In His Custody ✎ (MaNan)

✰ 26 - tangled ties

Extremely late, but I hope I can be forgiven :P

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Mukti

I grabbed my ready-to-eat sandwich from the deli counter, and placed an order for coffee as I made my way to one of the cafe tables with my earphones plugged in.

The day I found my favourite meditation podcast, it had become part of my morning routine to listen to some good positive motivational thoughts before I dealt with any people at work; aged care was no joke, the amount of patience and willpower I needed to recharge myself on the daily was taxing but part of my job required me to build some thick skin for it. Nandini had introduced podcasts to me as something Rishabh's speech therapist had encouraged and once I tried it out, I never went back.

I had exactly 12 minutes to down my breakfast before my nursing shift started that morning and I had to tend to my first patient for the day. The wholesome time I got to spend with some of them–many of whom lost their own children or forgot about them or their children no longer bothered to visit–came without a price tag. Somewhere, my neglected inner child found joy in that thought that I mattered to at least some parents, if not my own. To them, I had merely become a familiar face that needed to be seen every day.

Eight years. It had been eight years since I cut everyone of them from my life and moved with Nandini to Bangalore in search of a lifestyle that I could build from the ground up–with no familial ties, no heavy baggage or obligations of any sort. I was committed to redefining myself all alone, without the essential pillars that made me me, and Nandini had parallely embarked on that journey with me while dealing with her own troubles.

The waiter brought a coffee cup to my table, a cappucino with extra foam and a sprinkle of cinnamon and disappeared to tend to another customer. Leaving my half-eaten sandwich and my phone and earplugs on the table, I returned the cup, careful not to spill any contents. "I did not order this drink."

"He bought it for you," The cashier gently pointed to a direction just behind me where a man wearing coolers was just taking them off while ruffling his hair.

Placing both my hands on the countertop, I tapped my trimmed nails on it. "No thanks, I don't need anyone's charity." I was loud enough for him to hear it. He stood up in his spot.

He almost clasped my hand as I walked past him, and my evident dodge seemed to turn some eyes our way. "Mukti," He angstily urged.

In a tone laced with apathy, I said, "Are you done flaunting your wealth everywhere, Harshad? Perhaps educate your helpers on how really you got it too, the backstory about sleeping with my mother is a good starting point." No anger, no distress, no aggression. Just plain indifference.

Over the years, I had managed to desensitise myself to certain triggers, especially surrounding my family, my friends and Harshad. There wasn't anyone remaining on that list except myself. I was the only evidence of my past that I could not erase or shut off. I had to live with it and all the decisions I made with it, for every waking moment of my life.

Having someone like Nandini in phases like those really helped; something about the girl just heals everyone around her.

Harshad was fuming and his hands visibly shaking, not a Harshad I was familiar with at all. The Harshad I knew from school would not bat an eye to my irritation or pleads, and would in turn find comfort in knowing he excited a reaction out of me.

"Stop creating a scene, Mukti! I know you're suffering every day just as much as I am, so please accept my apology, damn it!"

"Don't act like you know me, because it's seeming really desperate on your part," My decibels had not changed. To think that once upon a time I would have given that man anything and everything... and today, I did not think he deserved even a few minutes of my breakfast break.