Matchmakers Magic | ✓

07 | you don't need to feel special

07| you don't need to feel special

ASHISH'S CHILDHOOD STORIES were going to be the death of me. I clutch my stomach and bite down on my lip hard to not let my laughter slip but a second later I dissolve into fits of laughter after seeing the goofy grin on his face.

"Oh my god, you guys were lit as fuck," I wheeze as he stands with a huge smile on his face, looking like the completely adorable dork that he is. For the past half hour, he had been telling me his epic prank stories. The ranged from replacing shampoo with glue to cutting chunks of each others hair.

"Oh, you won't believe but she made sure that every single clothing in my wardrobe was pink when I was in highschool. She knew I hated pink back then because well, it dented my male ego." He rubbed the back of his neck and a ghost of smile lingered on his lips.

I guffawed and slowly my laughter die out though a grin remains perfectly still on my lips. I start the elbow pasta of the water and leave it to cool off.

"Where are your parents, Ashish?" I ponder aloud, letting curiosity get better of me. My eyes taking in his beautiful kitchen. It's the twice of ours and is neat. All of the things are neatly stacked in the shelves with labels on them.

"Up there, I'll see them one day." I turn around to see Ashish pointing upside with his eyes glazed over. My heart squeezes and I take a step towards him. Placing a comforting hand on his arm, I give it a squeeze.

"I'm sorry," I add quietly and my fingers around his arm tightens. He shakes his head before letting out a shaky breath.

"Don't be. It's not your fault." I could sense the grief that accompanies his voice and my heart clenchs for him. The air is thick with tension and it suffocates me. I mentally smack myself for being that curious.

"How long?" I ask earnestly, my voice soft.  My fingers brush away the hair that falls into his eyes and take in his face. I scrutinize his face. He has sharp cheekbones and his skin feels soft under my touch. He has honey brown eyes that look dim up close. For a guy who looks happy, his eyes are too dull. Even though his eyes shine from kindness, they are rid of usual happiness. When I look closer, I can see dull bags under his eyes.

"Four years," He adds so softly that I almost miss it. "It doesn't get any better though. I guess some piece of you are lost forever."

My heart thunders against my rib cage and I feel tears well up in my eyes. I could never imagine to lose my parents ever. They mean the world to me and I am sure that Ashish's parents mean the same to him. So to see that his world had been snatched from him breaks my heart. In that moment, I realize one thing: you could be sad, depressed or even dying but nobody would notice. People could imagine you were happy even though you were breaking every moment.

Ashish hangs his head low and I see him wipe a tear that had rolled down his cheek. He sniffs and looks up at me with a huge smile except this time, I see it quivering.

"Well, Anika, are you going to make me die of starvation?" He jokes but I hear the sadness in his voice but I smile softly at his obvious attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

"Can't do this to my boss, can I?" I mock, turning back to the pasta that has cooled off. After asking Ashish where the saucepan is, I melt butter in it and flour to it. Slowly, I add milk to it and stir in cheese, cooking it until the sauce was thick.

"Anyway, have you ever considered art as a career?" This question has been itching me since I have seen his paintings and now I finally let it slip because I didn't know what else to say. I am not good at making conversations.