My salivary amylase moisturized the tangy savoury smashed potato and it got diffused in my mouth, my eyelashes met with eachother allowing my skull to fall on the leather seat behind. Licking my fingers i stared at the tiffin box resting on my palm, closing it securely i placed it in the carrier bag and discarded the tissue in the small dustin placed nearby. My head flashed towards the window of the running train and admired the shinning crescent, positioning my chin on the palm i focused on the moon before giggling sound reverberated in my eardrum.
My optics captured the adorable scene before me, the lovely shah family. Mr Ravi Shah, Mrs Geeta Shah, and their cotton ball like daughter, Khusi, i met them in the compartment before two hours and they seems like i know them from eternity. The lovely-dovey amiable nuclear family which many wish for. Geeta forwarded me a kachori from the tiffin, my mandible contrasted, ruffling her hairs a bit i accepted the food contentdely.
It's around 3am now, my thoughts flew back to the painting's memories, clenching my fist firmly i tried to shrug the evocation. I am on my way to Shimla for three days because of the art workshop , i got the letter today in the morning and here i am. It's the best way to displace my notion from Vansh. I informed Sara about this and her caring nature cooked samosas for me, she have a portrait's order to fill up which held her fingers from coming with me but she has called me at least thirty times in these nine hours.
Holding the edge of the leather seat i stretched my muscles and took a deep breath. Pressing the metacarpus on my nape , i turned my neck backwards when i saw some disturbance on the seat, behind the parallel seat next to me. My nails ploughed inside my flesh, not this time, please.
A thunderbolt glared the surrounding and the same terrifying physique came into visibility. I shook my cervical vertebra, my free hand explored for a frame. Vibrating the familiar figure of Mrs Geeta Shah, i tried to wake her up, words died before reaching my larynx as if my nervous system is not only passing the messages, it's just frozen, identical to me.
Geeta opened her orbs with a yawn, " What happened, Riddhima?" her soft voice got deposited in my mind, her anatomy startled seeing my apperance.
I pointed backwards to the seat, tears accelerated with the seconds and the blood rushed inversely proportional to my courage; " There- there's Vansh " my lips finally made some movement and my mucosa finally filtered some air, my thoracic cavity again started its movement.
I saw her leaning towards her right to get the view of the back seats, "who's there, Riddhima? Who is Vansh? " her eyebrows contoured and raised upwards.
"Vansh, the painting, he is sitting their on the seat" i whispered in a pleading voice.
" No one is there, Riddhima. How a painting will be alive !? You are tired and that is why you are getting such images, close your eyes and take rest for few hours" she tapped my head and gestured me to sleep.
I and sleep?? Antonyms for sure. In these days i never got a letter from mind to sleep, it is afraid, like me. Covering my frame inclusive with my head, i wrapped my hands around my abdominal cavity to withdraw a catnap.
***
I heard the birds' music and hanged my bag on the shoulder to come out of the compartment. Before the first ray of light reached the place, my eyes were shot opened and i have packed my bag as soon as possible.
Shimla is blissfully surrounded by the green hills with snowcapped peaks. Its spectacular natural bounty accompanied by structures made during the colonial era, Shimla retains its colonial heritage with grand old buildings.
Trailing my travelling bag in a grip, i checked in to my room in the Mountain Vest Residence.
The suitcase bounced on the mattress, the chain motioned on the path, weighing the upper side i unlatched it and searched for my clothes. My hand which was cultivated in the attires, got a hold of a-
Paper?
Canvas paper!
My art suppliments are in the second bag then how come a canvas paper is here? Joining my chest and chin i took out the canvas.
Once it was out of the clothes' crowd, my toes curled up, my knees stiffened, my stomach clenched and my uvula closed the wind wipe. Rolling the paper i got a brief look of painting which was enough for me to throw the paper in a corner and stumbled upon the chair behind me.
My brain hammered against the bone and my heart's pulse rushed. Should i say to the staff? No no, who will believe that some strokes of colours' can take someone's soul out?!
It's better if i don't stay in the room, no, not at all for now!
It's not even 10mins that i checked in and i am roaming in the city like a homeless. My hair strands are tangled with eachother, my toe is bleeding, my breathing is abnormal but do i care?? Do anybody care?? The answer is no, a clear cut NO .
Walking on the crest of a small snow hill, i placed myself on a wooden bench over there waiting for someone to answer my questions.
In these few days my life is totally upside down, my routine is full of chaos, my sleep went on vacation, my breathing stops now and then but still something is constant, there is no one for me. Haha! I know, i have Sara but it's just that-
It's, umm, you need someone to stand with you in any situation, any moment whenever you want. I sighed and allowed my head to fall downwards with my tears gathering in my hand.
***
Helping young ones in the understanding the world with drops of colours really helped me to filter my mood. Ever read the ' Dust Of Snow ' by Robert Frost ? The way the snow particles filtered his contentment from the regretting thoughts, just alike to that, these colour strokes paints the bad memories in a beautiful hue.
Taking a parcel of food i reached to my room again, my footsteps once again questioned me for the next step and i-
Allowed.
The painting is still resting in the corner, i didn't made any effort of packing the bag again, placing the clothes as a dump i reached out for the duvet. It's precisely mean for four-five hours and again i will be out of this suffocating chamber.
***
Snuggling towards the warmth providing source, i clung to the solid frame but i was turning my face to both the side because of the poking sensation in my face due to a hard substance like bone.
Soon, realisation hit me, i am in a residence's chamber, alone! Then who-
My brain's neurones stiffened my body for protection, my heart which was getting warmth from the source is now throbbing. My eyes shot open and i found a chest cavity infront of me, my head was placed on someone's shoulder's bone which was poking me. Someone?! Who?!
My head craned upwards to find the same globe, same beard, same face, Vansh. My body simultaneously was thrown away from the bed. The eyes were fixed at me, i dragged my terror-stricken body towards the door, our eyes were glued to each other, his were reflecting pain and mine horror.
Before my hand can feel the door knob;
Wait-
No-
Please-
For a second-
my mind shut down with a thud without processing.
To be continued...
Do comment your thoughts so that it can reflect in my upcoming chapters *wink*
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Burnt Painting
Fanfiction-That one mistake that turned Riddhima's life upside down. -That game -That revenge Everything is a puzzle Every soul is discombobulated. That thunderbolt flashes the omissions , That wind rewind the evocation. That pitter-patter downstream the faul...
