Metaphor ||✔

|20|

   Tigger warning ⚠️

He stood rooted to the spot, not moving an inch. The scent felt too familiar, the smell he remembered from his childhood. Looking at the person in front in flesh and blood form. His adrenaline perked up, increasing his heart rate. His body felt like floating in the air, his limps stopped sensing the outer surface of the atmosphere. His eyes wandered around the bureau, his dadi was shredding endless tears. His badi maa, Jhanvi breathed heavily convincing herself that her husband was alive, in front of her. And lastly, his wife was ready to pounce on him like a tigress.

His hands were clammy. He tried rubbing them off on his pants. Perhaps that seemingly didn't work. He sensed slender fingers run on his arm, automatically he knew it was his wife. He whirled to face her, she smiled saddened oppressing her tension. His heartbeat raised all of a sudden as his uncle took his name. The voice was shaky, it didn't hold power like the voice previously had. Gulping down the chunk formed in his throat, he looked to meet his eyes.

Absentmindedly he tugged his collar, covering his neck. The blue block printed formal shirt he wore was uneven, crumbled as he gripped them to ease the anxiety. He breathed unevenly when the in front individual stepped ahead. Clamping his wet fingers around each other, he tried concentrating at different levels, counting the numbers in reverse order on the count of twenty as Dr Anirudh had advised.

"Don't come. Ple-a-se. An-nika. I ha-ven't done any-thin-g. H-om-e." Omkara continued to look at his elder cousin, who was by now clenching the ovulated table. His eyes filled with layers of salty tears.

"Paani. Someone pass the water." He looked as Khanna ran to grab the water bottle. His heart ached to see his brother in this condition. Rubbing off his tears, he stepped forward only to be stopped by Chachi Ji.

"Please don't." Her mere whisper crackled his soul. He wasn't allowed to meet his brother, even after growing up together, even after laughing together, complementing.

"Deep breathe. Do with me, see even I am doing it." Annika controlled her flowing tears and glanced at her husband, who was by now curled into a ball and muttering that he wasn't wrong and her name.

"Take small sips Shivaay. I'm here." She nudged the opened water bottle to his pale, shuddering lips. Clinching her moon (chand) bracelet, on her right hand, he tried composing himself by taking harder breathes.

"Sir could you please move Mr Tej Oberoi away." Bhavya pleaded with Arjun Shastri after looking at Shivaay. Unable to see his trembling figure, she turned her face.

"Deep breathing."

"Baby I love y-ou. I'm not wr-ong." She nodded with tears rolling down her crust. She vigorously bobbed her head understanding his plight.

He could hear her muffled voice, his vision clouded with white patches. His body seemed less heavy, moved swiftly through the clouds.

Everything turned into pitch black.

Sounds stopped.

Memories returned.

.

"Shakti Ji, who's baby is this?" His mother asked peeking out, to his father. Looking at his father's arm.

Keeping his books aside, she walked out of his room adjusting her heavy embroidery veil around her neck. 10 years old Shivaay didn't understand anything and decided to follow his dear mother.

"I- her mother died." Shivaay hid behind the door frame and paid attention to his parents. His mother grasped hearing her husband, Shakthi and abruptly her brows rose with wide eyes. As if she realised.