Sense & Sensibilities

It did (not) matter

Arjun took a look at torn sticky notes stuck on the murder board- as if someone ruthlessly pulled them off- snatched the ID card off table and walked out of the office.

He had a feeling the call won't be picked up, but surprisingly it was.

"Where are you?"

"At crime scene " that wasn't home. It will be forever marked as the place of Sir's demise.

Riya stood looking at the door, but couldn't make herself go in. Since the moment she knew him, she had walked upto him for her questions. Today he wasn't there, and maybe she had hoped his place would give her some answers. Some semblance of peace.

She was wrong.

She heard the car stopping and familiar footsteps coming closer until they couldn't. Her feet were frozen in place, unable to turn and look at him.

"You left this." She turned, and both of them knew what it meant. Arjun exhaled tiredly – why he was here, what the hell was he doing here running after her, when he had his case lined up. He didn't want to deep dive into those whys and how's.

"look, I know. . . " he stopped abruptly, a blabbering mess as she stared silently. "Do you want to go to SS? I will make that happen if you want."

She swallowed hardly, looking down as she replied "I didn't want to do this with a bunch of strangers. I wanted . . . " she stopped. She wanted to matter. It all boiled down to that. Somewhere, somehow she didn't. Not that it was a surprise, afterall her own mother never prioritised her. But still it stung here, she had hoped she made a connection. Clearly, she had failed to reach a point where someone will pick her side.

"I wanted it to matter for others too."

He jerked at that. "It does."

"Not enough." She shook head, smiling sadly. "it all boils down to " she hit her chest with a finger, once twice thrice. "this. Which I don't have."

"Don't say that." He took a step toward her. He has accused her so much, so many times- implied something was wrong of her, that she didn't care much (about him). But she cares. So much. Too much. "You have a heart."

"if I had....if I was a normal person " he protested at that, "I would have made relations. I would have made connections. But I don't have that – the history, the feelings, the emotions. Hence I didn't matter. If I was a better person, my side would have mattered. If I was a better person. . . . I would have reached here earlier." She gestured at the house wildly, her thoughts spinning out of control, "If I was . . ."

"Stop. Stop it." He closed distance between them, his palm cupping her face. "Stop. Just stop."

His finger caressed her cheek, eyes full of empathy for the woman in front of her who was hurting so bad. She was stunned to silence at the gesture, her tear stricken eyes gazing widely in his eyes as time passed by.

The moment passed as quickly as it came.

 She took a step behind, he followed the same, hand dropped next to him. Giving her sometime to compose, he cleared his throat to ask, "why are you here?"

She didn't answer immediately. "I don't know."

She wondered, for the first time since sir died, that where is his family. Rawte answered that, and she felt ashamed – she had forgotten the man had a family who missed him dearly, more than she ever can. She was projecting her own issues in all these, completely forgeting the people who are truly wronged. She should reach out- or maybe she shouldn't . At least she can keep tabs on them, help then silently if they need. From a distance, of course.

They reached the study room where she had found the body. Her eyes lingered for a moment at the drawing of body, then quickly she averted gaze. Sir's gramophone was there, so she played the record which was already inside.

The song never came which she was expecting. The singer never crooned which she was familiar with since the day she had known him.

Hindustani classical music filled the room.

Her heartbeat spiked. 

https://youtu.be/NMHoLg5PxRM