Silent Hearts

22| Twenty-Two

My eyes refuse to watch you leave,

so tears will. . . blur the memory

* * *

The next few days flew like a cloud of wish on a windy day, into nothingness, leaving behind some threads of memories weaving into her heart. Those days that passed by, Nandini remained in her house, sometimes wandering around the nooks, glimpsing at certain things that remained unchanged as the years went by. It was that night when his words had jabbed at her mind, when that stare of intense earnestness created a hollow into the blackness encircling her, when he made his way into her soul, knowingly? She knew not.

You deserve to be heard.

He had said. Just some words formulated into a sentence, yet a thousand meanings to reach her.

And, Nandini could not remain the Nandini, the different Nandini, she had grown to become. Somewhere, at a faraway corner of her heart, she felt it, felt him, felt his words.

Mayhap, he cared?

A change forged its meaning in herself. The nights had gone with her sleeping, really, truly sleeping, without waking up countless times, just to calm her heart down, without her stumbling back to reality, just to wipe those traces of sweat off her skin, the testimony of her nightmares. Nights turned into dawns and Nandini never again lost her reasons. She wasn't healed, and questioned she ever would be.

But, she was shown that someone was there to listen to her. Truly. . .

Those days, she found herself cooking for him, occasionally glancing at the wall clock, she couldn't know why, but her heart could tell, she waited for him, anticipating his near presence, close, close to her. The dinners hadn't gone so very silent as before, sometimes she would be the one to ask a bit of question to him. Little talks. She would ask how his time went, or what he was working on, there would come little replies, soft yet distant. Oftentimes, he would be the one to break the heavy silence, complimenting her preparations, or the way showing his gratitude for the way she always brought him a glass of water right after he entered. Those were small wordings, small talks, but enough to lighten her heart, but were something she had decided to act upon, nonetheless.

On weekends, she had noticed a domestic helper coming and cleaning all the used rooms, and everything she had been assigned to. Sometimes, that middle-aged woman would be asked to help Tushar clean his room, most days, as she learned, he cleaned, and tidied up everything on his own. At first, Nandini was reluctant to let anyone enter, and till now, she had never noticed that woman named Pauli. The last Sunday, Pauli had assisted her in cleaning off the entire kitchen, and her room, furthermore. And, Nandini had to say, Pauli didi was a very amiable person.

As pujo days approached, she found the whole house cleaned and decorated to the quintessence of a rajbari, on the first of this month, that is October, Nandini was not as afraid as she was when she called her maa, and talked to everyone. Not only her maa, but everyone there. The days were, as though to come to an opinion, were not as bad as had been, before this marriage. Before coming here, and she would never forget the way he helped her, a bit perhaps, but he did.

.

.

And certainly, not the feelings his little touch had left. Not the feelings that lingered by.