Imperfectly Perfect

Prologue

A.N - So, I finished drafting the plots of this book. It's gonna be short and very intense. As I said earlier, most of the incidents will be directly influenced by my own life. To start with, whoever is friends with me on Facebook must know that Sirin is my best friend - obvious from my never-ending posts to and from her. She is Nadia's best friend in this book as well......... Therefore, here goes the first similarity.

I hope every one of you enjoy this book. This is going to be very, very close to my heart - more than SWM and FY because it will feature events that I exactly faced and are still facing.

Enjoy and feedback will be much appreciated.

- Thanks!

The image of the Indira Gandhi National Airport should otherwise have been fascinating and exciting to me. But at the situation I am, it doesn't fascinate me. People roaming around with their many faces, some even smiling at me; are doing nothing to make me feel anything – something. I keep dragging my trolley as my eyes search for Sirin. Once I reach the outside where all the cars line up, I look around more to find her.

Maybe, I am rushing because I know she could get a few minutes late, considering the rush hour traffic. On spotting a waiting area, I occupy one chair and focus my sight right before me. A lot of inquisitive eyes fall on me, and I am aware that I look like a ghost. But none of their attention or even presence is having any influence on me. All I want right now is to see Sirin and feel a certain sense of comfort, if at all I can draw it.

After a few minutes pass I hear her voice from not far a distant. And soon I catch her, jogging at me like I know her to do. She looks just the same, wearing her hair long and straight and her favorite pink top that I chose for her when we last went shopping in college. Seeing her, nearly after four months and the added grief that my heart is laden with, I find myself sobbing. She soon reaches me and wraps her arms around my tiny body.

"I missed you so much," she squeaks and smiles.

I'm at a loss of words, so I choose to nod and sniff instead.

"You don't look okay. Is everything alright?" she rubs a comforting hand on my cheek, the warmth of her skin calming the wild fire inside me a tad.

I put my lips in between my teeth and sniff again.

"Let's just go home," she suggests and holds my hand.

I let her take me and we walk briskly, mainly because I'm very fragile. I notice a cab already waiting just outside the airport. On Sirin's gesture, the driver picks up my trolley and keeps it inside the dickey. We board the vehicle as the driver starts it sooner.

I look outside the window, the visuals of the city that I last visited in 2012 passing my eyes like a speeding train. I feel a hand squeeze my hand very tightly, and the familiarity of the warmth confirms me that it's Sirin's. I can understand that she is worried, and more than anything even I want to open up to her. But for the first time in my 23 years of life, I don't know how to start.

"My home is just 20 minutes away. I've brought pasta for you, your favorite?" she tilts her head to get a response from me.

Somehow, I manage to grin and nod.

When we reach her apartment I look around to see the sky coming down on earth really dark and dense. As we get down the cab and the driver hands me my trolley, I insist Sirin that I pay at least half of the fare, but she strictly refuses.

I turn around to take a view of the building and my old building flashes before my eyes. I bend my head down, battling to cut down the thought.

"Let's go," she pats on my shoulder.

"Let me help you," I hold the other side of the trolley as well.

"It's alright, my flat is in the ground floor," the dimples carve her cheek.

We enter the building and walk towards her flat. She unlocks the door and we go inside before Sirin closes the door shut behind her. As she turns on the lights I witness her place that will now be my place as well. It's small, but cozy and homely – much like what I felt after seeing Sirin after so long.

"How was the flight?" she asks, making me sit with her on the couch.

"Okay," I mumble.

I catch her staring at me with furrowed eye brows.

"It's 10.30 Pm. Freshen up fast, I'm very hungry," she demands, patting on my back.

I push myself up off the couch and drag my trolley to the only room of the apartment. On unzipping the trolley, I take out a pair of shorts and top along with towel and undergarments before going inside the attached bathroom.

The confined space of the bathroom starts choking me and fighting tears; I peel off my robes and turn on the shower. The agitation and wild fire running inside me triggers to finish off with my shower within 15 minutes and I rush out of the bathroom. I throw my flight robes at one corner of the room, planning to wash them tomorrow. Strong aroma of pasta dressing reaches my nostrils and I walk out of the room.

"Better," Sirin nods at me. "You look better after the shower," she smiles now.

"Thanks," I nod along and grab one chair at the dining table.

"I'll just run and get changed, you start eating," she fades into the room.

I sit there idle, trying to obtain hunger for food.

Sirin comes off in a blink of an eye and sits before me. Her big and dark eyes reflect burning concern for me, and all I could do is shed tears.

"C'mon, we'll watch a little television while we eat," she picks up both mine and her plate after rising on her feet.

I sniff for the third time since we met, and nod before walking with her towards the couch. We sit and she hands me my plate. I look at the pasta and take in the aroma, and remember him. The pictures of us laughing together, making jokes, being friends, being everything for each other, flashes before my eyes. My lips quiver and I cry, not having the strength to control myself anymore. Sirin grabs the plate from my hand and keeps it on the centre table.

"I demand to know about this boy," she says, seriousness rumbling in her voice.

I look at her, shocked that she struck the right chord. I shift my eyes on the floor, and open my mouth to speak about him, although I had no idea where to start from.

"He was a gem," I mutter.