Till The Count Of Five ✓

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

The breeze, somehow, was stronger than the storm.

Ash

15th March 2019, Friday
17:00

We sat on the hood of his car, looking over at the puppies standing in a corner and the kids feeding them.

"They are adorable," I said.

He hummed.

I looked at him and his eyes that had turned big and round as he stared at the scene. Wind blew and a strand of his hair fell on his forehead. He raised his hand to brush it away and I looked away.

"You're not wearing your coat," I pointed out.

He shrugged. "It's not that cold today. The sweater is fine."

I played with my jacket, unsure of my words. I didn't trust my mouth. I'd probably blurt out something that I would regret later. I did that often, commented on some passers-by, made faces when someone held the pencil the wrong way and he would smile at me.

"There's a wrong way too?" he would say.

My excited self would snatch the straw out of his hand, sometimes even mouth, to show him the right way. "Here." I'd grip it between my forefinger and thumb and tilt it at the correct angle. "This is how you hold a shading pencil." Then, I'd change the position. "And this is how you grip it while writing. Some people hold it straight and that's fine. But, during art, this is the way."

"This?" He'd try to imitate me. I'd shake my head and correct him. Then, the smile would light up the frowny people walking around us. Honestly, they never mattered. He had to say one word, point at something and explain his opinion and everything else disappeared. Even the man who I had seen alive but was declared dead.

The problem with the whole situation was that Mehak had been oddly uptight since then. I asked her if she blamed me. She said no. I was relieved until I discovered I had lost Kiara's pen, the one she gave me last year.

"Are you thinking about it again?" he asked.

I looked at him and shrugged. "I liked that pen a lot. You should've seen it. It was beautiful. I have always loved her gifts, small things but productive and they held some sentiment too."

He smiled into his muffler. "Is five a sentiment?"

I punched him in the shoulder. "Yes. Anything is when it reminds you of home, of your friends and the silly memories."

He raised an eyebrow.

I smiled sheepishly. "That sounded cheesy."

He laughed, the throaty rumbles sending chills down my spine. He covered his face and shook his head. "No. It was just your face when you said cheesy."

I touched my face as a frown descended on my lips.

"Hey," he grabbed my hand and pushed it away from my face. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. You just looked like a cute puppy, like one of those."

We both turned back to the site. I gasped and he quickly jumped down the hood when a guy of our age passed them, throwing stones and laughing at the scared faces of the kids.

"Hey," he called out, walking over to the guy.

I thought he'd grab his collar, threaten him, something that Rishab would do or even Hardik. He didn't. I was immediately reminded of Vicky and I smiled. He whispered something to him with a flat look that must have offended the guy because he turned red. He raised his hands at the guy's heated words, then cracked a lopsided smile.

He was not Rishab. That had been my biggest mistake, asking him to pretend to be someone he was not. He could never be him. I was scared. I had no idea if I should be relieved that I did not give a darn about Rishab or if I should worry that I cared about this beautiful person. My breath hitched in my throat and I stared at my hands. I'd be lying if I said I knew what I was feeling. I didn't.

It was frightening to not feel the butterflies that came with Hardik, or the rumbles that came with Rishab. It was a calm breeze that lightly brushed my skin and kissed my flaws, roared in my ears and turned to storm in my eyes. I felt no tingles, no increased breathing or quick pulse. I felt the calm sky had fallen on the ground and the aftermath was a beautiful, silent place.

I had no right over this serenity.

My fingers fumbled through my jeans and I pulled the bottle. Before I could open it, he grabbed my hands.

"You promised," he said.

I raised my confused eyes to his cautious ones, no disappointment, plain understanding and sadness.

"They help me," I whispered.

He closed my fingers over the bottle. "It is your choice but you and I both know this is wrong. Ashiamma, you have to drop this if you want to come back on the track. You don't want to reconcile, okay, understandable but this is just a pity way out."

Embarrassment rose to cheeks and I nodded, keeping it back in my pocket. "You want me to throw it."

"Let's just start by keeping it away, shall we?"

Why? Why did he have to say that like that?

"Don't you ever feel like shouting at me?" I asked.

He frowned. "Nobody ever feels like shouting at you, Ashiamma, not even your friends."

He had a point. They had never screamed at me. But that had nothing to do with my thoughts. "It's not the point," I said and rubbed my nose, getting down the car and standing in front of him. "The point is about you."

His eyebrows dipped. "What about me?"

There. I had blurted out another stupid thing out if my mouth. I bit my lip and walked passed him to the park. I did not have to look back. I knew he was following me. Inside the park, I sat down on a bench and looked at him. He was standing near the gate, staring at the main road. I followed his gaze and saw the scooter and the helmet. Of course.

What was I doing? I wanted to pull my hair, his hair and Rishab's hair. It was Rishab's fault, I decided. Had I not liked him, I wouldn't have attached myself to this guy. Get out of my system, get out of my system. I threw daggers at him through my eyes but the prayer did not work. I blew out a harsh breath and chuckled to myself. Life was unfair. Still, one could hope. Get out of my system. He turned his head back and our eyes met. I looked away.

"Are you not going to tell me?" he said. I raised my head. "Can I sit?"

I grunted. And of course, his manners. Or was it mockery? My head snapped up and I saw a smile playing on his lips.

"It is rude of you to start a topic but end it abruptly," he said. "And you never bother to even end it, so that increases the percentage of your crime."

He nudged me. "Fine," I said.

His lips lifted in a smile.

"I like you," I said, not bothering to whisper it. I leaned back and repeated. "I like you."

His eyes wrinkled. "I think you mean Rishab."

I scowled. "You hope."

His smile dropped. "Ashiamma..."

"I really like you and I know I shouldn't." When I looked up at him, he looked out at the main road.

"At least you're confident enough to say it."

That was the problem. For a moment, I hated his tone, then I knew I was the one who was doing the wrong thing. The surprise had long gone from his eyes, replaced by longing, but not for me. His eyes fascinated me and for once I thought I could draw something that I could truly explain, not just a good painting or good idea but a gorgeous story.

But it troubled me that the story wasn't mine to narrate.