Silent Hearts

38| Thirty-Eight.

You once asked me what you mean to me,
"Oh, my darling, you are my poetry."

-n.g

* * *

His hand clenched around the heavy, polished charcoal handle, his skin taut around his knuckles, and each passing second seemed to amplify the distant burning in his heart, the sensation growing more intense with every breath he took. The feel of her touch lingered—her soft, cold palm imprinted on his senses, as he could feel the precise, ghostly pressure of her nails biting into the knuckles of his left hand, her slender fingers interlocking with his in a grip both tender and desperate. The vividness of the moment, the way her touch had woven itself into his very being, refused to let go of his rapidly failing mind.

Opening the door with a sharp intake of breath, Tushar followed her inside, feeling the warmth of her hand slip away as she timidly let go. The slight clank of the house keys echoed in the deepening hush, as Tushar quickly hung the key on the holder, a simple wrought iron hook, a meter away from the door. The soft click of the door as he closed and locked it seemed to fall on deaf ears, swallowed by the stillness of the room.

He remained rooted to the spot, barefoot and soaked from the rain that had drenched him moments hence. Droplets of water pooled around his feet, creating a small, glistening puddle on the textured tiled floor. His clothes clung to him uncomfortably, and his hair dripped steadily, yet he couldn't bring himself to move, feeling the drumming in his chest intensify.

His eyes were fixed on her, watching as she hesitated in the hallway, her back to him, her shoulders slightly hunched as if bearing an invisible weight. The room felt charged with unspoken words and unexpressed emotions, a palpable tension hanging in the air. The soft light from the lamp beside the sofa, cast gentle shadows, painting a scene of quiet intimacy and unfulfilled longing.

Just a while ago, Tushar had stood before her, captivated by the glimmer in her kohl-lined eyes as she passionately described how she always prepared her favorite sweet at home. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and her hands moved animatedly as she recounted each step of the recipe, her voice naught but a melodic blend of excitement and nostalgia. Just a while before, he had been beside her, listening to her shyly sing along to the lyrics of "Tum Se Hi" while his gaze traced the gentle curve of her ample cheeks, feeling the soft, breathy notes of her voice trailing in his ears, the traffic seemed to have been forgotten at that moment.

And just some moments ago, he had been behind her, his arms around her waist as she moved swiftly across the soft grass. Her laughter, echoing through the open air, spurred him on while he clumsily moved, his steps awkward in comparison as he followed her movements.

Yet, in all those moments, Tushar had mastered the art of ignoring the way his heart burned every time their eyes met. Each glance  exchanged between them awakened a spark, a fleeting connection that sent a rush of warmth through his sanity.  He had kept mum about the swirling sensation in the pit of his stomach every single time he saw the tilt of her cherry-hued lips.
He believed he had conquered those traitorous feelings ever since the moment his eyes first fell upon the woman clad in maroon, had thought himself strong, capable of withstanding the unease inside him for so long.

Oh, perhaps she was the fine wine he had prayed for a sip of, a rare and exquisite experience he longed to savor. Yet, Tushar Chatterjee was hardly that man to have tasted it.

“Tushar?” Her clear voice cut through the ramblings in his psyche, pulling him back to the present. He blinked, his brows knitting together as a pair of onyx fluttered towards their destined home. Embarrassed by his constant tendency to space out these days, Tushar lowered his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the weight of her confused stare upon him.
A second ticked by, then another, until she spoke again. Her words reached him, naught but a gentle sigh of pleasure, "Thank you so much for tonight," she paused, and Tushar could do but lift his gaze back to her face. She was smiling at him—no, she was grinning.