Night of 25TH

CHAP 22: Innocence and Connection

Past:

Shubman

As the clock struck 7 in the evening, our task of collecting our belongings was complete, and we found ourselves making our way toward the exit of the airport. The atmosphere was charged with a mix of exhaustion and excitement, the culmination of our journey marking the beginning of our time in Hyderabad.

As we stepped out into the open, the glare of camera flashes pierced the air, accompanied by the enthusiastic chatter of fans who had gathered to welcome us. The sight was both exhilarating and humbling, a reminder of the impact our presence had on people. With a grin, I raised a hand to wave, acknowledging their support and enthusiasm before making my way toward the waiting bus.

The fans' excitement was contagious, infusing us with renewed energy despite the fatigue that clung to our bodies after the journey. The clicking of cameras and the shouts of well-wishers formed a vibrant backdrop as we navigated through the crowd, a blend of anticipation and appreciation painting the scene.

Boarding the bus felt like a moment of reprieve, a retreat into a space that was temporarily shielded from the external whirlwind. The doors closed behind us, muffling the noise of the crowd, and I could feel the weight of the day settling in. As the bus started its gentle motion, I reclined my head against the headrest of the seat. Rather than peering out at the passing scenery, my attention was drawn to my left, where I observed Anya deeply engrossed in her little world. Her fingers moved with rapid precision across the laptop keyboard, a clear sign of her intense concentration. With her headphones on, she seemed cocooned in a zone of utmost focus. Watching her in this state was almost mesmerising, so immersed in her work.

A fleeting thought crossed my mind – did Anya ever have moments of calm reprieve, or was she always in this dynamic, driven mode? It was hard to envision her sitting still, for every time I saw her, she was either engrossed in a book, tapping away on her phone, or rummaging through her bag with the same energy that defined her usually vibrant and enthusiastic persona. The soft hum of the bus engine served as a soothing backdrop to my contemplations as I quietly observed her.

Breaking my observation, Anya suddenly turned around, her eyes locking onto mine. She lowered her headphones, and her raised eyebrows seemed to inquire about my intent. Her nonverbal query was met with a subtle eye gesture from me, silently conveying my curiosity about the content of her fervent typing. In response, a nervous cough escaped her, and she made a dismissive gesture, signalling that it was nothing of importance. With a fleeting smile, she returned her attention to her laptop screen.

However, my curiosity was piqued, and I managed to catch a glimpse of her laptop's reflection in the window. For a brief moment, I deciphered a substantial paragraph before Anya acted swiftly, drawing the curtains and blocking my view. A triumphant smile graced her lips, and she turned back to me, her expression almost playful.

My response was a mixture of mock annoyance – a huff accompanied by a crinkled nose – to which Anya reacted by pinching her nose playfully. It was as if she was acknowledging my irritation with a lighthearted jest. As our brief interaction concluded, she returned her focus to her writing, her fingers dancing across the keyboard once again.

My view was blocked by Ishan, who leaned in with an impish grin, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. He playfully posed his question in a sing-song voice, "Isharo Isharo mein kya baat ho rhi?" It was Ishan's signature style to infuse humour into any situation, making the atmosphere around him light up.

Ishan's playful interruption was enough to dispel the moment of observation. I chuckled at his mischievousness and shook my head in response to his teasing question. "Kuch bhi nahi, yaar," I replied with a grin. "Just wondering what masterpiece she's crafting over there."