"how did you forget each other?"
she didn't. she remembered those days she looked at him from far away, he was unaware.
he was unseen even in the limelight. he barely wondered he was memorable. was it wrong to ask for attention?
he wanted things he...
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Pakhi looked around her. "Nice," she exhaled delightfully. The garden was nicely made. The grass was bright green, freshly trimmed. Colourful flowers decorated the edges of the lawn.
Pakhi sat on the brown bench at the centre. She put her diary on the wooden table. There was blue shed above her head. It was cloudy outside, so if it rained, she was safe and could enjoy the view. There was a soft dewiness in the air. The white cottage was at her right side.
This new house so much better than her previous paying guest. It serene, fresh, and quiet. The owner was a middle aged woman, she was a Professor at the University. The owner, Rumi Aunty, was delighted to know that Pakhi was a Ph.D scholar. She didn't even ask her much, it was just a matter of a week.
The cottage was in a pristine locality. Most of their neighbours were elite professionals. Much better than the kich-kich of her previous PG. This cottage was for one tenant only. There was a partition between her portion and the owner's portion.
Pakhi opened her notebook and started scribbling. As she drifted off to work, soft noises accompanied the air. The birds chirped, a few cars honked somewhere far, a rusty mental gate swung open nearby.
Pakhi wondered if it was their own gate. She looked at the garden, no one. She dived back to work again.
After what felt like a few seconds, she sensed someone was looking at her. Pakhi looked up.
"Who are you?" The guy asked. Pakhi checked out the guy. He had on a black hoodie and grey relaxed jeans. He wore a slick, silver band on his left wrist and blue Jordans. Pakhi felt herself rolling up at the thought of those Jordans walking on the muddy garden - pricey pain!
"I live here," she frowned. The guy blinked, as if she was crazy.
"What?"
Pakhi wondered if he was dumb or deaf, "I. Live. Here." She repeated slowly.
"I'm not deaf, I heard you the first time!" The guy emphasised.
"Then why the hell did you ask again?" Pakhi got up, annoyed.
"You don't live here."
"Ofcourse I live here!!"
"I live here!"
"What? Are you sure you're not at the wrong address?"
"This is my house. I own–"
"Rup?" Both of them swivelled their head towards the cottage, "You early?" Rumi Aunty strolled towards them.
"Yeah, we go done with everything early...so i thought..." His words mumbled away as Rumi hugged him tightly.
"Mera baccha!!" Rumi kissed his forehead loudly.
Pakhi swore under her breath.
"Did you say something, Pakhi?" Rumi asked as she let go. Pakhi shook her head, her face reddened like a cherry.
"Mumma..." Rup pointed at Pakhi, asking Rumi for answers.
"Oh! She's the new girl. I was about to tell you but you were busy, I thought..."
"Mumma! You're changing tenants faster than people change clothes. This is the 5th time in 2 months. You can't do this!!" He admonished, "and..." He continued lowering his voice, "I told you I can't stay with women...why did you–"
"Tch tch...I am here, na...you're not staying alone. You are gonna be okay! And I am changing them because they were too problematic..."
"Mumma, you're barely staying for a few months for your program, then toh–"
"Shut up, no complaints!" Rumi frowned at her son. She smiled at Pakhi, "This is my son, Aryan. Aryan, this is Pakhi!"
Pakhi noticed, she was using a typical motherly tone...when you're trying to tame your child from further nonsense. She almost imagined Rumi asking them to shake hands like kids.
Pakhi nodded. She had to live with a boy now? Wow!!
"Is it true that he's–" Pakhi started.
"The owner of the house, yes!" Rumi grinned, "I didn't tell you...I am here for my program, I am not staying here permanently! But, he can be a nice roommate, I promise...and if he irritates you then you can just call me," Rumi grinned again.
Pakhi glanced at Aryan, he was already in a bad mood. Same here, Pakhi thought to herself.
"I'll go..." Aryan said, curtly. He steered away his doodled suitcase and went in without sparing her a look.
Doodled suitcase? Where had she seen it before?
"What does he do?" Pakhi asked.
"Oh, he owns a publishing agency, Nirvana. I think you've heard of it! But now he's starting a film production house soon. He went to Mumbai for that purpose," Rumi explained.
"Aryan from Nirvana?" Pakhi mumbled. Doodled suitcase? Pakhi felt the pieces coming together in her head, "Aryan Basu?"
"Yes," Rumi nodded, "Have you heard of him?"
Fuck.
🍜
Hope you enjoyed.
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