The Love Antidote

2 | evanescence

|| to ron, because she's so supportive and writes amazing poetry ||

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2 | e v a n e s c e n c e

event that fades from sight or memory, or sometimes the fleeting quality of worldly success

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IT WAS IN MAY THAT I FIRST MET JOY. 

      Our family had moved from Mumbai to New England when my father got transferred, and it felt so rushed at the beginning. It took a long time for us to get comfortably settled, of course. I was fifteen, and Rohan was twelve. Shifting all the equipments entirely to New England took about a month, and it wasn't until June that our house looked packed and full.

      I remembered the way it rained that day. I was crouched on my sofa in the balcony, my eyes buried deep in a book. The droplets of rain pitter-pattered against my window, and cool air swayed my hair that cascaded down to my chest in soft, wavy curls. I felt a rivulet of raindrops clinging to my hand as I read the book. Realizing that it was time for me to get back inside, I closed my book shut, getting up from the sofa.

      And then I saw him.

      He was kissing a girl with extreme fervor and vehemence, and she kissed him back just as fiercely. The both of them were making out right on the balcony of a house exactly opposite to ours, and although I knew that I shouldn't be watching it, I couldn't avert my gaze away.

      His fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt, and they were moving higher and higher when she pulled him closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and I could have sworn I heard the low groan escape from the back of his throat.

      "Samira beta — " I heard my mother's voice after the door to my room clicked open, but she paused suddenly when she looked at the sight before me. I heard a gasp as she came rushing towards me, her eyes wide. "OMG OMG Bhagavan!!! What is that boy doing? What? He's hitting that girl's mouth with his mouth, no? We should call the poli — but why is that girl hitting him back? Kya ho raha hain — what is this generation OMG!"

      I stifled the eruption of laughter that was begging to bubble out of my mouth, and turned to my mother. "Ma", I said, suppressing my smile and pressing my lips together, amused, "He's not hitting that girl on her mouth. It's called, um", I ransacked the hollowest depths of my brain, trying to come up with a phrase — or at the least, a word. "It's called snogging", I said, a proud smile glossing my lips.

      "Snog — kya?"

      "Never mind", I said, shaking my head. "Why did you come to my room anyway?" I walked over to my bed, my eyes flickering out the window every so often.

      I noticed the fruits that were placed on a bowl beside my bed, and I juggled an apple in my hands, brining my teeth to bite at it.

      "Mamma!", my brother bolted to my room just as my mother opened her mouth to speak. "Mamma, there's a murder! In Kal Kya Hoga! You're going to miss it, come on", he drawled. Kal Kya Hoga was apparently the only Hindi TV show that my mother was extremely obsessed with, considering that it was the only TV show telecasted then. Rohan and my father eventually got accustomed to watching the same serial, after several nights of discussion on how amazing the show was and how completely it was filled with action and adventure.