Forget-Me-Not: Taste of Freedom

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty One

The sound of a wheelchair made Varun look up.

In the twilight, the front yard of his family's house seemed like a scene out of some book. There were flowers and hedges, insects, a sparrow or two flying up to disappear into the neem tree. The front of the house had a big porch and a sole swing by it. He'd been sitting on the swing, staring into space, when he heard it. His eyes hardened. His muscles tensed. The wheelchair paused, and turned into the gates of his house. He found himself getting up.

The sky was a deep blue, with wispy clouds floating in the vibrant atmosphere. Red and orange streaks of sunlight receded into the West, taking light and laughter and energy with them. A leaf or two rustled. The pleasant winter breeze brushed against his arms and face, played with his hair. Varun stepped down from the porch, advancing towards the figure by the rose shrubs. Her sight felt like a punch in his gut... his breath whooshed out, like his lungs might have collapsed. Like the sudden, sweet fragrance of the flowers that ambushed him, his mind was obstructed by those few, tantalizingly bright memories that he'd shared with her. The smell infiltrated his senses, reminding him of days spent in an altogether different place, but in the company of the same flowers and the same person. It had been years since he'd seen her. He'd never thought he'd be able to stand another meeting with her, stand there so calmly as she regarded him with those bottomless eyes.

There had been a time when her eyes had been his only destination. Now so much had changed.

"Varun," her sweet voice said.

"Anokhi," he gritted out, his teeth clenched in an effort to maintain the façade of calmness. It was surprising, Varun thought to himself. For years, he'd hidden his emotions behind a mask, for the very reason that if he ever met her again, he'd be able to show her that he'd changed. That he was a different man. That he was calm, silent, and insightful, that he kept to himself instead of being the center of attention. That he could be someone she'd wanted him to be. However, even all those years of practice couldn't make him sustain that mask any more. He was suddenly the same man he'd left behind in these very steps, this very front yard. He was the same man she'd come to hate, and he realized that he couldn't change it.

"I heard you were back," she said. There was no resentment in her voice... there was a calm acceptance. She'd moved on, after all. He'd heard from his mother, five years ago, about her getting married. Things had been so much better for her, even though she had been the one battered in the accident. Despite being crippled for a life-time, Anokhi was the one who needed no masks to hide herself, no crutches to support her. And despite being the one with no physical injuries, he'd had to struggle through the hardest time alone, like a cripple. In his search for a better life, he'd changed everything about himself, just to show himself that he could be different. She, on the other hand, hadn't changed anything except for her mode of transport, and she still looked happier than him.

"Only for the day," he muttered. "How are you?"

"Just like always," she smiled a bit. "So. Why aren't you staying on? Aunty said you planned to leave tonight."

Her eyes were a light hazel, rimmed with gold. They shone in the soft light, regarding him with their placid depths. She'd always looked at him like she could see into him. Like she could see all those things he hid from everyone else, like she could reach the part of him that he wanted to be out of anyone's reach. Varun hardened his stance, drawing back the more she pushed into his boundaries with her silence.

"I have things to take care of. A job, a home..."

"Oh! So you... you have a family now?"