With Mangoes And Chocolates | ✓

27. The real reality.

A/N:
TW: There are certain things in the chapter which might trigger someone. Mention of depression, anxiety and lots of crying. Please don't read it if it triggers you or or you aren't comfortable. It's not that bad to label it mature, though.

Contains SH and suicide attempt. 

Things go in third person's point of view from now on. The way I missed writing in 3P. Only I know that. The shift is so major, it took me days to get into form so it might shock you a lil bit too. Hopefully, it'll get better. Trust me, it was required. Too many characters.

🧩

~ Third Person ~

"Thank you for rescuing me. It was overwhelming, in there. Please don't kill me."
"Too late, Manasvi, too late."
"Shuddap. No."

Manasvi tucked her hairs behind her ear, before licking her ice-cream stick—there was no more ice-cream left now. She could hear lots of honking of cars from the main road, and announcements from nearby metro stations. Arbaz was busy thinking something—she had no idea what—but his spectacles looked so cute over his. . . brownish green eyes? Hazel eyes? He had hazel eyes! 

She didn't know why but she had this constant urge to keep poking the bridge of his spectacles—it was fun.
"You've got hazel eyes. Do you know only eight percent of the world has them?"

"I do." He ran his fingers through his already messed up hair and laughed. "You've got dark brown eyes."
"They are black." She huffed.

"No one has black eyes Manasvi, they don't exist. The darkest possible color one can have is dark brown, which you do. You have a large amount of melanin in your iris. That's why it almost appears to be black."

Her lips parted. "Didn't know that."
"Now you do."

"So, about Stuti, why were you two arguing, earlier?"
Manasvi lowered her gaze, her lips wobbling to prepare an answer. "It wasn't her fault. Sometimes, she's too perfect. She's too nice. It makes me rethink and compare."

She found him studying her face. "Aren't you too perfect too?"
"No," she let out a feebly.

"It's okay. You're a little messed up but it's okay."
"It's. . .I am not messed up. Just sometimes, I get a little fidgety."

"If you weren't messed up, you would have never agreed to come with me. You're simply reckless; uncaring."

The dark, silent street had been her top fear a few seconds ago, but right now, she was only afraid of this guy throwing truth in her face.

He turned towards her and held her hands lightly. She flinched at the act but his hazel eyes—they were so calm, and they made her too.
"A girl so low on self-esteem. . .the world must be crushing you."

"Shut up."

"And. . .and. . . and she sucks at taking criticism." His eyes looked so straight into hers that it almost scared her soul for what he's going to say next. Perhaps a bitter truth that she never wanted to hear.

"Be very honest, Manasvi. Sachai se darr lagta hai, lagta haina?"

Too horrifying. Everything. She didn't know whether to give in to him or run away. To yell or to simply stare, to question or to answer. So much anxiety. . .bubbling inside her. . .
"Why?"

"Just look at yourself, Manasvi," his fingers moved over her cheek bones but it didn't generate those sparks inside her. What Bhavuk did was different. "You can yell, shout, and hundreds of people will come running for you. But you don't. You lose all your boldness when clashed with truth. I can do anything with you, can't I? You can't trust me."