Once Upon a Time in London

Chapter 44

I wake up in bed with what seems like an onset of a headache.

I blink my eyes lazily, my hair sprawled all around me, blocking my vision.

The air around me smells different, I can smell the wafting scent of freshly ground coffee and eggs.

And then it dawns on me, Rahul. I sit up and clutch my head as it spins from the sudden movement. The familiar walls of my room aren't the sight I fell asleep too. I swing the sheets off me in one swift movement as I sprint outside of my room barefoot and hair messily falling down my back. It does not matter that my teeth aren't brushed or that I'm in faded pajamas with my hair tangled up. When you know someone as long as Rahul and I had known each other, I suppose such things stop mattering. They did, once upon a time when he used to make me nervous. But after he all but put his soul out for me to see last night, I could care less. I had to see him.

The first thing I notice when I get to the kitchen is that Rahul isn't here, and then the plate of french toast and caramel latte sitting on the counter. And the little note to accompany the meal that seemed as if it had been written in a hurry, "I apologise for overstaying my welcome, thank you for everything. Making breakfast is the least I could do. -R" 

I chuck the note back at the counter and it flips over, "I promise I'm not running away this time."

I pick up the note again and stare at it, running a finger over his words, tracing them over, I wonder if he meant them and also if it even mattered anymore.

I sit down on the bar stool by the counter, poking the french toast slices with the fork he left by the plate and all I can think about is that he left his coat in my dryer. 

— — — — — —

Soft jazz music plays on the gramophone, the one thing my mother had kept of my father's. It was ironic really since she never played it, as much as she cherished it, the memories my father had left her with hurt enough that most days she could not bear to look at it. I wondered what it felt like, to love something enough to never want to part from it but never being able to face it.

I pin the pallu of my saree to my shoulder, securing it in place. I let my hair down and the diamond studs peek through the curtain of my hair.

The red saree is one I found in the dresser here, something ma had left for me to wear once I'd grown up, there was a time when I would open the cupboard and stare at it everyday, waiting for the day I'd be old enough to wear it and with time, it was as if it left my mind, as new sarees got added to the closet, and I got busy with school, it got lost between the many things that the cupboard held. So a sharp pain had bloomed through my chest, like a tree taking root as I flicked through the cupboard looking for a shawl and the saree caught my eye.

I knew then, that the saree was what I would wear, my black dress lay forgotten on the bed, perhaps on its way to becoming the next thing I would one day chance upon and get nostalgic over.

I brush my hair one more time, my eyes look tired, I was tired. On days like this, all I wanted was to cradle up in my room with a hot drink and stare at the stars as memories of my father ran through my mind.

Though I do not remember him, I know he loved me. I get flashes of a man, who's face I can never quite see, just when it seems the cloud may clear and I may remember his face once more, the memory gets broken, as if some sort of punishment for trying to see something I shouldn't. And I am left alone, with a strange ache in my chest, a sadness that takes a while to dissipate. I hate him and yet I cherish every thing he left behind. And it is in moments like this I can resonate with my mother and her keeping the gramophone even though it makes her cry everytime she plays it.