Our Flaming Love

168 days to film release

Varun's forefinger tapped the steering wheel rhythmically to the beats of Ghungroo as he peered up at Shraddha's balcony, his right thumb hovering over the send button. He had typed out a message,"I'm downstairs. Coming up now." 

He could see the hoodie she stole from him a year back drying on a rack along other clothing possessions. He was nervous all around. The tip of his bottom lip was scrunched and bitten mercilessly. His legs were exhausted from the anxious leg bouncing. Unfortunate for him, his vacation was of no help rather it further amplified his fear.

He arrived from Goa a few hours ago. He texted Shraddha in the morning about his awaited visit to her apartment. She replied with a bunch of adorable kissy face emojis. 

Varun prolonged his anxiety by waiting in his car for 10 minutes. He'd been switching gazes between her increasingly menacing apartment building and a set of apology roses arranged in a bouquet that were laying on the passenger seat. The apprehensive fool groaned and banged his forehead on the abused steering wheel causing his chest to collide with the aforementioned appendage of the car. A cacophonous honk sounded into the peaceful environment, alarming the guard's suspicion.

Varun send the message, grabbed the bouquet and hurried out of the car to avoid clashes with the guard. He conversed with the guard about his reason of arrival and walked towards the elevator sheepishly, waving his hand to the guard as a sign of respect. He breathed with relief and slouched against the metallic wall of the lift after pressing the number 6. 

His thoughts drifted to Shraddha and his left leg immediately bounced up and down. The up arrow agitated him as the number beside it continued increasing. Fate was now inevitable. He was going to die from worry thought Varun. The number stopped at 3. An auntie wrapped in a gold shawl elegantly strolled into the elevator with her pug whose tiny tail swatted side to side violently. The two strangers smiled awkwardly at each other. The auntie glanced at the bouquet.

"Roses for your girlfriend, I suppose," the auntie smiled innocently as she asked her not-so-innocent question.

"Um, no. Friend," Varun hoped his one-worded answer would make her back down but we all know the relentless power of desi aunties' curiosity.

"Hmm...that's what they all say but everyone knows you're not lying to anyone," the obnoxious auntie's smile turned into an unsatisfied frown and judging eyes rolled to the doors of the lift. The pug yapped at Varun as he strongly wished she would press another button on the panel. But fate didn't like Varun nowadays.

The elevator doors parted on the 6th level and Varun groaned internally as the mischievous auntie smirked at his misfortune. They both stepped onto the marble floor of the level. The air surrounding them was in a standstill as they both eyed the other. One of them was going to have to go into an apartment. But it seemed Varun was in the losing end of the battle and the auntie was pronounced victor as Shraddha opened the door of her apartment and called out.

"Batuk, what are you doing? Come in. Hi, Ms. Baala," Shraddha witnessed the scene with confusion,"I see you've met Varun already. He's my best friend. He's just visiting."

"Hmm...if you say so but I'm watching you two. I may be new to this building but I have good informants," the auntie saucily strolled to her apartment and shut her door, eyes heavy with kohl catching their last glimpse of gossip.

"That was something," Varun cheekily faced his Chirkut who tried to cover her mouth from releasing her hysterical laughs. He rolled his eyes and ambled into the warm embrace of his Chirkut after he shut the door.

They hesitantly broke apart and Varun handed the roses to her, which she happily took. She invited him into the threshold of her living room as she clasped his sweaty hands into her warm ones. He sat where the onset of creative decorations could be admired. Shraddha had an eclectic sense of style and decoration. She didn't seek to be ordinary. She aimed to be herself which was to be unique. She retrieved a transparent vase filled up with water to replenish the dozen individual roses, which she set in the middle of her round mahogany coffee table blanketed by an abnormally large leaf-coloured doily.