With Mangoes And Chocolates | ✓

11. Tame.

Someone had once again nailed the sun in the sky.

It shone bright—bright enough to envelop me in gold. Gold might be precious and expensive, but this gold? I hated it. It was hot and sticky. 

The glass windows did nothing to form a barrier, and sunlight filtered through it with ease, boldly enough for me to see them. Yellow and white, with tiny dust particles flickering around it.

It had spread around the classroom like a plague. Turned out, it was not the only plague. The assumptions and rumors of my yesterday's act had spread too. I so regretted it. I forgot that doing anything different attracted attention.

"He liked you? All this time? Man, Yuvika's heartbroken," Ananya spoke in the most dramatic way and Ishita nodded in agreement.

I also forgot that yelling and accepting someone at the top of a Ferris wheel, at the top of my lungs, meant that everyone will get to know about it. 

"I didn't know he liked me, honestly, I never expected it either." I breathed out.
"Did he tell you, why?" Ishita whispered, considering the History class going on.

"He. . .no," I said, "I don't know. He said that I stood out but that's bullshit. We hadn't actually talked much. I don't know guys, stop making me feel weird about this whole thing."

I continued, "I hadn't really planned to ruin my tenth grade with some dating shit. Impulsiveness just. . got the better of me. He was too sizzling for me to remain immune."
Silence joined our conversation for the next eight seconds. I replaced it by speaking once again. "How is it going on between you and Anay?"

"He brought her flowers," Ananya blurted out.
"Shut up. That was just one lily he presented, that too because I told him I liked white," Ishita defended, contrary to the blanket of crimson that had draped itself over her face.

 "Awww," I grinned while reading about Hitler's personality, rather chaotically. "Love is in the air."

🧩

I stood at the threshold of the Art room and took a nice view. I was here because our Annual Function was nearing and obviously, they needed my help. The place was a mess. Charts rolled off the shelves and the floor was carpeted with paper cuttings. Art supplies spread themselves over the tables.

Despite all of it, the teacher welcomed me warmly. She had observed how I had observed everything, and passed me a look which said, it's kinda messy, but I hope you'll tolerate it. I wanted to tell her that I didn't mind it. My room looked like this all the time.

She handed over the brushes and paint to me, and unfurled a white chart in front of me. I had to draw flowers; apparently, that was the theme. I sketched out all kinds—daisies, lilies, tulips, even roses.

Art was some serene stuff. It's simple, complicated, tricky, but delightful. It was a lot more than people understood. It didn't only mean watching stuff and copying it down as accurately as possible. It meant creating, combining, blending, innovating, and a lot more. The best part was that it didn't require any qualifications. 

My fingers were somehow smeared with acrylic colors after twenty minutes. No matter how hard I tried, it always ended up that way. I rubbed my nose with my wrist, trying to figure out how much I had progressed. The room was deserted so there was no one to judge my skills. 

I jinxed it just by saying it; the next voice I heard was something human. Familiar.
"Sup, Mehta?"
My grip on the brush loosened for a bit, before I gained my composure back. "You're a shadow-traveling zombie."