In Search of my Dimple Girl | ongoing

3: crashing and blasting

I hate how I look at you. It reminds me of what I never had.

3: crashing and blasting

I glanced around the humongous hall that was manicured with rose petals and yellow daisies. The freshly scented flowers tantalized my nostrils as I exhaled and inhaled taking my own sweet time. Everything was jaunty, the smiles pasted on everyone's faces was like a second skin not giving enough time to tarry about its superficiality.

Seconds later, dolled up in a navy blue evening gown Sharvi came down the alley, a goofy smile spread over her lips as she struggled to keep her eyelids down which was acting as an hindrance in seeing the face of her husband to be. The crowd cheered, hooting here and there causing several tinges of red creeping into Yash's neck.

"Can I say something?" Yash took the mike from the host and looked at the crowd expectantly and then Sharvi.

"You are looking beautiful Sharvi, beautiful. I know its sounds cheesy but you are like an ocean to me in which I would like to swim. Over and over."

"You are stupid," Sharvi hit him lightly with her shoulders but her eyes conveyed the love, the earnestness.

"But I am your stupid." He smiled embracing her.

The gathering laughed, amused with the events and the choice of words. A sudden feeling of déjà vu overcame me as the familiar giggles reached my ear. They perked up, desperate. Eyes cleared of all the nebulousness as they searched for its owner.

It wasn't my dream.

It wasn't.

The sculpturally smiling persona which was contagious, the same hair came into my view, which were curled in right proportions from the bottom who had always beckoned me to play with them, the small freckles over her face, the slight crooked nose and the treacherous eyes, who had always attracted me.

In a daze, I continued noticing the differences occurred over the span of time, her dressing more elegant, her body losing a bit of weight and the smile a little less full, that didn't reached her eyes.

Then she turned.

My eyes captured her, no words spoken as they looked at them with sadness asking the reason what had I done so wrong that she left me. Her smile faltering, her mouth ajar, staring at me with an undeciphered emotion. She stepped back. Hesitation, uneasiness lining her features letting me remind that I am repeating my mistake twice.

Of letting my guard down.

I averted my eyes, closing them briefly all our encounters going in a flashback, my head spinning as I retreated.

I madly looked for an empty room. I needed to let it out. I needed to show her that I am not the same. Much strong, powerful and rigid. I don't have to show her, my beating heart which doesn't stops even after my continuous chastising and how my faces twitches with an exorbitant amount of pain which she left me with.

The secluded room of the house came into my view, as I descended towards the washroom.

×××

I washed my face with the cold water, slapping it relentlessly telling myself to get my act together. I pulled my hair when suddenly my mind tarried over the thought of how she caressed it, how she raked her hands into my hair, the soft hands. Her soft smile. I punched the mirror. Nothing happened.

I punched it again and again till it broke, letting the physical pain numb the pain in my heart.

I exited the washroom, without noticing the presence of a second person and sat on the bed.

"I hate you!" I screamed furiously.

"But I don't." I heard a voice, so soft, so small, almost fragile.

I turned over taking in her appearance maintaining my composure. It was as if my eyes were betraying me, getting the best of me.

"What are you doing here?" I said when a pained look crossed over her face. "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked this time, my voice growing loud pausing at each word deliberately.

She closed her eyes. Taking in the words. "Its her wedding, she invited."

Right.

"Why are you here?"

"I didn't knew you were in there." Her eyes glanced over my form. A gasp leaving her, as she looked at my bloodied and bruised knuckles.

"Why did you do that?"

I laughed. Then grew pale. "Its nothing."

"It needs aid."

Just like my heart do.

"It doesn't and I don't want to repeat myself. Can you leave?"

"No."

Then why did you? "Don't make this hard for me. I don't want to see your face." I breathed. "It reminds me of something, something beautiful. But now when i look, I don't know that was I simply being blind the whole time."

"Shivaay . . ."

"Don't," I whispered.

"Did you read the letter?" She said pained, at least that looked genuine.

"I want you to leave."

"Shivaay," a tear trickled.

I scolded myself. I was making her cry. But my mind bellowed, what about the time when she made you look like a lost puppy.

"We should be friends."

"I would prefer enemies."

"How have you been?"

"Better." More than worse.

"Shivaay," her voice rose. "Did you had proper sleep?"

"Leave."

"Its not your room. I don't want you here, do you want a man to escort you?"

"It isn't your room either." She deadpanned.

"Don't hate me." She said.

"I can't change what's already done." And then as if like a hurricane, she came and hugged me muttering, "I missed you."

And it took all of my will power to not say the same words back to her.

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