Junak Baruah wants to win the prestigious short film competition in his university. But with hundreds of participants and a stellar jury on board, winning means making a film that's never been made before.
And that means breaking the rules and taki...
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Junak felt numb.
He sat huddled inside a large blanket, knees pulled to his chin, and stared mindlessly at the TV that was playing an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. The room was dark and the sharp light of the TV made his eyes burn.
Or maybe it was all the crying that had left his eyes dry. He wasn't sure.
Here, standing in this very house, Sasha had told him the same thing not too many years back.
How can you leave? She had yelled when he told her he was going to Delhi for his studies. She was staying here. You are going to destroy what we have, if you go.
Junak had assured her they could manage long-distance.
They could not.
When Sasha broke up with him, she reminded him of that day: we'd still be together if you hadn't left. I loved you but you chose to leave.
Junak had spent all his life accusing his parents of leaving, but here he was, doing the same. Over and over again.
He was selfish. And stupid. And lived in some crazy fantasy that could never be real.
It made sense why no one ever loved him.
What are we doing? Dikhou had whispered. I'm not like you, Jun, I'm not playing.
Maybe Junak was, indeed, playing. Niribili was right, like she usually always was. He knew he was going to leave but he still got carried away. He was the one who sought Dikhou out, who flirted with him and led him along.
You will leave and move on. And I will be here, left with... this.
Yes. Junak was utterly selfish.
He wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to fight off the cold.
After what could've been minutes, hours or years, sunlight filtered in through the curtains. Soon, he heard movement outside his door – Puhor was obnoxiously singing something as he rummaged through the house.
Pure rage coursed through Junak's veins. It was all because of Puhor! If he hadn't spooked Dikhou, none of this would've happened. Baby brother, Puhor called him, but he was never there in Junak's life. And now that he was here, he was simply ruining whatever happiness Junak had managed to salvage.
Junak was so angry he wanted to scream. And break something. Or throw something at Puhor.
He did not.
He was too tired. He curled into a foetal position and tried to sleep. Tears trickled down his cheek and drenched the pillow.
It was 10:21 in the morning that his phone rang. He scrambled for it – hoping against hope for it to be Dikhou, but no. It was Niribili.
