Aye, Love!

Chapter-7

Aadhira

Love: Losing Game

Life is full of surprises. When you think you're apart, you realize you're closer than it looks, when you get closer, you grow curious and start to desire to get even closer, when you are the closest to each other, you lose yourself in each other. Was it love? Was I wrong? Me, Aadhira Balakrishnan, whose future is undetermined as of now, turns out to be the first person Keshav opens to. I always knew he treats me differently, but it never occurred to me that the barriers he put up are not because of his lack of trust but it's his lack of confidence. Yes, he doesn't trust anyone, but he also doesn't trust himself.

He always acts overjoyed and charming around others and no one gives it a second thought when he doesn't talk about himself much. That's how he does it, by making people talk about themselves, letting them self-absorb so they won't ask any questions about him. Being popular as he is, no one knows about his family or the fact that he doesn't like people to touch him. Yet, he let them touch him, even when it repulses him.

Why is he repulsive to touch? If he does feel repulsive, why let them touch you at all? It's as if he's trying to be a people-pleaser. Now that the thought's in my head, I couldn't help how he was with everyone else. He is distant but pushes himself to be approachable. Keshav on paper is a normal guy who was born into a family of teachers, earning himself a well-educated childhood. It's as normal as it sounds, but that normalcy was all just a façade. One he's been keeping for a long time. So long, even I couldn't tell until now. But that's the thing about papers, just because it is written on paper doesn't mean that's all there is to it.

When you feel like you know someone, you like to make assumptions about them and set a standard for them. That's exactly how one loses his chance to get to know that someone because he thought he already knew them. Knowing someone shouldn't make you resign to the fact that you know them, but should make you want to get to know them more, because there is always more to people than meets the eye, than everything you know about them.

I have never thought he'd let go of himself and tell me about his family, which was more than he told anybody, probably even his own shadow. The guy sitting next to me, silently trying to hide his tears, is no longer the one at the beginning of the first semester, whose smile lit up his surroundings. Then, he was a bright star, but now, he is a meteorite falling apart in front of my eyes. The dark-brown-coloured eyes of his that I like are now teared up, and the dimpled cheeks I enjoy looking at are wet with former tears.

That day, I held his hand through the night until three in the morning. We sat and talked about everything that was nothing important. I stayed by his side, letting him vent his anger, agony, and frustration. I watched as he talked about his family. How their fights had driven him to shut himself in his room and study throughout the night, which lead him to come first in his class and then his school. He instantly became obsessed with grades and started craving that sense of achievement.

There was a time when he came home to find their sofa upturned against the wall and the glass wall between the hall and the stairs shattered to pieces. I can only imagine how that would've made him feel. It was a violent scene for a ten-year-old to face, not to mention that his parents were nowhere to be found. He told me how he had to take the stairs over the shards of glass as they slashed through his shoes. He tried to clean it and only ended up cutting himself. There were a lot of such stories.

The night was long and exhausting, and I got back to the hostel as soon as possible. I never thought I could stay out that long until now, which was against the rules, but it was an exhilarating experience.

I carefully stick to the sidewalk so as not to be noticed and slip into my room like a suspicious cat. Amara was fast asleep in her bed, and I decide not to wake her up. I get into my bed, pull the sheets over my head, and ponder on what happened tonight, or to be more precise previous night. I roll over, revisiting my memories.