Dreaming of White ✔ [Completed]

Chapter 2 - Road Trip

There was no colour left in the world. Just endless greyish nothingness, wherever he looked. Well, actually, he would see shades of black, blue, brown - not to mention a man, if he turned around, but that was not really advisable while doing 80 miles per hour. He'd also see a great mess of papers, maps, photographs, at least three empty paper-cups and a suspiciously high number of empty chocolate-bar-wrappers. So for the added reason of keeping his inner peace, Kabir kept his eyes fixed on the road, which was a darker shade of nothingness, but still seemingly endless. And a lot less messy.

They had passed the last car half an hour ago.

It had been a silver-grey mini-van.

Fitting, Kabir had thought with slight amusement.

Behind him, Vansh shuffled around restlessly. Kabir heard the startled rustling of paper. Then a protesting crunching sound, as something was stuffed somewhere it clearly didn't want to be. Apparently Vansh was done scanning reports and maps and was now busying himself with spreading the printouts of crime-scene photographs across the spacious back-seat of the SUV.

Kabir added "red" to the list of colours he would see if he turned around now.

"This is no good", Vansh mumbled. Kabir had stopped listening to the constant stream of conversation from the back-seat 107 miles ago, but now tuned back in, sensing that the last four words were actually related to the case.

"What isn't?"

"The photos. Something's not right, something's missing. Kabir, do we have anything showing the whole scene? And the surrounding area?"

"Everything we've got is in the back-seat with you", Kabir said. Vansh huffed, then there was another shuffling sound, clearly the result of Vansh leaning down to check if something had fallen off the seat. Then the sound of hands sliding searchingly over fabric. Then another frustrated huff.

"He should have thought about providing some", Vansh said, a clearly audible frown in his tone. After three more sentences, all containing the name Karan, Kabir zoned out of the conversation again, before he could feel emotionally compromised by the topic. Why did people always assume he wanted to know about their unsuccessful and clumsy attempts at romance? Or their existent or non-existent love-lives?

Though he had to admit that in this case, he was at least a little intrigued how it would play out in the end. Not to mention more than a little worried. Riddhima was, after all, his friend. And so - even though it was a frightening thought - was Vansh. But the passive annoyance at the latter's current obsession with the subject outweighed the worry right now.

"You are not really listening to me, are you?" Vansh suddenly said and Kabir cast a quick glance in the mirror to see him straighten up in mild bewilderment.

"No."

"I might have said something important", Vansh pointed out indignantly.

"You didn't."

"How can you tell if you weren't listening?"

"Experience."

"Experience?"

Kabir gave him a look in the mirror. Then explained.

"Sahil."

Vansh made an irritated noise. "You are seriously comparing me to Sahil?"

Kabir gave the question some serious thought, then said:

"Yes."

Vansh leaned forward, hands gripping the head-rest of the passenger seat.

"First you don't listen to me and then you compare me to Sahil. What have I ever done to you, my dear friend, to deserve such harsh treatment?"

Now Kabir did turn his head to look at him. "You really want me to answer that?"