It is said that soulmates are the split of one heart. In a world of 7 billion population, you can expect 7 soulmates, 7 split hearts.
Blogger Remya Raj and I took the concept of split hearts and put them into 6 different stories with the 7th one being a common link between all of them. Three of them will be written by her and the other three by me. The 7th one will be a joint effort. I hope you guys enjoy it. We explore the concept and present you with An Unworthy Consolation - the second installment to Soulmates or Lovers, written by me. The first installment is published here.
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An Unworthy Consolation
I
took a step inward. And then he was standing there alone, with a keyboard
hanging from his right shoulder.
He
looked at me, as if to ask why I’d moved away – his mouth on the verge of
interrogating me, his eyes having already begun.
‘I’m
sorry, man,’ I said to him, with the slightest hint of concern in my tone; like
I was consoling both him and myself. ‘It’s the sinus. It’ll kick in again.’ He
looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, as the raindrops fell
generously all over him – his jet black hair, his cheeks, his face – and on my
keyboard that lay ensconced tightly in his arms.
I
didn’t like the disappointed look on his face; it was akin to the look little
puppies have when they’re sad. I never had a heart that was easy to melt, but
that look of his always did the trick. Always.
‘So,’
I began again, with more energy, hoping to lighten to mood. ‘Walk with me to my
bus, willye?’
‘Sure,’
he replied, with a confident smile. He bowed down in front of me and rolled his
hand twice, inviting me to begin walking. I was a bitch, yes – but such small
acts never went unnoticed by me.
I
giggled randomly and started walking next to him, as we strode towards my bus.
I saw him look at me and then look down again, as the faintest sign of a blush
appeared on his face. I could tell, the glimmer of happiness was back in his
eyes. I was happy then; this was the side of me he knew – the crazy, bitchy,
random side of me. And I wanted him to know just that.
As we walked
to the bus, we talked about the usual stuff – studies, music, getting drunk out
of our minds – and about how he’d never get to marry me because he wasn’t a
Bengali like I was.
‘Ouch,’
he said. ‘Breaks my heart every time you say it.’ He never knew I could sense
the truth behind the hurt that he feigned. I was so glad he didn’t.
‘You
toh shut up,’ I said to him. ‘You
have at least a dozen chicks waiting to get a taste of that Pahaadi tongue of yours!’
‘Arrey, but I don’t like any of them!’ And
he blushed, again.
‘Shut
up, you womanizing whore. You like all of
them!’
‘Arrey, nahi…’ I could see how
disapproving he was of what I was saying; his every stammer pointed towards
only one direction.
‘See?
You can’t even decide who you like. All you men are the same. Bloody assholes.’
‘Accha? So if I tell you now that I like
you, what’ll you say?’ This conversation had taken place many a times, but
never had it taken this course.
‘I’ll
tell you to stop watching porn.’ He smacked his forehead with his palm, and
nodded disapprovingly. I knew how to take care of this.
‘You
women, who never believe…’
‘Of
course we don’t believe losers like you.’ I didn’t want to be this harsh, but
it was the only way. I continued, regardless. ‘Besides, you’re much too young!
Much too young, bete!’
‘What?
It’s just 2 years!’
‘For
now, it is. If we ever have kids, they’ll call me ‘grandma’ instead of ‘mom’.
See? That’s when it’ll get all weird!’
He laughed out loud then, but somewhere in his eyes, he was solemn.
‘What
a crazy bitch you are.’ He handed my keyboard to me, without having fully
recovered from the effect of laughing too much.
‘Save
the lines for someone you’ll actually get into bed with.’ He laughed again, as
I hopped onto the bus.
‘So…
I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes!
You’re totally awesome for carrying my keyboard till here! You rock!’
‘Sure.
Anytime. Bub-bye, chick!’ He waved goodbye to me.
‘Bye-bye,
Bitchyface!’ I waved back.
As he turned
his face away, I could see what I hoped had never been. It was right there, in
his eyes. I wish he could see in my eyes, even a fraction of what I saw in his.
Truth is, I kind of had a thing for him too; but it wasn’t the kind that you
could see in someone’s eyes. It was much too trivial, too shallow; and it had
nothing to do with age. I was fickle, erratic, unsteady, while he was everything
I was not – calm, composed, docile. He was just too bloody good with the keys,
and I would never learn to trust myself with feeling unconditionally for him;
nor would I ever forgive myself for breaking his heart, if it ever came to that.
I
breathed a heavy sigh as I saw him walk away. I cared too much about him to
hurt him like that; I didn’t deserve even to break his heart. I loved him,
maybe – yes, maybe. But one thing was absolutely certain: he was just too
bloody good with the keys.
I placed the keyboard on my seat and stared out of the window.
X-x-X
