Junak Baruah wants to win the prestigious short film competition in his university. But with hundreds of participants and a stellar jury on board, winning means making a film that's never been made before.
And that means breaking the rules and taki...
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As Niribili called cut on the final scene, grief churned in the pits of Junak's stomach, turning his body to stone. Banhi cheered and hugged her girlfriend, Junak stood and watched. Niribili thanked Prapti and Megha who took celebratory selfies, Junak stood and watched. Banhi handed some cash to Puhor and asked him to buy drinks for everyone, Junak stood and watched.
"All right, let's pack it up," Niribili said.
He moved mindlessly to pack their gear. Banhi smiled at him and said something like WE DID IT! He returned a forced smile and uttered a forced cheer and then went to dismantle his camera from the tripod.
It was nearing dusk; the sun was a bright red at the horizon, bathing the sky in blues, pinks and purples. Junak's grandfather's house, which was dulled with solitude when they first arrived, was now lit up with chatter and laughter. Someone instructed what booze they wanted. Someone else complained about not getting the right picture. Someone was saying they want pork for dinner.
Dikhou was sitting on a sofa in the drawing room, smiling at something Prapti was saying. Junak marched up to him, grabbed his wrist and hauled him to his feet.
"What's wrong?"
Instead of answering, he led Dikhou out of the room and up the stairs. Thankfully, no one called after them.
"Jun?"
Junak dropped Dikhou's hand when they walked into his room. He kept his camera on the table, then closed the door and latched it shut. The voices coming from downstairs muffled, leaving him at the mercy of his too-loud breathing and the damned voices in his head warning him of the inevitable.
"What's wrong, Jun?"
And Dikhou. For now, he was still here.
Junak threw himself at him, clasping his hands into his curls and kissing him. He did not realise he was crying until Dikhou pulled away and caught his face in both hands. "What's wrong, deha?" he said, wiping Junak's cheeks with his thumbs.
Junak could not believe Dikhou was even asking him that. Was it not obvious? Was it not eating away at him the way it was at Junak?
Junak freed himself from Dikhou's hold and wiped his face on his sleeve. He did not want to cry. Not like this. Now now. Not when he was running out of time.
He rose on his tiptoes to rest his forehead against Dikhou's. Even when he closed his eyes, that man was all he could see. "I'm staying another week."
Junak's sweater was bundled in Dikhou's fists. "I... thank you," he whispered.
Junak barely managed to blink back tears. He went to the bed and pulled Dikhou down on top of him. For no reason, it reminded Junak of a time, weeks ago, when this jerk had scared him in the middle of the night and they had both fallen on the grass. That annoying man was still the same Dikhou, yet in many amazing ways, he wasn't. For starters, this Dikhou did not hesitate to kiss him senseless, something that Junak had hopelessly hoped for in that ridiculous moment of being pinned down to a ground damp with dew.
