Sense & Sensibilities

Present

Years ago, Arjun had read a book in lying in his father's library. He forgot the books name, or what was the subject, but he remembered this one quote till this date. It was linked to a soul – to the Arjun who was talkative, joyful boy, to this man who's silent, in constant agony all the time.

I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones

Words were hard, especially after that gruesome incident. He felt rather than yelling his pain to the world, sharing his thoughts and let people be into his life, it was better be keeps his distance, keep his thoughts to himself and stop talking unless it's to express his disdain. There are times he wants to reach out – Bad days when Rathore looks defeated, when nothing Shree does is working, or when Chotu broods after a particular long phone call. He wants to share his words, comfort them, or at least tell them this will pass too. Sometimes he does, albeit rarely, yet he finds so difficult to gather the words which will explain it all. The words which are in his bones stays unspoken, just for himself.

He still don't know how come he became so vulnerable around Riya, to the point when she pulled away abruptly, without any words or action, it effected him. So much that he cursed himself day and night for getting the words out, letting her peak into his soul. Of course, she cared nothing about that- and he was the fool who thought it was going to be reciprocated. She kept her thoughts and life to herself and one day tragedy stroked in such a way that Arjun got no way to even process this blow back, as usual. She was almost going to die, then she was not and one day be realized it's better to bury the past and move forward. So he pretended nothing happened – as if she didn't stop looking at him, didn't stop giving away bread crumbs about her life, did not stop holding herself back physically and mentally.

The two were near coffee machine as he waited patiently for his turn. Riya took a large amount of liquid, then kept pouring sugar cubes – he counted till 4. Glancing at her face once which gave away nothing, he couldn't stop himself.

"Are you trying to give yourself diabetes?"

She shrugged. "Says the man who drinks tea from unclean unhygienic glass."

He looked away with a small smile, and soon the silent turned suffocating. He couldn't look at her then, feeling the familiar bitterness bubbling. You did this he wanted to scream. You are the reason this is so difficult. You are the reason that air is heavy and I don't know what to say. I didn't even know what I did wrong!

But he said nothing. She left with a sudden turn and he took his coffee, trying to not inhale too much of her perfume that lingered.

Weeks later, he would realize this was the last one on one conversation they had. Where there were only the two remained. He was still reeling from the shock of her leaving – he deserved to at least hear it from her mouth, damn it! He wondered if he should have looked harder. Maybe ask about her day. If she was feeling alright. No, not the last question. He deliberately pretended he didn't see how her hands shake, or how she can't stand from more than 15 mins at a stretch. How she gobbles those tablets about whom he don't know. Funny how that happened – when she was bedridden, he wanted to know if she will survive. When she did, he didn't care that much.

But she pulled away first, and he was justified in his anger. Words won't come out, and maybe it was good. It will be inadequate. It will just hurt. Let them be in his bones, beating under his skin and dissolve in his bloodstream.