[2016] 

"I'm downstairs", he uttered, seconds after I answered the call and shook me out of my evening nap.

I searched for the clock, nailed on the wall and it only struck 4.40 p.m. "I thought we were going out at 6.30", I rubbed my eyes, as I talked and sat on the edge of the bed. "I know. I thought I'll drop into your house for a cup of tea before driving...but if you don't want me in, I can come back later", he said, dramatically, and I smiled, getting out of bed. "Fifth floor. 521. Coffee or tea?", I asked him, in one breath. "My choices haven't changed yet", he simply said back and cut the call.

Tea; he meant tea, with a plate full of biscuits because he loved biscuits dipped in tea. He'd often say that the taste was unmatchable and that was a symbol of being a true Indian. And I would simply laugh at how stupid he sounded, and admire how innocent he looked when he talked about it – he would sound like a child, who talked about his favourite toy. 'Nivi, you don't know the taste! God, I could write an entire book about it. The biscuit slowly dissolves in your mouth and the taste gets stronger...God!', his voice would melt, and so would my heart.

Around ten minutes after the phone call, I heard three knocks on the door. "Come in!", I screamed from the kitchen, as I poured the tea into a cup.

"Hey", he staggered his way inside my apartment, struggling to catch his breath. I forgot to tell him that the lift was under maintenance. "Why did you hide such a big secret from me, Nivi?", he gasped, dramatically, and I laughed. "If I knew that I would have to climb 5 floors, I would have reached here at 6.30 itself!", he said, leaning against the wall, and I smiled, shaking my head to the sides.

"That tea better be worth climbing 5 floors for", he warned, walking towards the kitchen. "Oh my God, you just climbed 5 floors. What's the big deal?", I rolled my eyes. "The big deal is – I don't even climb 1 floor", he admitted. "No wonder you look like a potato", I muttered under my breath. "Hey, I heard that!", he scorned. "I didn't say anything. Here, here's your tea...and your favourite Marie biscuit", I pushed the tea cup towards him, as he hopped onto the marbled kitchen-counter.

"I won't end up with a bad stomach, won't I?", he joked, blowing into the steaming hot tea, and I shot a death stare at him. "Drink and then, talk about it", I told him and leaned against the counter, wrapping my hands around the warm cup. "Not bad, Patel. Pretty impressive", I could say that I felt him out-and-out astounded, because of the tone of his voice. "It's actually good. Really, really good", he nudged me and showered a rain of compliments. "It's just tea, Darsh", I smiled and took a sip. "It's your tea, Nivi. You won't understand", he uttered words that only played with my mind, but I didn't want to take a deeper dig at the topic. But, I couldn't help but wonder what the big deal about 'my tea' was? It tasted the same, and nothing more than average. Sometimes, his words were a world away from my understanding. He uttered words in a way which would never reveal the depths it bore. One would simply understand that he felt something, but what did he exactly feel? That was a secret only between him and the God he worshipped in.

"Do you believe in God now, at least?", I questioned, in the middle of nowhere, since I thought about it. "God? Why are we talking about God all of a sudden?", he was confused. "Just. It struck me. Now, tell me", I demanded. "You'll be so happy to know that---", he paused and my insides bubbled with happiness. "---I still don't believe in God", he forced a sarcastic smile and popped the bubble I floated in.

"Gosh, Darsh! I hate you so much!", I slapped his upper-arm, pushing him away. "Tell me one reason you don't believe in God?", I ordered. "Tell me one reason why I should believe in God?", he asked back. "There are uncountable reasons!", I exclaimed. "It still is my personal choice to believe in God, or not", he shrugged. "But how can you not believe in God? Life becomes purposeless, without Him!", I was clearly bewildered. "My life has enough and more purpose, and I'm pretty happy with it", he shrugged. "Bu—", I opened my mouth to talk, but he didn't let me to. "I'm grown up enough to understand what I'm doing, Nivi. What I decide to believe in is my personal choice. How can you believe in 'God' when you haven't seen Him, or even know that he truly exists? What if you devote your entire life to the 'God' you're talking about, and when you die, you find out that He doesn't even exist?", he posed. "Moreover, I have faced situations in life that have forced me to lose faith in God. Let's not talk about it. Please. I would never say anything that would make you lose your faith in God; you believe in Him and I respect that. I would be glad if you could return the favour", he bluntly said. And I couldn't say anything more.

We had to give each other the space we needed, and respect what the other person believed in; many relationships – with good potential – go down the drain because we focus so much on correcting the other person, rather than accepting them for who they are. We try to make them similar to us, without understanding that everyone is different.

"I'm sorry. I was just---", I shrugged and exhaled, loudly. "I don't want you to be sorry. I just---it's okay. The conversation made me forget about my Marie biscuit. Bring it on!", he changed the topic, cheerfully. Thank God.

Swinging his legs back and forth on the marbled-kitchen counter, he sipped his tea, little by little. His presence made the house feel full and illuminated. I'd been striving in the dark and in isolation for months, and that feeling of having someone around made me feel...wanted. It almost filled the emptiness in me. I wanted to spend the entire evening with him and talk about everything I could ever think of. We were back to being together...but in a different world; nothing felt the same anymore.

I received an incoming call from my mom, around ten minutes after our conversation. "Oh, it's my mom", I whispered, picking up my phone. "Shit. Fuck. Do you want me to go out?", he panicked and I stared at him, before I burst out laughing. "It's just my mom, Darsh", I said, between my laughs. "That's the problem!", he exclaimed. "Stupid. Stay here", I chided. "No, no, I'll stay outside. You talk to your mom and call me back in", he argued. "We're not kids, anymore. She'll be cool about it", I said, casually, and answered the call.

"What took you this long to answer the call, Navya?", mom uttered in sheer disappointment. "I have a guest over. Guess who?", I prompted and Darshan signaled me to keep shut. "Why are you so scared?", I whispered at him. "Who is it?", my mom questioned, directly. "Darshan is here, Mama! The one who lives in our lane", I revealed. "The one all the Patels hate", Darshan muttered softly. "Wow, seriously? That's wonderful", my mom sounded happy. "Do you want to talk to him?", I offered and Darshan began walking away. "Darsh!", I hissed, grabbing his hand and held him back. "My mom wants to talk to you", I held out the phone towards him and he shot me a death stare for around 20 seconds, before taking the phone from my hand.

"Hi, Aunty. How are you?", he talked in this extremely pretentious voice, and walked away from me. He stood in the extreme corner of my living room and talked to my mom, as he shuffled his feet on the ground. He was so nervous, and the sight was simply so funny.

Around ten minutes later, he handed the phone back to me and I laughed hysterically.

"Why are you scared of my mother? She's so nice", I told him. "What's wrong with you, Nivi? After everything that happened in the past, how can you expect me to talk to your mom like it's nothing?", Darshan demanded of me. "She talked to you like it was nothing, didn't she?", I shrugged and he didn't say anything back. "We were young when everything happened, and she understands that. She cannot be holding that grudge for the rest of her life. If so, she wouldn't have talked to me, either", I told him. "People forget things with time, Darsh, and when you look back – nothing is a big deal, no matter how humongous or painful the heartbreak was", I smiled at him. "But your dad and I still cannot be friends!", he joked, making me laugh. "No, seriously. India and Pakistan can become friends, somehow. But your dad and I...we're hopeless", he dramatized. "God, enough. I'm going to dress up. Watch TV until, then!", I ordered and hurried towards my room.

But around twenty minutes later, we found out that a curfew was imposed around Mumbai. Darshan was stuck in my house, basically. 

[Together indoors? What secrets would it bring out? Stay tuned to know more, and until then - LET ME KNOW HOW THE CHAPTER WAS!].