He checked the time on the screen of his phone. The early
Saturday morning lethargy crept through the length of his body and drugged his
eyelids. The phone with the smudged screen did not help much to discern the
time. Making out an eight in the HH section and realizing that office was
closed, he turned on his side attempting to stretch out his leg and at the same
time yawning out loud when he abruptly stifled his yawn. His leg hit something
warm.
Love seemed strange. Lust is more easily comprehensible. Convention
and society seemed to say that it pulls you in different directions. Hardly.
He grew up in a societal structure which stood unsure of its
allegiance to the past rites or its claim of the progressive state of affairs.
Bollywood dance routines seemed a form of undying love against the obvious
parental objection. Classical 90’s.
Millennia brought about the advent of sex. Lots and lots of
it. Or maybe just disrobed the social façade enveloping it. Man-woman, man-man, woman-woman and dug
through the piled dust on ancient bestiality.
It wasn’t easy growing up. Nor for him neither for her.
She forever seemed to be dating some guy. Some guy who
seemed too good to be true till the time she finally realized it wasn’t. Ever.
She had called it love, knotted it into a relationship and broke her heart over
it. Women always have to call it commitment. ‘Slut’ after all, was invented for
the her’s.
She woke with a start as his leg hit her shin. Men never
know how hard their legs are, she thought drowsily and turned to face him.
He seemed stuck in some time-space continuum, his expression
apologetic and his eyes uncertain. Her face registered in his mind and all he
could think of suddenly was to hold the curve of her perfectly formed creamy
textured waist. Warm summer mornings and cold waists made a heady mixture for
him.
The phone blared breaking the undiluted insurmountable
beautiful silence between them. ‘MAA’ in thick black letters seemed to be
playing to the tune of ‘Secret Garden’. He saw her blindly groping under the
pillow while the phone rested nonchalantly in the crack between the bed and the
wall. She finally found it and to his surprise, shut the ringer and proceeded
to go back to sleep. Merciless, he thought.
They had known each other since ages. Had been friends
determined to prove the existence of platonic relationships, the all consuming
wrongness of ‘When Harry Met Sally’s theory of men-women friendships. He thought he knew everything about her. The
entire plethora of weird men she dated, the friends she loved, the relations
she hated. She told him her dreams as she weaved them around her. And he
listened.
The click of the lock and the thin stream of yellow light
from under the bathroom door brought him back to his senses. She would be wide
awake now, hankering after her coffee. Black, minimal sugar. He belched at the
very thought of it.
He edged the door with his shoulder, her coffee mug and his
teacup in his hands. The still locked bathroom door with the steady stream of
thin yellow light induced an involuntary rolling of eyes. The sound of the
shower mingled with the sound of the rain outside. The continuous downpour were
stalling all their plans and cooped up in the house seemed unbearable with her
now.
She was busy raising an army of foam in her mouth, brushing
vigorously. Her reflection was marred by the tiny flecks on the bathroom
mirror. She rubbed her wet palm against it and it left slanting trails of water
stains. It was cold after the rain last night but she couldn’t bear the thought
of going out and seeing him lie listlessly on the bed even though the comfort
of his warm skin tempted her. She hated the coolness of her skin which he
loved.
Ridding herself of all temptations, she undressed and
stepped into the ice-cold shower. She was not surprised that they had ended up
making love. From the time they were friends she had always loved his sinewy
arms, the single ring on his right hand and lately she had started imagining
how it would feel like to be held in those arms. Somewhere last night, those
arms lost their charm.
She stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in his towel, her
hair smelling of his shampoo and he was there. Sipping his tea, newspaper in
hand and her coffee mug next to him covered by some huge mismatched
freshly-washed dinner dish.
He looked up, saw her wrapped in his towel and smelt the
scent of his shampoo wafting from the bathroom and from her hair and knew he
had incorrigibly fallen in love.
She stared at the little coffee mug obscured by the dinner
dish and the thoughtfulness of it struck her. She was yet to find out that the
warm feeling spreading to her toes was the solitary one that eluded her all
these years.
They spent the day in quiet solitude and stepped out in the
evening for a doughnut and a coffee. The sky seemed to be darkening again,
taking on unknown shades of forlorn grey and blue. The birds, confused by the
weather seemed undecided on their flight back home.
The uncertainty of their future seemed to hardly matter
anymore. They had loved and lusted.
And now loved again.
P.S: This is entirely a work of fiction. My first fiction in fact. Be kind.
