In His Custody ✎ (MaNan)

✰ 35 - risks or rewards

This is quite an important chapter in the grander scheme of things but I tried my best to sprinkle in some goodness to keep us powering through <3 

⭒

Manik

Home. That was what Nyonika had said to me when she came to our studio, welcome home.

That particular word had been unsettling and the conversation following it had replayed over and over.

"Perhaps you meant hell because wherever you are is where hell begins..." My face was plastered with a smirk and was a facade to our turbulent interaction that I wanted the rest of the band to be shielded from.

She very well knew what she was trying to do when she proposed the idea to her partner in crime; I would never willingly play at SPACE after everything that went down there... at the burial grounds of Fab 5's crumbled strength... and the enticing deal must have worked wonders in Khurana's favour who wanted me out of the game regardless – hence knocking two birds with one stone.

Nyonika chuckled, waving her hand in the air delicately before crossing her arms. "Call it what you wish Manik, but you were ready to throw your first album deal with a reputed record label in the dumps for a petty ego clash."

I steeled my grip, resisting the urge to break something in a fit of rage. No, I could not let her get to me... I was better than that. Loosening my fist consciously, I half-snorted, "Let's not pretend you were not involved in poisoning Khurana for your benefit."

The rest of the band was pickled by a myriad of emotions: half grateful for having still bagged the opportunity and half stressed by the pseudo pressure from a performance that could either make or break it for them.

"I guess I was right Manik, you're still just the same. Incapable of damage control." Her hand gently cupped my cheek, and if I hadn't known better, I would have misconstrued the gesture as a symbol of affection. Her sardonic smile broadened as she stroked it with familiar hostility. That wasn't new, but what took me by surprise was a flicker of change.

As if a soft emotional thought struck her, her face miraculously fell into an indistinguishable, nearly mesmerised, sentiment. In the several years of growing up with her, I had not seen that look before. It lasted less than a few seconds, but it shook me to my core. Then it dissipated just as effortlessly as it arrived while she slapped my jaw, reinstating her initial act. "Which is good, because that's where I can shine."

To seek a breather from my tormenting albeit fleeting moment of weakness, I took my guitar and left the studio in the same Jeep that we were travelling on for our Lonavala trip. Mindlessly driving along the familiar roads in Mumbai had brought some much-needed comfort, until I registered a specific road that brought back tons of memories.

Khan Abdul Gaffar Khan Road.

Where I once used to park my bike and have tea from the roadside shops.

Where I had brought Nandini during the early days of getting to know her.

Already fragile from encountering my mother – who wanted nothing but my downfall – I had felt a sudden emptiness at the thought of Nandini. Parking along the side of the road, I had pulled her book out of her luggage, reclining on my headrest as I read the entry akin to the way I stood against her door that day.

Back when there was some normalcy in my fuckload of a chaotic life and my deepest desire was receiving a single kiss as payback. How beautifully simple were those days...