29

-• different but real•-

Taranya

It's hard to believe he's the same man I can't stand, because walking with him feels like the opposite. He's a quiet man. Contrary to his effect in my life; chaotic. I wonder if he knows it, and if he does, why is he so merciless towards my peace. He never lets it stay. Around him feels like the world is closing up into a dark, never-ending hole.

I never fancied abrupt beginnings, but he's all that an abrupt beginning consists of. Nebulous, unexpected, strange, forced, unsteady, but novel, to the point of being bizzare, and yet determined, powerful, as if the universe is devoted towards him, for he is the central force, changing the tides, manipulating the stars, illuminating the skies, and bending over the mountains.

Silly, isn't it?

The thought itself is unrealistic. But you'd glance once at him, and you'd realise to make that happen, he wouldn't need to command anyone. In his presence, it'll just happen.

He was right.

In a changed scenario, where our reality is the lie of an alternate universe, we'd have met like the normal folks, and I'd have committed myself to this man for every life along with the existing one.

The thought of impossible is often perceived as a regret. If things can't be changed, we humans fail to accept it as such. I wonder why. Whether it's the guilt of not being capable enough, or the anger of not having people capable enough to make it happen with you. Maybe both.

I wish I can blame him for all the wrong he has done. But something holds me back. How would he ever do the right thing, when he was never taught to choose the right thing? The way he expressed what kind of man he'd have become if he wasn't who he is squeezed a chord in my chest. Doesn't that mean he acknowledges his wrong? His mistakes? You can accuse a perpetrator once, twice, maybe forever if he never accepts his crimes, but how long would you rant the same thing to the man who is reflecting, introspecting and acknowledging the wrong he has done, and is even willing to change?

I can forgive him. I can. I know I'm capable of. But he expects more. He expects another chance. Maybe that's what stops me from forgiving him. I'd be giving him a hope. And I'm not strong enough yet. I'm not strong enough to put my trust in his hands and wait patiently to see whether he crushes it again or cradles it close to his chest and cherishes it forever.

Faith is a miracle. And miracles don't happen at one's will. It happens at one's actions, their conviction, their efforts, and most importantly, at the cost of their time.

In this fast, instant type of world, where trends are more popular than authenticity, and relationships are tested based on materialistic trades, no one's willing to wait. People move on fast.

I may have married this man, but I don't know him enough to judge whether he's willing to earn my trust. I don't think so. He has time and again proved he wants everything on his own conditions. Such people don't stay around for long. They leave when things slip out of control. And control is something Shourya can't give up on. That much I'm aware of when it comes to him.

But I'm willing to see him prove me wrong.

I want to see him prove me wrong.

"We're here," he whispers.

I look forward.

It's a lake.

He releases my hand to walk over the floating deck and looks over his right shoulder at me. I receive a gorgeous, stunning smile from his handsome face, and then he's removing his t-shirt and diving in. The loud splash makes me flinch.

As I walk over the deck, he emerges from the water and tosses his dark hair back, spreading his broad arms on the surface, turning around to face me.

No matter how fast my heart races, I feel the blood running through my veins slow down, almost freeze. In the moment that our eyes meet, I wish to throw all the rationality out, forget his past mistakes, ignore the future consequences and just jump in there to kiss him.

"Come in, join me. It's not that cold."

I baulk at the idea of swimming with him. "No, I'm fine. I don't want to get wet." I sit on the deck and dip my toes in the cold water, swirling around to create little ripples.

He drops his head back and floats, staring at the dimming sky. I stare at him every time I'm not aware of our twisted relationship. But the reminder is just there, in the back of my head, and the second my heart wants to give in, my senses kick in and I stop in time.

"What about my love is abominable, Tara?" He murmurs.

I curl my toes. "Everything."

"Because it does not concede with your idea of love?"

"Because it's not ideal at all. It's detrimental and self destructive. Love harbours no malice, no selfishness, and certainly no force." I state.

"Maybe you just can't understand it?" He stands straight. "Because it makes sense to me. Why else would I not want to live in the world that doesn't have you? How can that be selfish?"

I exhale sharply. "That's not how world perceives love."

"How does it matter what the world perceives love as?" He swims closer. "You tell me, is any man similar to another?" I shake my head. "We're different, right?" I nod. "We think differently, we feel differently, we act differently. That's what makes you Tara and me Shourya. Because we're different, right?" He comes closer, his wet hands on my bare knees. "If there are million different minds out there, then how can there be only one love?"

I look down at my lap, lacing my fingers together and twisting them nervously.

"My love is different. Perhaps a little cruel, slightly selfish, not your ideal kind, but that doesn't make it any less real, Tara. I've experienced every emotion unwillingly. Fear, pain, grief, anger, confusion, anxiety, even relief. They were shoved in my face before I could even learn to comprehend them. But this, Tara, the love I feel for you, it's my own. I've felt it as it happened to me. Love has been very patient with me, Tara. It has very graciously offered me the kindness that this world failed to taught me. It reminded me that I'm a human, and that I'm not abandoned by the beauty of being one." He runs a finger along the line of my jaw and deftly tilts my chin so I'm looking at him. "My love for you is the purest. It contains no malice. Don't call it detrimental, please."

I sit quiet, abandoned by the words. What do I even say to that? How can I even defy the gravity of those confessions? If they felt real to me, how naked must they make him feel?

I look away from him and into the distance, gasping softly at the splendid view. Despite the sinking sun, streaks of purples, reds and oranges soar high beyond the horizon.

"It's a twilight."

I hum.

"What's your favourite? Sunrise or sunset?"

I shrug. "Depends on my mood. If I wake up early morning without needing an alarm clock, I love sunrises. If I'm free to watch a sun go down in all its glory, I like sunsets."

"So, it's in the moment that you decide."

I nod. "What about you?"

He drapes his forearm over my lap as a support and turns his head to watch the sky. I swallow softly. He did it so casually. I've no idea why it made my heart act up like it's performing somersaults inside my chest.

"I like twilights more." He answers. "It lingers between day and night, beginning and end, existing with an imprecison of a soul between life and death, but still, undeniably glorious, memorable and worth it."

My lips fall apart in awe of his words.

"Remember you once said I look like someone who read books?" He turns around and folds his arms across my lap, placing his chin on the piqued knuckles as he nods at me. My hands on the side curl into tight fists. "You've the eloquence of a writer."

"I do?" He tilts his head to the side in question.

I hum.

"Are you saying you love reading me?" He asks softly.

"No, I didn't...." I stop shaking my head when a devastatingly beautiful smile turns his lips into a crescent of the dark skies. I suck in my stomach as it drops to a new low. "I didn't say that." I whisper.

"Would you read me if I was a book?"

I nibble on my lower lip. "I told you I don't read books-"

"Would you read me if I was a book, Tara?" He repeats.

Yes. God, yes.

"I don't know."

"Would you at least pick me off the shelf?"

"Yes."

He smiles. "That's enough. Thank you."

And he removes his arms from my lap, sinking low into the cold water.

Not wanting him to see the effect he has on me, I frenziedly jump into the cold water and go down the surface. He opens his eyes, meeting mine under the water, before he swims closer. I push back, away from him. Unexpectedly, his eyes go wide in fear and he lunges at me, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me above the surface while I thrash in his arms to let go.

"What!?" I bark angrily.

"You were about to hit your shin on the open nail of the deck leg." He grunts and releases me at an arm's length.

I look down and notice the corroded nail weirdly poking out of the wooden leg of the deck. Embarrassment washes over me. "Oh,"

He sighs and swims away from me, towards the deeper side of the lake. I feel apprehensive seeing him explore the unchecked waters so nonchalantly.

"Careful!"

He pops his head above the water.

"There might be snakes or something weird in there. Don't go too far."

He smirks. "Are you worried about me, Mrs. Rajawat?"

I blink, slightly dumbfounded. "Stop, dreaming, Mr. Rajawat. You're my only way to get back to the farmhouse." I stumble back when he swims towards me in a surprisingly fast speed. "Wha-What?"

He cages me against the deck. I sink and emerge outside his arms. But he's quick to back me up once again.

"Let's go back home."

"That's the plan."

He ducks underwater, making me frown. But then something slips around the back of my knees, and I shriek loudly. He lifts me above the water and slides me over the deck, laughing as he returns above the surface.

"That was not funny!" I grit out and get up on my feet, shuffling back to make him space. He climbs out of the lake and stretches to his full height, flexing his bulky muscles and sexy six pack abs.

"You're all wet."

I look down at myself. I went into the water with all my clothes on. Dumb move.

"But not the kind of wet I prefer." He smiles lopsided, revealing the tiny dimple on the corner of his lips.

Flustered, I cross my arms on my chest. "Shut up."

He moves closer and kicks up his shirt with his feet in his hands, offering it to me. "Remove that and wear this."

"No, thanks. I'm fine." I say stubbornly. He sighs and grabs the hem of my tshirt. "Hey!" I slap his hand away.

"Then wear this." He insists.

"God, you're so insufferable." I snatch the tshirt from him and remove mine, putting on his immediately. "Happy?"

"Let's go," he takes the lead. I follow him while wringing my drenched crop top. He walks up to where we dropped off our backpacks and just like before, kicks it up in his hand using his foot. Then he swings it over his shoulder and continues walking. I quickly rush to grab my backpack before following him.

We reach the farmhouse before the dark falls. I take shower first, then he occupies the bathroom. Meanwhile, I go down to the kitchen and prepare something for dinner. I took over the task of cooking because I knew it'll be difficult to explain him of my weird food choices. It's better I leave the cleaning for him and do the cooking for both of us. He comes down an hour later and offers help. I deny. He'll be doing the dishes anyway. So, he sits down on the stool at the kitchen island and plays with an apple.

"Are you still not going to tell me how you convinced Yuvaan Bhai?"

He looks up, lips pursed together, and shakes his head.

"Oh, c'mon!" I groan.

"No, I'm telling you I said nothing. I didn't try to convince him."

"Then what did you write in the feedback?"

"Feedbacks are supposed to be anonymous." He defends.

"Yes, but I'm his sister. I've the right to know."

"What about my privacy?" He counters.

"We share the same surname. I'm your wife. What privacy?"

He smiles. "Say that again."

"What privacy?"

"No, before that."

I stop stirring the dal and place a hand on my hip. "I'm your wife."

His smile broadens. He tilts his head towards the roof. Sighs. "I love that."

To hide my blush, I turn back around and focus on the dal.

"When I visited his gallery, they were working towards an exhibition, so the store rooms were open." I pause and turn my head over my shoulder, nodding at him as a sign that I'm listening. "I saw a few of his old acrylic paintings. It seemed like he had given up on them."

"Yeah, he can create, but he's afraid of restoring his own work. He had messed up some of his favourite paintings in the past. So he doesn't even try anymore."

"I realised that. So I wrote him a feedback and slipped in a visiting card of a very popular professional conservator. Her name is Amina Hassan. She's hard to get in touch with since she is a renowned artist and has only ever restored famous works of celebrated artists. But we got acquainted in Morocco while I was on a business trip and was visiting a local museum. I didn't know who she was. I didn't even know the painting I was heavily scrutinizing was hers. She stood next to me and asked what I think about this piece. I said it looks like someone coughed up blood and called it art."

I gasp. "That's so rude, Shourya."

"Apparently, it was true."

I gasp louder.

"She told me her mother had blood cancer and the first time she found her mother coughing blood, the image of it was imprinted into her brain. So she drew it exactly like that. It's supposed to describe her horror and helplessness."

I don't know whether to laugh or shake my head in disbelief. "Is her mother dead?"

He nods.

"Oh,"

"That's how I got your brother the world famous professional conservator. Maybe that convinced him."

"What did you write in the feedback?"

"As long as it exists, it can be saved."

Yeah, that did the job.

"The dal," he points when I don't stop staring at him. I blink and clear my throat, turning off the gas flame and putting on the lid to cover the hot dal.

"Dinner is ready. Can you help me set the table?"

"Yeah, sure," he obeys quickly.

I keep a little distance from him as we work in unison in the kitchen. He has been making my heart flutter since that lake conversation.

"Finally, I'm hungry." He starts serving himself.

I add dal and rice to my plate and serve myself a little bit of egg curry on the side. He glances at my plate, frowns, but thankfully doesn't comment. We eat in silence.

After dinner, he pours us a glass of wine and we settle down in the living room to enjoy the drink. He switches the channel to an English one. A familiar movie plays on the screen. His smile quickly mirrors mine. "Remember?"

I nod. "Palm Springs. I remember the name but I've no idea of the story."

"We watched it because you insisted."

I roll my eyes. "I did not. I just didn't want to see a horror movie. And I was nervous."

"Because of me?"

"Yes." I bring a pillow over my lap. "I didn't know you were playing with my feelings back then. I just thought I'm pathetic to be finding similarities between you and Rudra."

"You weren't pathetic. You were keen."

I scoff. "Tell that to the seventeen year old Tara who thought she was committing a sin because she was attracted to two men. Do you have any idea of the emotional and mental turmoil I went through because of you?" My voice comes out harsh and bitter.

He lowers his gaze, ashamed.

I take a deep breath, composing myself.

"You know the way I see it?" He whispers, "That no matter what face I put on, what identity I use, what story I make up, you'd still recognise me, still want me, still see me for who I really am, and not who I pretend to be."

"And what did that give me?" I retort. "Betrayal. Pain. Heartbreak."

He swallows. "Sorry isn't going to erase that. So, I'll stop apologising from now onwards. Instead, I'll own up and try to change. Just give me a chance?" He requests.

"I don't know, Shourya. Trusting you scares me." Putting the wine glass down, I get up and look down at him. "Thanks for today. I had fun. Good night." I walk off upstairs towards our bedroom.

I try to sleep. But I fail miserably. An hour later he comes into the room. I pretend to have fallen asleep. He shuffles around for a while, then comes over and lies down next to me. I frown.

I thought he sleeps in a sitting-

My heart clenches in my chest when he drapes an arm across my waist and pulls me closer until my back is touching his chest.

Then he leans in, his lips hovering near my ear. "I love you."

Weirdly, that's enough for me to drop all the inhibitions and fall asleep in his arms.

Bas abhi bahut ho gaya cheesy romance. Let's add some masala.

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