hyperbole | ongoing

01| kabira

( t/n : magnificent)
_

My dad is the type to never pack things on time, for all the years that I've known him, he has never packed his clothes in advance. Maybe, that's why like to pack my suitcase weeks before holidays, even from a young age, my mind wanted to distance itself from my father, to try and erase any similarities between us.

I lug the suitcase, that's been sitting in my room packed for a week, down the stairs. It quiet in the morning, usually it's just me and my mum, but today my mum isn't here. The gnawing feeling of  loneliness is back again, I try to shake it away, but still it's always there. It always has been. 

I place the suitcase at the corner of the living room, I fall down onto the sofa, my heartbeat increasing as each second counts down. I take in my house for the last time, all the memories wash over me, I remember; all the birthdays and the fights, the laughter and the crying and the happiness and the pain.

It's then that the doorbell rings, I break away from my trance. Even between the distance of  the door and me, I can still hear the loud music coming from his earphones, I open the door, and I see him.

His dark brown hair is disheveled, as it always has been, but now he's taller, his shoulders are broader but there's still the hint of mischief in his eyes, that never went away. The shirt is a bit too fitted around his chest, and he's grooming a full beard compared to his clean shaven look. The moment he sees me he smiles, a grin so wide, that it covers his entire face. He wraps his shoulders around me, and grabs me a little too hard, so that my feet aren't touching the floor anymore. He's exactly the same, but not the same at all.

"How are you," he asks, his voice echoing into my hair.

"I'm good," I smile "But you really need to shave."

"I swear if anyone tells me that one more time," he sighs.

He puts me down, and I move away so that he can come inside, his suitcase trailing behind him.  "We can leave for the airport in about half an hour, my mum just needs to get home from work."

"It's okay. I trust you," he calls from inside the house. I close the door and follow him, he's looking at all the oddly placed pictures of me around the house, smiling, although he's seen them a million times already. I shake my head.

"Do you want anything?" I ask, joining him, so that our shoulders are just touching.

"Just some water."

I nod, I go into the fridge and get some cold water, even though it's early in the morning, the weather is sweltering.

"I can't believe that we are actually going on this trip!" He exclaims. "Who would've though that our drunken conversation last Christmas would end up with a summer holiday."

"It's still not too late to back out," I joke, handing him the glass of water. We both head to the sofa, I turn on the tele to a random channel, just to fill any random silences. "It's a bit weird, you know."

"No, Myra! I actually want to go India, I've never been, I think it would be fun, two uni students backpacking across India, plus my dad is going to meet me later anyway." He nudges me on the shoulder.

"We're not exactly backpacking, we're just travelling," I retort.

"Whatever," he huffs, taking out his phone from his jeans pocket.