Kaya

Chapter 7- Who is Kaya?

Note: From this chapter, Pradhyum's poetry will also be included. They're not my work. They are taken off from a brilliant poet Prakhar Sharma's ( Username: paranoidian on instagram) feed. After taking permission, of course. Do check his feed out.

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Feb 29th 2012

Perfect day to start recording my shitty life, no?

Actually, it is not very shitty. It's cool. I've completed one year here in Mumbai, I have a perfect boyfriend and I make out with girls.

What more do I want?

I have no idea why the fuck am I behaving like this geek, talking to pages that really can't respond. Maybe that's what I want; for someone to listen.

Listen without forming their opinions, listen without having to know the backstory or the expectation, listen without wondering....just listen.

Of course I can't find a human worthy of that. Hell, I couldn't resist thinking about shit if someone opens up to me and that is okay.

I think.

I have so many doubts buried underneath this confident, curvy body of mine; I wonder if I am even worthy of being called a person.

Pradhyum sighed at the end of the sentence. He was standing at the doorway and reading the first of the five thin notebooks Kaya had handed over to him. Of course she irritated him to some extent, but she seemed to be more than what she let on ever since they'd started on this trip.

It was almost like she was playing a dumber version of her, just to impress Vedant which was pathetic and sad by all means. Or maybe, she was wired that way?

He couldn't really guess.

All he knew was, he wouldn't be able to read this sober.

He had always found it difficult to share beautiful things and when someone did that to him, he refrained, got scared or backed off.

It was a common reality: You often fall for things that open themselves and let you bask in their glow.

And the afterglow? That is what hurts the most.

You're still in awe, and they? Gone.

That night, he was ready to shed his inhibitions.

He had switched off his cellphone, in case Tanya called; the reception was horrible but he didn't want to take any chances.

Opening his Blue Sapphire, he looked out the window and the view caught his fancy.

The sky was studded with all the stars you can dream of, while sleeping in one of the most polluted cities.

He poured the contents of the bottle in the flask he had just fished out of his pockets and walked towards the bed.

Sitting on the mattress, he felt something inside him sink exactly like his bottom sunk into the sheets.

He felt something stir inside him; and he knew he was on an adventure almost instantly.

He saw an ashtray kept on the cabinet beside him and decided to smoke first.

He helped himself with his inhaler first.

Asthmatic attacks had constructed a love-hate relationship between Pradhyum and his lungs.