Song of the chapter: Yeh Kya Hua
Singers: Shreya Ghoshal, Dev Negi
From: Broken but beautiful.
Adrita's POV
Do you see me jumping like a 5-year-old? Do you see my shoulders doing their happy dance? Do you see me flipping my hair as I smirk over how cool I am?
No?
Maybe, because I am trying my best to not let my inner self show how much help I need. Honestly, can you even blame me? I just had an incredible lunch with my crush and it wasn't even that awkward! I don't know what exactly happened but the moment we entered the restaurant something changed. He was smiling a lot, he even initiated the conversations!
But it only took me a minute to destroy the friendly environment. After leaving the restaurant, everything was still smooth, our trip back to the office was way better than the one we took to the restaurant. We were heading to our respective floors when I finally remembered to thank him.
After pressing our respective floor numbers on the lift buttons I turn to him and let out, "I loved the restaurant and the food. Thank you."
The sides of his lips twist into a beautiful smile, giving me the confidence to continue, "And also thank you for booking the cab! I am so grateful that we didn't have to take a bus. You know, buses are way too crowded, so yeah, thanks for being generous to book a cab." I thank him gently.
A small frown appears on his face which soon gets replaced with a grimace as he nods his head and averts his eyes away.
With a ding the elevator's door opens, indicating the arrival of his floor. He steps out without even bothering a glance or a goodbye.
***
Next Day
Anirudh's POV
I am not a bad person but am I good? Doubtful. How do you even define what's good? I am sure I am a decent person but good? I am not sure. To what extent do good people judge others? To what extent do they assume things? What if they know it's wrong? What if they are aware of the high probability of them being mistaken? What if they are trying their best to not jump to conclusions? Does it make them inherently bad or just human?
A sick and judgemental part of me was bent on the idea that Adrita was nothing but a fake doll who loves playing with people, a mean human who derives pleasure out of others' misery.
But I know that's not true.
Why? Because I know that the sick part of me wants to prove my prior assumptions right. The deep-rooted hatred inside me does not want to see Adrita in any other light but what I had painted her into.
I don't hate Adrita.
Why? I don't know. But I don't.
Hardworking. Hardworking is how most people describe me. And ambition is the outcome of the title I have been given. I couldn't afford to fail and I never did. But still, no one believed in me, no one believed in my dreams, my ambition.
Since childhood, people have 'consoled' me, told me to not see such big dreams, that my 'lowly' status was meant to crumble beneath the shoes of the mighty. I hate pity. I hate feeling ridiculed.
I have done a lot of small jobs and I have heard a lot of things: "Do you know who I am ?" "What would you know about class?" "People like you are nothing but a burden."
My grandmother's medical bills, my education loans, and a better home. Everything's on me. I had to step up. I took this internship in hopes to prove everyone wrong. That my resume would be tough enough to crack the boundaries made by my 'low' status.
And hate derives passion. My dislike towards Adrita was never towards Adrita. It wasn't personal. It was just a way to keep me going. To strive harder.
"You know, buses are way too crowded, so yeah, thanks for being generous to book a cab."
I scoff at my surroundings; sweaty people pushing each other to create enough space for themselves, a grumpy uncle hurling abuses at the bus conductor as the latter shouts at him to go to the back. A toddler crying his heart out perhaps scared of the crowd.
Adrita was right, buses are way too crowded. And I too am an insignificant part of the significant crowd.
The bus reaches my office stand, pushing my way out of the bus, I inhale a deep breath and pace my way towards the office gate. Hopefully, in a year or so, I will be free of the crowd. Hopefully, a little more significant.
As I near my desk, a package with my name on it caught my eye. I glance around as if the sender of the mysterious package would suddenly jump out. Confused, I probe inside and discover a box of doughnuts and a small note. Placing the box on the desk, I read the little note.
Think of it as a thank you gift! Or maybe a peace offering? If you ask me why as a peace offering? I am not sure of the reason, but I know you know. So, let's just say, I trust your judgement.
P.s. Do you like pen fights?
I wasn't even aware I was smiling until my colleague gave me a questioning look. I shrug at him, slumping into my chair, I sigh at the note.
She trusts my judgement. Only if she knew.
Half of my day was spent working tirelessly on an upcoming project. Finally, the clock struck 1 pm, and I was able to breathe without a senior roaming over my head.
Without thinking much, I pick up the box of doughnuts and make my way toward the elevator. Pressing the design department floor no, I leaned against the wall of the lift.
Maybe I am a hypocrite, but I wanted to see her. And it will only be fair to thank her for the sweet gesture.
*****
Adrita's POV
"I hope I am not disturbing." A voice above my head whispers.
The upper half of my body was sprawled on the table. I tilt my head to glance at the person who dared to interrupt my nap time. A blurry resemblance of Anirudh looms above my form. I straighten up and rub my eyes to get a clear view and I jolt awake as the resemblance turns out to be reality.
"Are you alright?" He questions, his eyebrows furrowing as he gazes at me with concern in his eyes, or so I hoped.
Scratching the side of my head I reply with a sheepish smile, "Ahh uhh, yeah, I am quite alright! How are you?"
"Great! I wanted to ask you a question. May I?"
I frown at his seriousness laced voice but nod anyway.
He seats himself on a nearby chair and keeps the box of doughnuts I had given to him on my table. I look at the box in confusion and turn to face him, raising a single eyebrow conveying my confusion.
"Do you often trust people's judgments about yourself?"
Startled, I chuckle at his question. "Shouldn't I?"
He drags his chair near mine, picking up a pencil from my table, he swirls it in between his fingers. After a momentary lapse of silence, he gazes at me and shakes his head in denial.
"No, you shouldn't. At least not the judgements of strangers or people who know you but not actually. Often people base their judgements on what they have experienced or how they see the world." The sincerity in his voice confided something personal as if his words wanted to communicate a particular emotion.
I am way too stunned to say anything. Why would one not trust others' judgement? They are the ones who are observing our behaviour, and our actions. But I don't voice my opinions.
Sensing my discomfort or his own, Anirudh diverts the conversation to a lighter topic. Picking up two pens from my desk, he brings them to my eye level and smirks, "So what was it about pen fights?"
Grinning, I snatch one pen from his hand and declare, "A challenge you are about to lose!"
He leans forward, a mere inch between our faces and whispers, "All the best." He pushes himself back against the chair and winks.
I blink. What was that? My heart is thudding so loudly that I can feel it jumping out of my chest and surrendering itself to him. My heart had lost it but nope, not my mind. Jerking myself away from my momentarily mesmerised state I scold myself for getting distracted so easily.
I shall win.
While I was busy composing my heart, Anirudh dragged his chair to the opposite side of my table so that we were sitting face to face, my table or better- a battleground between us.
Rubbing his hands, he asks me to begin.
My first move was pretty good. His pen didn't fall but had moved closer to the edge. A little push and I will win the first round.
I stare at Anirudh, his eyes narrow down on his pen as he contemplates his move.
Quite competitive, I see.
But not quite a player. I chuckle, watching his pen roll on the floor. His well-planned strategy couldn't defeat my unplanned easiness.
My chuckle turns to full-blown laughter when I notice an overly upset Anirudh. He crosses his arm over his chest while his eyes tear up the soul of his loser pen.
Hearing my exaggerated manifestation of enjoyment, Anirudh's eyes turn up to me. Rolling his eyes, he picks up the fallen pen. "Whatever, that was just a lucky shot."
Maybe it was. I have been born lucky but, this time I wanted to take whatever little credit and enjoyment I could get out of my small win.
Flicking away the non-existent dust from my shoulders, I shrug at him.
Pen fights, doughnuts, and a little bit of childishness; incredible ingredients to a recipe named friendship.
***
Author's note:
What is your favourite book?