AUTHOR
Of all the things the world is made up of, never have humanity dare to think, the world they live in would be built of lies, injustice, propaganda, blood, truth termed as theories and buried in pits of fire hoping it would burn to ashes and evaporate. Not realizing that, the air around runs in cycles and the universe promises every drop taken from the land back to its heart.
Especially when it's a beating breathing heart inside the illusion of this world that soars and suffers and yearns for peace and path, the bridges might swell, the moon may split in half, the piece of cloth turns never ending, and mountains weigh akin to stone.
Like all of those, Vidyut Mahajan expects a miracle for himself. A miracle that'd fetch him away from this misery he's inflicted upon himself.
He wished he hadn't met her that night. He wished he wasn't there then. And now he absolutely wished he hadn't learned what he did. It was eating him up from inside. Nagging at his soul, scratching him, leaving a bruise with each passing moment like a nuclear weapon. He can't imagine how he could put it in front of her, his wife.
At her feet is where he sheds his armour. Where his sword falls. Where he finds his bravery end along with the world.
It reads past seven on his office wall clock, past the time he usually leaves. By now, he'd usually get home to see his wife baking goodies or snuggled up, lost in a book in her library if she's home. And if not, he'd take the duty for the night's dinner. As of now, neither of it seems persuading enough. That much was the weight in his heart.
Yet, a look at the cheeky smile of his woman in the framed photo on his desk makes him sigh, shattering his resolve and misery at once. That smile is worth going on a war for, this is still a battle.
A battle with them against the world.
The next few moments go in a blink, almost on autopilot, like a toddler who's still crawling gets thirst trapped with a colorful toy. Vidyut himself doesn't know how quickly he packs and leaves the office, but it surely is in record time.
"Esha," is an inhale he takes the moment he passes the threshold of their home.
The staff who's setting the table halts his task, informing. "Esha madam is by the pool."
A brief nod is all he spares at the man, already marching to the stairs that leads to the pool by the south side of the house.
The pool is warmer today, almost cold, and the sky, covered with heavy clouds that promise a shower. As Esha stares into them, she's reminded of herself. Of the chest that feels heavy with things she has to say but doesn't know how. She for a moment wonders how free it is for those raindrops to just fall, so freely, absolute carefree of the consequences.
Today she had finally finished reading the newspapers she collected from the library. After going through numerous copies all she found useful is not more than four copies. That was how deeply that case was buried, a disappearance akin to the ghosts.
A photocopy of each of the newspapers she found a use was tucked in her totebag along with the diaries of her mother-in-law she carries around these days like her holy grail.
It should feel weird to carry them around, but that feeling never came. Rather it was a weird sense of peace that embraces her every time she gets a peek of those deep colored hardcover books.
A sense of longing and belonging lingering in her.
For some reason, she was missing the motherhood she never had a little more these days.
YOU ARE READING
Love Amidst The Chaos
Roman d'amour"What is your favourite colour?" Esha asked, her fingers grazing her husband's jaw as she leaned back lazily against him on their couch. "Green," he said in a blink, thinking about her in green. It was sight to watch his wife in green, their first m...
