With Mangoes And Chocolates | ✓

25. Russet brown.

The pictures used in this chapter actually ARE mine, made by me, so yeah. I hold the copyright.

🧩

~ Manasvi ~

I had begun to lose my senses.

If there were left any, I meant.

I tightly gripped the trolley bag beside me, patiently watching my father press 'seven' inside the lift.
"Apartments are so weird," maa said and I couldn't have agreed more.

"It can't be that bad," he replied. "It's easy once you get used to it."
"We'll see." I said.

As I made my way inside my 'new home,' the lack of space flabbergasted me. "Single floor?" I almost gasped. "Three rooms? You've got to be kidding me."

Three rooms and tons of cartons to unpack. The sight horrified me. I could already feel the physical pain of having to do tremendous labour.

Half an hour in, sitting in the corner, I couldn't help but feel sick.

"Is there someone on the door?" I heard her say.
I paused and listened carefully, and sure there was someone knocking. "At this time?"
"Check."

I opened the door and found a girl smiling at me. She felt quite yellow at first, since she was wearing all yellow. Her hair were the straightest I'd ever seen, a bit on the browner side of the scale. She had light freckles across her cheeks. Simplicity was clear in her. Skinny enough to get body shamed, but still the kind of athletic body type I'd always admired. I mean, imagine being able to eat whatever you want and not worry about getting fat because that is exactly what your goal is. How many girls had that boon?

"Yes?"
"Hey. I am Stuti. And you?" She asked, her voice filled with excitment. 
"Manasvi. . . I guess?"

"Hi, Manasvi." She softened. "I live next to you."
I took a step back, tilting my head. "Okay. And?"

"And," she shyly tucked her hair strand behind her ear. "I live next to you."
"I heard you the first time."

"Yeah, so," she lowered her gaze, vigorously tapping her foot. It made me feel even sicker. "So. . .we want you to invite you for lunch. Since you just moved in. . ."

"I'll ask mom," I said curtly. "Thanks."
I had almost shut the door close when she blurted out, "you want me to give you a tour?"
"No. Thanks."

Unfortunately, I had to visit her home. Have lunch at her place. And dinner.

I'd never seen such a blabbermouth before.

"So, what are your favourite subjects?" She chirped beside me while our parents conversed something about schools and coaching over the dinner table.
"I thought I made it clear that we can't be friends?"

"I know," she lowered her gaze. "But it looks like we'll have to go to the same school together. Probably the same coaching classes. . ."

"Dude," I sighed. "I admire the efforts you're putting in. But I suck when it comes to friendship. And you're too cute."

"Why'd you think so?" She questioned innocuously.
"The last friends I had. . .well, I've had fans, sure, people who admired me for academic stuff," I told her, referring to my scholar image in school. "But on personal level, people stayed away from me."

"Maybe they were jealous because you're too beautiful."
I smiled. "You think I'm beautiful?"

She twirled the ends of her hair before nodding. I couldn't get over her hair color. Or the way they were so straight. She was clearly the prettier one here.
"It was obvious the moment I saw you."
I laughed out loud, after weeks. "God, Stuti. You're actually cute." I shook my head. "Fine. But befriending me comes with conditions."