Metamorphic Switch

10. The Visit and the Visitor.

I was a genuine imitation of melancholy merriment.

Chaya- Playing Pratima

Mussoorie was love.
Granny was love.
Pratima's little house was love.
But, as they said, happiness doesn't last longer, the doorbell rang and an unwelcomed guest called "Nani" stood there with two bags in her hand.

"So, Rajni's warnings were not false. The witch is here." Granny whispered in my ear and I sighed.

"Come here and grab my bags girl. You don't want your old Nani to pick these bags? Do you?" Nani commented walking inside leaving her bags out. I went to pick up her bag and dropped it.
"PRI! it's got fragile stuff inside. Careful!" She scolded and I looked at granny for rescue.
She didn't say anything, strange.

I tried to pick it up again but this time Uday came from nowhere and helped me. I was relieved. He kept the bags in the guest room and washed his sticky hands.

"Don't tell me that pickle bottle broke?" Nani looked horrified and I gulped. She unzipped her bag and the sight was a disaster. Indeed the bottle broke and all things in the bag were sticky and oily. Uday and granny looked at me with pity.
Was I in danger?

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Pratima- Playing Chaya

Prince kept looking in my direction from time to time but I ignored him royally. I was hurt physically and mentally. I needed a little time to calm myself. No matter how fascinating and interesting the visit was, I was no longer interested. I was walking aimlessly lost in analysing my decisions.

Lack of concentration puts you in trouble and I tripped and fell hurting my elbow from a sharp-edged stone. It started to bleed.

My new father muttered something before deciding to help me. The Prince however acted fast and helped me get up. The blood-stained my white shirt.
"Chaya, are you fine?" The concern evident in his voice but I so wanted the name to be Pratima. It will certainly sound like music in his slight British accent.

I nodded my head to confirm I was okay, but I wanted to cry.

"I guess she can't take her eyes off your handsome face, Prince," my new father was trying so hard to impress him. Why are Indian fathers like that? Why do they want impress the prospective groom?

"If my face causes her trouble I rather cover it." The Prince took out his handkerchief and put it on his face.
That was so sweet and I couldn't stop that first genuine smile on my face with something the Prince did. If it was not for the kiss last night and he was not a royal, he would have won my heart.

My new father hated his act I could sense. He was a male chauvinist person. No pig! Any act done to woo the ladies was unacceptable to him.

The staff brought a first aid kit and the Prince requested me to walk to a tree. "Your highness, why don't you continue the tour while I take care of princess's wound."

My new father immediately walked with a bunch of assistants escorting him. I sat on the stoned platform under the tree. The afternoon breeze was so calming. "Fold your sleeve, princess." The Prince instructed. I did as told. It was hurting.

He took a cotton bud and applied antiseptic. Oh! This burns but I had to act strong. He dipped a generous amount and with shivering hands touched my wound. I bit my lower lip hard to avoid screaming. The Prince was cleaning the cut tenderly and when he blew hot air to soothe the burn my entire body was on fire.

In all honesty, his kiss last night was a total flop show. But, his breath was a sensation so strong. He put a band-aid on the cut and I finally released my lip. My poor lip suffered more than required, first, to hide the pain then to stifle a moan.