aisha to herself: pop pills. always pop those pills.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

AISHA

I'M PRETTY SURE, I had a lot of fantasies but dying in an elevator was not one of them. I always thought dying would come out of something like a transformer bursting when I was near to it while conducting an Electronics experiment. Or probably getting hit by a truck which was honking when I went for a night run.

Or alcohol. Chances were that my liver was well on its way to get pickled.

But today actually fired for pits of hell. All thanks to my stupid, stupid friend, Priyansh Wal. "Wal, I'm going to hit you so bad if you don't pick up. Get to me soon."

Stupid voicemail. Again.

Ending the call, I wet my lips and swiped my hand over my eyebrow. It was a weird semester to begin with. Two of my best friends started dating, and suddenly all of my hangouts with them start feeling more like me third-wheeling between a couple who was on the go to get married.

Sanya and Priyansh were cool that way. They had the perfect friends to lovers story. Frankly, if you ask me, it was the worst trope ever. Not the way after it ended with my last ex-boyfriend. My only boyfriend. Dating your friend was never a good idea.

Truthfully, a semester in this college and I was in a strange place these days. Neither too suicidal but very far from happy too. All the sex I was having was good, but I still craved for emotional intimacy. And now, I had no friends. Not really.

And no one could seriously believe that a dick could solve all my problems.

Tapping the corner of my phone to the elevator call button, I watched a guy emerge from the other unit. I stared at him, all summery and happy in his light brown trousers and Lee Cooper t-shirt (the horror!), with a face like sunshine and a jingling earphones as he approached towards the elevator.

No one was allowed to look that pleased with life when it was too cold to exist. Another reason I hated Dehradun. People here loved to smile.

"Hi," he said with a smile, his thumb beating a rhythm against the call button. His dark locks fell across his face as he leaned forward. "This thing being slow again? It was slow last night, too. I guess that's part of the deal with old prestigious university buildings, right?" 

He was too much and too loud, and I dug in my pocket for some hand sanitizer. I'd come in contact with enough germs for one afternoon. I glanced up from his face, and shrugged. 

He laughed, and said, "Okay then."

He started humming, and then tapping his leg with the tune, and I looked for the stairwell. I couldn't stand in this hall with a chattering music box much longer, and sharing an elevator with him would require a sedative. 

Despite my penchant for the high-end bar scene, I preferred quiet. I grew up in a house where my parents always fought, threw things at each other, and talked about their sex lives with other people. So I tended to find quiet with noise cancelling headphones, sound proofed and insulated rooms and my laptop to focus on one thing I did well — programming. That was the reason why I found myself enrolling in St. Andrew's Institute of Technology; not because it was not only one of the most prestigious universities which enrolled students for their CSE programs based on their resume and ground work they had done, but also the quiet, the pretty hills and scenic creeks.

Noticing a doorway at the far end of the hall, I gestured for him to step aside. A cold stairwell was a reasonable price to pay for serenity.

"Hey," he said, his hand grabbing my elbow. "It's here."

I met his eyes for the first time since he jangled into my personal space, and as much as I wanted to scowl at his invasion, his smile was too warm, his hazel eyes too bright. He was beautiful for a man, in a way I couldn't comprehend — maybe it was because he was simply not looking at me but he was seeing me — and his smile transformed his whole face. Soon, I was smiling too.

Like a fucking lunatic.

My instincts told me to walk away from Mister Music Box, pop some pills to cage the ugly green anxiety monster, and hike down eleven flights of stairs. 

I always listened to my instincts.

But I stepped into that elevator anyway, gazing at his light eyes, and within ten seconds of the door closing, I was hurtling to my death.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

kabir to himself: always smile. always have your goddamn smile

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

KABIR

"WHAT THE FUCK was that?"

I was hitting an octave above shrill, well inside screechy territory, but free falling in a blacked-out elevator didn't require perfect pitch. 

"Hey. Are you okay?" I asked.

No response. 

I wasn't on this roller coaster alone, right? That sweet, beautiful girl who gave me all kinds of lost damsel in distress but too hot an too stubborn to say anything couldn't have been a heat-wave-induced mirage?

The fall had tossed me against the side wall, and I was on my hands and knees, my shoulder throbbing. I knew I was going to feel that every time I lifted my bow or picked up my guitar for a week or two. Reaching out, I blindly patted the ground around me until my hand connected with a leg. 

"All right, you better be alive," I said, my hand anchored on her thigh as I crawled closer. As far as thighs went, it was nice. Soft and thick. "The only way this could get worse is if I'm trapped in here with a dead woman. Hot but dead woman" 

Dim lights flickered on overhead, and that had to be a good sign.We weren't slamming into the ground floor if there were emergency lights, and I was sticking with that logic. 

"Oh, you are hot. I should be concerned about whether you're seriously injured, but you are too freaking hot for that right now." I laid my hand on her cheek. Her eyelashes were long, thick and dark. Her hair was the same way, but shot through with a touch of auburn.

Hell, this woman wasn't just beautiful. She was gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that modeled for luxury brands like Dior and Chanel. And she probably knew it, too. They always did.

"Hey, Ariel. Tell me you're alive." I said.

Her eyes flickered open then narrowed, and she scrubbed a handover her forehead. "Oh my fucking . . . What the . . . What the actual fuck just happened?" Her voice was a soft melody, all morning glory. It was lethal.

"Well," I sang, glancing around. "I think we're stuck in an elevator. And it's going to be fine. Look, emergency lights. Yay for emergency lights!" She shifted to a sitting position, effectively knocking my hand from her thigh, and rubbed her eyes.

Static crackled from the intercom. "Hello? Anyone in there?"

"Hi, yeah, there are two of us—"

"Is this electrical or mechanical?" she asked, her palms pressed to her eyes.

"Power went out to the whole Computer Department's building," the voice from the intercom replied. "Must've been the stupid final year students conducting their ghastly experiments in the meter room. Rescue team is on its way, and we'll have you out of there in a jiff. Just, um, sit tight."

The good news: we weren't dead, and with any luck, a firefighter would have to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to safety. Presuming she wasn't interested in me doing the task. Not that I would mind.

"Oh fuck," she murmured, and her head fell back against the wall.She pressed her hand to her breastbone and I heard her counting under her breath. 

"Yeah, I know. But this building is really good, I'm sure they're—" 

"No," she grunted. "I am just . . . claustrophobic." From the tone of her voice, I knew, she hated admitting to her weaknesses.

"Just breathe, pumpkin," I said, crouching down in front of her. I would touch her hands or maybe even give her a hug, but she didn't seem like someone who liked being touched, and if there was one thing I had been taught at home at all — it was consent.

"What is that song?" she asked, probably asking about the song which ran in my iPods passively.

"Hmm? Oh, that. It's 'Stop and Stare.' By One Republic," I said. "I think, if there was some song for you, it would have been that."

Shuffling to the side, I bit my lip nervously for my pathetic flirting skills, and stared at her belt which was tied in her woolen dress. It was navy with embroidered black dolphins, and it wasn't long before "Yellow Submarine" was buzzing through my head.

Here's the problem: I didn't know how to be quiet. Asking me for silence was like putting a giant cookie on the counter top, telling me not to eat it, and then leaving me alone with it. I ate the goddamn cookie every time and I just couldn't help it.

So I tapped the watch on my wrist and stared at her. She was too pretty and too sophisticated to be trapped in an elevator. I, on the other hand, attracted this brand of nonsense. This was par for my course, and wasn't it always the poor, lonely undergrad scholarship students in these situations? Never girls who looked like they should be all but talking about bounds of propriety and luxuries, and visiting soirees and balls — did people still do those sort of aristocratic things here? — or debating the appropriate amount of time to age an expensive wine. 

"You didn't have to stop," she said. "With the song. Just talk less. For a few minutes." 

With my iPod in hand, I toggled to the right playlist and gave us each an earbud. She accepted it without question, and I figured averting a claustrophobic almost comatose warranted this form of kinship.

For four and a half blissful minutes, I wasn't worried about elevator disasters. "More? Feeling better? Need anything else?" I asked. She nodded, her eyes still shut. "You want more, you're feeling better, and you need something, or—"

"It's fine," she snapped. "I'm fine. Play something else."

I shifted off my knees and settled beside him. We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, listening to LCD Soundsystem, Weezer, Taylor Swift, Lauv, The Who, AFI, Van Morrison, Seven Mary Three, One Republic, The Smiths, Lupe Fiasco, and a handful of new bands for almost two hours. 

So much for getting us out in a jiff.

When the Julia song ended, I turned down the volume and said, "I'm Kabir, by the way."

"The elusive Kabir Jaiswal?" her tone was morose.

I smiled. "The one and only." To have an accident while on their way to the Jaipur Airport. Doing an entire semester online, and despite of all that, ending up as the topper of the first semester.

She then shifted to her side, and looked at me. Saw me. 

"Would be Gold Rush," she murmured, before everything went dark, and we were falling.