love.

[ The Prophecy by Taylor Swift ]

But even statues crumble if they're made to wait
I'm so afraid I sealed my fate
No sign of soulmate
I'm just a paperweight in shades of greige
Spending my last coin so someone will tell me it'll be okay

______

Imagine you are in a Hallmark movie. It's snowing, the streets are lit up with Christmas decorations, and kids are caroling, spreading the holiday cheer. But instead of curling up on the couch in a green and red sweater sipping hot cocoa, you are in a taxi to the airport to chase the love of your life- your childhood best friend (and crush) turned city guy.

That was exactly how Aastha felt when she was sitting in a kaali-peeli, with her one small suitcase. It was only a couple weeks ago when she had left for Hyderabad on a whim. And yet here she was, in the very same spot again, getting ready to board the same Mumbai-Hyderabad flight. Something tightened in her chest as she heard the Indigo song. It felt different this time. Whatever it was, it was not the same.

So why was her hand trembling on the cold doorknob of Abhishek's door? Was acceptance not enough to take the first step toward him?

"Bhabhi?" Nitish's voice snapped her out of it. His mouth hanging open, he stood there, trying to process her in front of him. "Bhabhi, aap yaha?"

"Girl, wait," it was Nitish again, talking to the person he was on call with. "I'll call you back,"

The call ended and he took a step towards Aastha.

"Bhabhi, you're here," his voice was softer, almost as if he was catching onto what even Aastha and Abhishek did not know yet.

"I guess," she shrugged her shoulders. Nitish nodded.

"He's not here by the way, he went out,"

"Oh,"

"I'll keep your bag in my room, freshen up, I'll see you for dinner," he quickly suggested, taking her bag from her. Aastha did not have time for jitters. It was very real now.

______

Abhishek made his way to the restaurant after he came from his walk. Aastha's phone was reachable but she was not receiving the call. Before crashing for the day, he decided to just get done with dinner.

But as he stepped into the soft, yellow lights of the marriot restaurant, counters full of various dishes lined up for the buffet, classical instrumental music playing in the background, something amazing had happened.

Aastha Sharma, in flesh and bones, sitting on the dinner table with Nitish, Pat and Becky, laughing as Becky Cummins showed her something on the phone.

From the corner of his eyes, he noticed the tinted window. Rain.

Tomorrow was June. 

hola muchachos

look who's back *evil laugh whahahaha*

(i hope the tone of this act feels more hopeful cause that's the purpose of dividing it)

reviews, feedback, always open :)