Fifteen Years Ago.
Boldly, he took fierce steps towards the bedroom door. His hands fisted the door knob, it's dull gold bit his eyes with the carved lion's head on top. Clearing his throat, Aryan placed a knuckle firmly against the wood, knocking. Waiting. Breathing for a few minutes. Hoping that the door would be pulled open soon enough. Instead nothing but silence greeted him. Pure silence that could have drowned him with it's insane depths. He tried again. And again, and then lastly one more time. Sighing, he pressed his ears against the door — sounds of music came through. Perhaps, she was ignoring him. Perhaps. Despite all the rationale inside him, warning — alarming him to not step inside, he did just that.
As the door pulled apart like tender meat from a bone, the cold wind from the air conditioner smacked him in the middle of his forehead. A curling strand of hair he pushed back with his index finger. He turned on his heel finding the room empty, a stereo system underneath the window blasted a jazz song, curving shelves lead to an open dressing room inside the bedroom. Pink and gold tones — something out of a movie. His fingers brushed the table top next to the door, no dust instead tiny pieces of cut paper. Sketches — of faces half undone. Assignments strewn around, he narrowed his eyes. For someone that rivaled him ; she needed to work on her business skills.
A shrill scream from the left of him caught his attention. He choked on his on spit, muttering hundreds of apologies before running out of the room. Out of breath, Aryan placed his forehead against the door. Aryan's heartbeat was strong enough to crush his heart against the front of his hollow ribs. He groaned, feeling a swirl of redness appear on top of his pale cheeks. Smacking his forehead he ran down the stairs, too embarrassed to stay any longer. Too shy to face anyone.
"Oh! Aryan did you meet Myra? Where are you going? At least stay for dinner beta." Her mother stopped him in his way.
He groaned silently, his eyes looking anywhere but in hers. Wrapping an arm around the nape of his neck he scratched the back of it, twirling around the curls as he conjured up a plausible reply.
"He'll stay mama. He just left in a hurry. Come on Aryan, we need to talk." Myra's voice answered for him.
Dressed in a cropped white trousers now, and a loose fitting kurta, she looked like she had walked out a catalogue. Her smile reached the apples of her cheeks but behind it, Aryan could sense the open hostility. He cursed his luck — kahan phans gaya yaar! Aryan shook his head in haste, running up the stairs behind her. Myra's slender figure was like a shadowy silhouette under the somewhat sheer dress. Smacking an arm around his bicep, he fiddled on his feet, shuffling around the span of her bedroom — that now smelt very much of roses. White ones — or any other kind he scoffed, his senses done for. He was done for.
"Do you not have manners? Who barges into bedrooms— let alone a woman's bedroom like that?" She snapped.
"I — I am sorry! I didn't— didn't mean to!" He replied.
"Or were you? Trying to sneak a look at someone that you loathe?"
"Someone that I loathe? What the hell are you on Myra? Yeh kahan sai aagaya?" He frowned, raising his eyebrows, his lips dipped into a soft crescent.
[Where did this come from?]
"I mean isn't that a plausible cause? You hate my guts for challenging you everywhere we go. Be it university declarations or finals. I've one upped you a lot — of late. You're distracted so resorting to cheap ways is all that you have."
