The Boundaries of Love

●28●

“You didn’t have to, you know,” Shravan mumbles looking at the food. I know, I went a bit overboard with buying everything, including the crockeries. I couldn’t help myself; this place looked so empty as though it was reflecting his life.

“I know. But I get hungry all the time. Now I can’t always go out or order, right?” I smile. I didn’t know what more to say. Fried rice and chicken, Shravan’s two of the favourite dishes. The way he is just pushing the food from one side to another side of the plate, disappointment creeps through me, “How’s the taste?”

“Good.” He says absentmindedly.

“Shravan?”

“Hmm?”

I finally gather my courage to speak, “You have lost a visible amount of weight.” Something shifts in him as his eyes snap at me, alarmed. He didn’t believe I would notice it. “You didn’t think I would notice, right?”

He flinches, “I didn’t think anything.” There’s an edge in his voice. Then he sighs loudly while he lets the spoon fall on the plate; “I have lost appetite recently, all I can think about work, that's it."

"You must not be so hard on yourself," I mumble. I know it's easier said than done. But, he is making himself more and more impenetrable by this. If understanding him was tough before, now it has become next to impossible. I know he is happy that I am here. But somehow he is failing to express it. And there's where the problem lies, he was different with me, he was transparent. "You know, you can talk to me, right?"

"Talk about what, exactly?" Shravan finally looks at me. His eyes are cold and exceptionally blank. "How my father didn't think twice before sleeping with another woman or should I talk about my mother, knowing that I am a bastard she pretended to be my mother so that she can stab right into my heart when I least expected?"

"Shravan!" I look at him horrified. Venom in his voice, self loath in his expression, I don't even know what to say to him anymore. I can feel my eyes go haze, throat constricted, "Don't please."

"Or, you," he says deliberately, "Should I talk about you, who somehow I know, I can never have in my life, the girl I love is looking at me with eyes full of pity." He pushes his dish roughly and stands up, "Or should I talk about my work, how I am still testing the waters, how nothing has come out fruitful, and that too at this age of mine when I was supposed to get married, have kids and settle down without any worry of the future."

Shravan leaves me dumbfounded, still sitting at the table. I knew he was hurting. But I hadn't contemplated that he was going through his identity crisis. A thirty-year-old man is trying to make his name, trying to establish his worth to the eyes of the world. 

Now that I know that I have no way to approach him, I decided to let him cool down a little. I slowly clean the table and put the remaining food in the fridge. When the kitchen is squeaky clean, I walk towards the bedroom half hoping it to be locked. I didn't know where to sleep, because if I have to adjust on that small couch then I need a blanket and a pillow.

"Shravan." I knock politely. When he doesn't answer I turn the doorknob, finding it open. And the view that threatens me to leave the room immediately is, Shravan is sitting on the floor against the bed, his head hung low, as his arms are circled his knees. 

Trying to lighten up the situation, I ask, "Has the lion cooled down or should I leave him to rattle in his cage for now?" Shravan looks at me, with a small but sad smile playing on his lips. I walk towards him and sat in front of him. "Hey."

His smile broadens, "Hey . . ." Taking my hand into his, Shravan sighs, "I am sorry for . . . before," he shakes his head, "I am just sacred, you know, seeing you, like this in my house," his eyes cast upon our interlocked fingers, "how badly I want this, yet, I know, one day, you are going to leave, you have to go back to India. What am I going to do then?"