Where Parallels Meet

Chapter 6

You promise?

It was pretty late by the time we checked in the hotel, the ride from his house cost us fifteen minutes more than we had anticipated, thanks to the ice cream stop in between. I was wide awake just then, and apparently so was he.

"You like your hair wrapped up don't you?" he asked out of the blue, while we were walking towards the door. I felt the rubber band slither down my hair, and between his fingers.

I took that as my cue and wrapped my hair up. While I was still pinning in the stray strands, facing the dresser in the room, he cleared his throat purposefully behind me.

He clipped shut the fountain pen he always had on him. The elegant, yet minimalistic maroon one, with two platinum rings.

He had just signed a copy of his first book. The one he had written some six years ago. I noticed a soft- blue something peeking out of a particular page of the book.

Infinitesimally, he stepped closer. "This one's for you. My copy." He said almost nervously, religiously, with a small genuine smile gracing his lips.

That's precisely when I noticed the slightly frayed pages of the book.

Enticed, bewitched by the beauty of the moment, I overlooked the promise that it held along, and took it in my hands, the delicate form of the childlike book, which made me skip a beat as I turned it the right way.

"Will you, be my best friend forever?" his words spun intimately with a vow I wouldn't dare break, hacked through my recklessly loud heartbeat. I didn't know what I felt. The blue rose inside the book was accepted.

Emotionally, there were storms raging behind my eyes which crinkled in a smile. I was just utterly confused, or greatly overwhelmed or slightly disappointed. I don't know. It was just too many emotions to feel at once.

I did the only thing I knew how. I laughed, and it was even real, as I stared at the cover he had designed himself years ago. I felt his name on it, and everything evaporated for a second. I wanted to outgrow whatever I felt for him, and for once, just see it all as he did, uncomplicated, and pure. And hence, I beamed, out of acceptance, and happiness. I was lucky indeed to have him as my best friend. Forever.

Later, he stationed himself on the bed, while I pulled the chair from the corner, and he read to me, from his book, like I had once years ago told him I'd like him to.

His words, each painfully descriptive and attackingly reasonable, had an unsullied juvenility to them. Coming from him, they seemed so realistic, that the thin line between imagination and hallucination, generously faltered for me. He had poured his heart out in ink, and the knowledge that each one of those beautifully piercing words had originated from him was an unblemished, inspiring one.

His deep voice softened on somber parts, while he sighed with the sighs and played a satirical smile at places. The whole thing was like an unquenchable thirst. The more he fed me his words, the more I wanted him to keep going on.

After a while, he was half lying, and I sat on the chair by the side, with my legs stretched on the bed. His voice became hoarse from so much reading at one point, but he carried on anyway, because that moment was like prolonged magic. Untarnished yet intimate.

Halfway through the book, when he sounded like his throat was hoarse as sandpaper, I interrupted him on the first opportunity. "Let's take a break?" I sang lazily.

He let the book drop into his lap, and looked up with tired eyes. I didn't miss the smile though. He was contented, and at peace with himself. Like a single unfaltering yarn.

"What a disgrace!" He said dramatically. "Won't you go back and tell your friends you came back from Chennai without once having elaneer?" I laughed at his choice of words and we walked out in the middle of the night to get coconut water.

The creamy refreshing drink had a sweet edge to it that invigorated the little sleepiness trying to clog the edges. It was enviable how he had grown up drinking this heavenly a drink. Within ten minutes from there, we were back inside.

I headed in the poor chair's direction, while he located the page we were on, and just as I was about to sit, he tugged on my sleeve shifting backwards, making space for me.

He looked me in the eyes, giving me a chance to refuse without even having to say it. I hopped in next to him anyway.

I realized I didn't mind his voice going too soft at times, because I heard it anyway. It was seconds since we had relaxed, when my brain stopped registering his words, and all I could focus on, was how warm, the left half of my body felt. I was completely conscious until he shifted again, and put his arm around my shoulder so I didn't get uncomfortable on the side. He leaned into me, and I leaned into him, and it all stopped mattering to either of us.

After that, I'm not to be blamed for losing half my consciousness because I had hardly ever been in a warmer place. Blame it on the global warming.

I was fading in and fading out, dripping dangerously close to dreams, so I obviously can't be too sure of the reality of the conspiracy, to which the night, till date remains the sole testimony.

He had noticed my lack of wakefulness maybe, maybe we were through three quarters of the book by then. I felt him draw near, and put the book on the nightstand on my side. For some reason, he didn't inch away soon enough. I can't say if it was me, or if it was him, or if it was just the drunken universe behind it, but I felt the distance close.

The kiss was chaste, right above my brow, and I carried its soft impression long after he had withdrawn. "Goodnight Ananya." He tapped twice, very gently on the top of my head, before I felt the dip in the mattress relax.

Next morning, I woke up around 9, only to discover the book very much on the nightstand. And I knew against all odds, that I hadn't been dreaming.

Author's Note,

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Good day! :)