Vijay and Nila have only one thing in common - they take the same bus at the same time everyday. What if this mere commonality steers their life into a whirlpool of uninvited feelings, wholesome conversations and unexpected connections, taking them...
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"Is something wrong?"
Nila registered Vijay's voice only belatedly and that caused his frown lines to deepen. No, everything was wrong. This was the definition of chaos. This was a gigantic mess. I hate this, I hate this world! She wanted nothing more than to scream it. And if Nila had the liberty to be honest, she would stop swallowing down the nausea trying to take over her and run to the bathroom. Then, she would shamelessly bawl her eyes out and throw a tantrum in front of Vijay's family and tell them how their lives have been twisted, in the worst possible way. Then, Nila would flee.
Maybe she would have considered doing the above, her good impression be damned, if not for the tired black eyes of Vijay looking at her, reminding her of what he had just been through. She couldn't possibly comment on anything right now as she knew well that it would mean ripping his heart out.
This was simply not the right time to do anything with the cursed piece of information.
This was not the right time to even think about it or attempt to process it. It was too much.
"No, nothing is wrong," she said, forcing a smile and turning to him. "When is uncle coming home?"
"He'll be here soon," he said but his watchful eyes didn't lose the concern. Nevertheless, he took her hand and led her to his room. If this had been the Nila before ten minutes, she would have had her mind go haywire at her being inside Vijay's room for the first time. A person's room was an intimate piece of them. She'd always believed that. Even though she'd thought she knew Vijay in and out, it was now that she realised that she had not even scratched the surface. It was her confidence and her gut feeling dictating her to believe that she would love the man to bits, no matter who he was underneath.
Because of the new information she'd learnt, nothing elicited the usual reactions out of her. She felt numb when she entered Vijay's room and took in the soft cream walls, the damp towel hanging off his work chair, his medals gently dancing to the light breeze coming from the window and the Rajinikanth posters on the wall along with Lana Del Ray and Sabrina Carpenter lyric art.
"You listen to Sabrina?" she asked, surprised. Honestly, the range of his favourite media culture blew her mind. She knew he was a crazy fan of Rajinikanth but his taste in pop music came as a comforting surprise.
"Yeah. Farah made me listen a year back," he said, rubbing the nape of his neck. "I think she's cute."
Her eyes narrowed. "You think she's cute?"
"Okay, I think she's hot."
"So, you like petite women," she said, rubbing her chin.
He elbowed her. "Stop psychoanalyzing me."
A long minute of silence settled between them.
And then suddenly, Vijay was pulling her into his arms, his arms wrapped tight and head buried in her neck. "I miss him, silver," he said, his voice sounding pained as if it was torture to even talk about it.
