𝐀𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐀

t w o

❦

    A S  H E R  B A C K  rested against the cold, thick trunk. She let her eyes wander to the structure that stood a few feet away from where she sat. It was not a new sight, yet it was the first time she actually noticed it.

    It was constructed like a house but seemed rather shabby to be one, she thought. The bricks had begun to fade, tiny sprouting of stems and leaves emerged from the carvings, with giant, wide, open jharokhas on each storey of the structure, which seemed oddly foregone.

    Her eyes scanned the haveli ploddingly. An ugly feeling erupted in her chest as she visioned how anyone could fall from the wide jharokhas so easily. Why would any artisan let alone the owner let that happen. Didn't they care about the people living there? The thought had her distracted for a moment. It did not look abandoned but was on the verge of it.

    She shook off the feeling and ended up being more agitated. Until another spectacle caught her eye, and she never realised when she rose from her spot under the tree and ran towards it.

    It was a well. A withered, ancient one. Every crevice of her mind sprang with nostalgic fumes, too blur to unfold. There were quite a few instances that she had not completely forgotten about. As she craned her neck to look inside, the floor of the well shone under the noon sun, small ripples forming as it gave Aaina an unknown feeling of joy.

    With a feverish heart, she pulled the rope on the pulley in a tough yank. The emotions started unchaining. Yet there was no picture. She tried to imagine. A clean platform that circled the well, splashes of water from when she and her sahelis capered around in her their little cholis as kids. But it was a forced picture she painted. Did that even happen? She wondered if it was even possible to have lived all that without remembering. How strange was this thing called memory.

    A soft laugh emanated from deep within her chest, and she lurched forward with the force of the thick rope, trying to keep her feet glued to the ground. But it had hardened over the years, the rope, too rusty to pull  smoothly.

    She felt herself recoiling against the rope, and before the pulley could tow her entire body inside the well, she made a conscious choice to take a step back and left the rope. It slithered back to its place in an uncomfortable clang. An accident was the last thing she needed in her life. She was just so young, there was a long way to go. It was better to stay put and admire from afar.

    "Looks like you're out of practice,"

    Aaina's neck turned in a startle towards the daunting voice that seemed to be the only human sound echoing on the entire hill. And the particular human had probably been right there while she enjoyed her shenanigans. For a split second, she thought she'd died but found herself breathing alive again.

    His long white khadi kurta donned striking brown brooches that paired well with dark mud trousers, almost the same hue as the haveli behind them. A finely trimmed tash above the mouth, kurta bunched up against sinewy forearms, and the subtle sound of metal clanking had Aaina frozen on her spot.

    She could sense it. The heady anxiety of having to talk to a stranger in the middle of an abandoned hill. Or worse. Being caught of tresspassing.

    "Are you thirsty? Have you traveled from far?" He asked in a similar curious tone, his eyes veering from the well and then back to Aaina.