An Inconvenient Flame

Chapter 33

Hi...so I don't know how did this chapter come out to be.

It's basically a monologue. I was out of ideas so it's just a single scene.

Hope you'll like it.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Ishika's pov

Three months later.

The dorm room is silent except for the faint dribble of rain and the occasional rustle of papers. I sit at my desk, hunched over a research paper of Mancur Olson, my eyes scanning lines of text that are beginning to blur. Scribbling the notes in the margins, I try to make sense of the complex information.

I push my glasses up my nose and sigh, leaning back in my chair. I strech my neck to ease the stiffness and glance at the clock on the wall. Midnight.

Didn't even realise how fast five hours went. The paper I'm reading is crucial to give a pace to my thesis, but right now, I need a break.

Pushing back my chair, I get up  and lay on my bed. I turn towards the window, hugging one of my pillow close to my chest.

Outside, the campus is cloaked in darkness, the warm yellow lights of campus reflecting the wet pavement. The drumming of rain drops on the window pane was turning louder, looks like it's going to rain the whole night.

My mind begins to drift as I watch the scene outside.
How different things have turned out to be then what I expected.

Ivaan is already getting used to my absence. Lately, whenever I call, he's always busy with something—his toys, a cartoon, or just lost in his own little world. He talks less, his answers are short and distracted. And then he'd go back to whatever he was doing, leaving me on the other side of the screen.

It’s not his fault. He’s just a child, adapting to the situations. He’s learning to live without me being there every day, and that realization is like a punch to the gut. The thought of him not needing me as much, scares me.

I chose this path for myself, for a better and secure future, but every time I see that distant look in his eyes, the only question which comes to my mind is, if it’s worth it. I miss his sticky little hugs, his endless questions, his smiles. I miss being there.

The wind picks up, rattling the windowpane, and I snap back to the present.

I take a deep breath it's been so long since I talked to someone. And I really wanted to speak, it's been quiet a few days since I have had a conversation with someone.

I reach for my phone, unlocking it with a swipe. The home screen glows in the dim light, and I tap on my contacts app.

Scrolling through the list, I realize just how few numbers are  there whom I can talk to randomly—barely more than twenty-five but now they have also turned useless, hardly any calls made.

Most of them are work-related: colleagues, professors, research assistants. I scroll through the names, each one more impersonal than the last.

Useful contacts, but not the kind  I can call just to talk, to share how lonely I’m feeling right now.

My thumb hovers over my mother’s name for a moment, but I dismiss the idea quickly. 

Our conversations often turn into lectures about how I should come home apply in a university there itself. And secondly my mother's EQ is too low.

As I keep scrolling, my eyes land on Abhiraj’s name. My husband.

The thought of calling him makes my heart ache.