You remember stumbling up to your feet, knocking at your neighbor's door hurriedly after that.

They had called an ambulance but all was done before it could reach your house.

It was an accident.

The fish tank fell down by mistake, your mother slipped on the water, fell into the glass pieces on the floor, and one of the many stabbed her in the neck.

Such obvious evidence. Why delay?

It was a fatal accident. The case was closed.

Within a day, the police cleared the crime scene.

You don't remember crying when you cremated her on the pyre later in the evening.

Who were you staying for?

Your mother was not the most affectionate. Your uncle wasn't the greatest. Friends hadn't been the friendliest.

All your life, it had been ticking to this point.

But you knew it wasn't an accident. It could've been.

You pushed your mother, then she fell. You did it with intentions.

And you knew your uncle did too.

He'd have known by then. By the time his flight lands in Singapore, he'll know about what happened.

It'd take him at least until the next morning to come back. You had one chance.

So you ran.

The same evening, packing what little of your things was in that house before your uncle found you, you left.

You ran all the way across the country. You hitched rides, starved for days, slept on the streets.

Until you reached a place where you were sure that your uncle would never find you.

You found two jobs. You found your first home.

Because the place you lived in with your mother and your uncle was just a house. Four walls and a roof do not make a home.

Similar to you, the landlord of the home with the bougainvillea had left an unhappy family and traveled as far as she could, as far away from her previous home as possible.

You didn't mind her condition that the bougainvillea should be left as it is. Even the front gate could be barely seen. You liked it. You like being hidden.

Because all your life, you never felt like you really lived.

You liked knowing what would happen next in your day.

Ever since you were out on your own, weekdays were spent working two part time jobs. Weekends were spent at home.

You didn't earn much, but you were content with it. You were comfortable. And so was this life.

Nothing could get in the way of your routine as you walk through the bougainvillea. Nothing could get in the way of your peace. Not anymore.

You'd planned on doing the same for the rest of your life; no bustling or expectations. Just you and your perfectly planned day.

You had been hiding for six months when Shubman saw you.

-

The moment you stepped out of the door, you were greeted by the scene of a parent raising their voice at the seemingly five year old.

Another great way to go on with your day.

You flinched a bit, looking away from their table as you faintly heard someone else who came along with them.

-

"I mean, don't get me wrong, you're good for the scalp but I have a love-hate relationship with you," you said, looking at the coconut tree beside you.

-

A confession from someone that good looking was not even the last thing you needed in your life right now.

"I will not be deviated by this," you mumbled to yourself, stabbing the baby potato with your fork. "I do not need another person to put me down again."

People could not be trusted.

-

There were probably fifty red roses, still fresh and some even had dewdrops on them.

You knew they were fresh because they were still strong, tall and vibrant. They also appeared sturdy and firm to touch.

You knew enough about flowers.

"I don't want them," you finally spoke up.

"You don't like flowers?" Shubman asked, genuinely wanting to correct his possible mistake.

-

"I don't like the idea of being given flowers" you corrected him. "Just leave them in the plant."

-

One of your co-workers had broken a few glasses in the kitchen while you were inside.

You had been tripping on air ever since.

It's just the sound that puts you off so much.

-

"How was your day?" Shubman asked as a routine and that was the last straw.

No one's ever asked you how your day was before him.

-

Somewhere along the line, you got used to him waiting for you. Looking forward to him asking you how your day was.

No one's ever done anything for you.

-

"You are not allergic to cocoa or hazelnut, are you?" Shubman asked, concern growing in his face.

"No, I'm not allergic to anything," you said, shaking your head in denial. "I hate anything that has to do with coconuts though. And do you know this? More people die from falling coconuts than from shark attacks. Also a study says that-"

You went on providing statistics while Shubman held the box closer to you so that you finally got it.

-

Oddly, Shubman's reputation did not scare you at all.

You believed you had worse things to be scared of. Zombies, ghosts, curd, the past, the future.

But for the first time in forever, one thing you're sure about. You're not scared about the present.

-

Your eyes met and you felt like you were risking everything, but for once, you really wanted to.

It was never that you didn't believe in love.

You just didn't believe in it for yourself. You didn't think you'd be that lucky.

Looking at him, it felt different.

It felt like your long period of loneliness and difficulty was being ceased.

All you wanted to do was hold on, for now Shubman was your light at the end of the tunnel.

-

Getting off the chair, you sat in the middle of the bed, unzipping the bag.

You had your sketchbooks in it, along with art supplies you hadn't touched in months, also all your other ID, your old phone and its charger.

All you needed was a phone number. You concluded after an internal debate that before leaving to the café, you'll buy one.

-

"Yes, you do," you answered, raising your head up to look at him, hitting his chin in the process.

Truth be told, it hurt you more than it hurt him.

"Ow," you winced a little, rubbing the slightly sore spot.

"Are you okay, baby?" Shubman asked and you nodded.

"Yeah, I've seen worse," you muttered. "Sorry."

-

"I'll show you my sketchbooks tomorrow," you said excitedly. "I actually had my interest in fashion designing," your fingers tapped at his knuckles randomly. "In the end, I got a degree which had nothing to do with fashion or my current job."

-

You had tried burying all those dreams. You weren't that lucky.

-

"Insanity runs in the family," Ishan said and Shahneel swatted at his arm slightly.

"If you met my family, you'd take that back," you told him and he laughed a little.

-

"I know it's barely been a week and it sounds too early for that. But I promise it won't be different from when you're alone," he said quickly.

It wasn't how a relationship was normally paced.

And as a reminder, this was anything but a normal relationship considering both of your backgrounds.

-

There wasn't hesitation. You both are the only ones to see each other's vulnerable sides and for the first time, you found someone you feel comfortable with.

-

The former sat in front of you, watching with a smile as you showed him one of your sketchbooks.

He instantly knew it was one of things you had with you growing up.

The pages were old, the original color fading and tattered at the edges while some were torn and taped to keep them together.

-

"I fall asleep anywhere, you know. When you're feeling tired, nothing can stop you. I've fallen asleep under my bed many times."

-

"Eating too much coconut can evoke allergic reactions in some people," the doctor said, as you recognized from his white coat. "In this case, throwing up could've been plausible because Ms. Y/n didn't like the certain smell or taste."

-

"You hate coconuts," he mumbled and you nodded.

"That is why."

-

"I don't know," you mumbled as Shubman sat beside you. "I'm used to sleeping alone." You assumed he knew that Shahneel was with you. "Or mostly because I feel like I can still taste the coconut. It brings out memories I want to forget."

-

"I don't like it when people yell."

-

"I never knew having an uncle was this fun."

-

"I could always hear them. I'd run to the rooftop, just staring at the distance while the plane went about," you took your hand off his. "Hearing the engines, just staring at it again as it took off and disappeared into the sky. That was my happiness. It was all I had."

You moved closer so that you could lay your head on his shoulder again.

"Then I met you," you said while holding his hand. "My life was a perfect streak for once, Shubi. I didn't want to risk extending the streak and ruin its perfection. Until I found you."

-

"I used to think often about how it'd feel to be a star. But stars have a purpose."

-

"Shubi," you called as he started walking. "We've been together for over a month and you've never asked anything about my family."

You laid your head on his shoulder, tugging at his blazer.

"I want to tell you," you said, the sleepiness going away.

Yet you didn't continue, not wanting to ruin the moment as Shubman carried you all the way to the elevator and your car that waited in front of the lobby.

A/n

The story has just begun.