Fitoor: The Obsession

13: PARIS

Paris was like no other place on earth, its beauty was indescribable. Everywhere Xavier looked, it was as if he was in a dream. There was so much elegance in such simple structures it seemed unrealistic. Wherever he went, it seemed as if the magnificence only grew with each passing step.

There were streets in all cities. But while elsewhere they consist of sidewalks, rows of houses and slightly convex asphalt surfaces, in Paris they defied decomposition into discrete elements. Whatever they may be– narrow ravines that run into the sky, the dried-out courses of rivers and blooming valleys of stone– their components were interconnected like the limbs of living things. Often the side walls and cobblestones flowed imperceptibly together, and before he knew what was happening the dreamer moved, as if on level ground, up vertical walls to the rooftops and farther, ever farther into the thicket of chimneys.

Xavier stood by the edge of a large ship, leaning overboard to watch the waves crash against the wooden planks. All things considered; it was a beautiful day. There was a perfect sea breeze, gently brushing past his hair, and the sun was already setting. The sky looked like a rainbow of so many colours that it had and endlessly stretching as ever. A day like today was the definition of pleasant; however, Xavier felt anything but.

He checked his pocket watch. The sun rose over Paris, where Zafar was invited by a business partner to stay that day. Mr. Begum had sent his son to fetch and trade a few textiles in the city. In spite of the serene environment, Xavier would remain formal. While Zafar had gone off to deal with tradesmen and business partners, both Oscar and Xavier walked the streets of Paris. It was a time of leisure, perhaps, but also business, and it would be unprofessional of him to not treat it as such. In his eyes, the purpose of this meeting was to develop more connections and widen his network.

"Son, we have a potential partnership in the southern colonies," his father had told him on a particularly cold January morning. Xavier was sixteen then. William Hendrix, proud inheritor of his father's (Xavier's grandfather's) wealth in the steel business. He wore the same expression as he wore every other day. Suppressed boredom with a twinge of quiet, but deeply settled resentment. Although the complete void that Xavier's father left was much to be desired in terms of fatherly love, he couldn't blame him. If there was anyone else who understood the absolute bore of recording the financial transactions of pots and pans and anything else steel, it was Xavier.

"I assume you would like me to stay here and manage the books, then?" he had replied, not thinking much of it at the time. Fluttering his eyes, Xavier adjusted to a sudden gust of wind. The wind curved around his shaky form as he adjusted his jacket to cover his abdomen.

"Actually, you will be going," his father had clarified, "as the heir of the business. You leave come the beginning of summer."

And then came the beginning of summer and Xavier had packed his bags and loaded himself onto the first ship to the southern colonies. He huffed a breath of air from his lungs, wishing desperately he was anywhere else. He never liked the steel business. Or any business for that matter. But if you were to ask Xavier what he did like to do, he probably would not be able to say. Not even he knew, because his entire life he had been preparing to take over his father's company. It was not like there was another option, so, there was no point in dreaming about one.

"You seem chipper," he heard a voice behind him.

Xavier turned around to see Mr. Smith wearing a sarcastic smile.

"I get that from my father," Xavier said, turning back to the ocean. "Is there something you wanted to tell me?" For efficiency's sake, when he had business across the sea, Xavier would travel by ship. He always made sure to reserve a private compartment, and the staff had specific orders that he was not to be disturbed outside of an emergency. Travel by ship guaranteed him a luxury that was thin on the ground elsewhere: hours of uninterrupted privacy. It was true that he usually spent the time on work, or something work related, but he also enjoyed the self-imposed solitude, often sitting in silence while some of his tension drained away.

"Yes, my lord. Your brother is calling for you."

Xavier blinked slowly and leaned away from the water below. He stretched his hands, cracking his knuckles. Slipping on a black pair of leather gloves, he made his way inside. In any case, the drizzle had begun.

"Come in! We were just about to start," Oscar chirped. Oscar and Zaraf had crowded around the table, and he slid into the nearest available seat. "Well, I was just about to start," he corrected himself, raising his eyebrows at Zafar.

"Beer or hard liquor?" Oscar asked as Xavier sat down.

He snorted. He sounded so excited by the prospect. Zafar did not drink due to religious purposes and the Hendrix brothers always respected that so Xavier was Oscar's only company for tonight. "Hard," he finally answered.

The conversation quickly descended into the brothers trading drunk stories. Xavier did not have much to contribute– that was appropriate or fun, anyway. All of his drunk stories, of which there were very few, tend to end with him either bawling his eyes out to Mr. Smith or having a woman in his bed. Oscar, on the other hand, had much more interesting stories to tell but for some reason, the topic circled to Aditi.

"There's really not much we know about our Aditi," Oscar said. "Where does she come from? India. Yes, but where?"

Instead of sitting on chairs, they all surrendered to the wooden floors, leaning against the wall. Mattresses and pillows were put out for them to have a night in.

"Oscar's right," Xavier agreed. "We don't know anything about her. What's her story?"

"It's really not mine to tell."

"At least tell us how the two of you met," Oscar urged, in between hiccups.

"There's really not much to it."

"Tell me. I want to know more about her," Xavier muttered into his glass as the alcohol slipped down his throat.

"Aditi and I were neighbours back in India. We came from the streets of Cochin," Zafar mentioned, his expression getting more and more bothered as he continued to delve deeper into their childhood. " Her parents disliked her fraternizing with me since I am Muslim and they believed our religion would influence her. Soon, she was married off and some time later, my family and I moved here. Despite that, we managed to keep in touch every month by writing each other letters and she'd visit every once in a while."

"Pardon me, I'm not sure I quite understand. Who got married? Who are we talking about?"

"I–"

Oscar shot his head up, shocked at what Zafar just said. "What are you talking about?"

Xavier stared at Zafar in mute, helpless anger. Aditi? His Aditi, married? That was not possible. Was it? He needed clarification.

"What do you mean, married? To whom?"

"Our Aditi? Did you mean artist Aditi?"

"Yes, our–"

"Aditi is married?"

Everyone was speaking over each other it was hard to fathom anything Zafar was saying.

"Quiet!" Xavier snapped. The room went silent until he spoke again. "But you moved here when you were seventeen, did you not?" Xavier interrogated, his tone etched with concern that matched his expressions. "Which means Aditi got married at the age of twelve?"

"Her husband passed," Zafar said before pausing for a while. He seemed on the verge of saying something but changed his mind. He shook his head, as if snapping the idea away. "See, I have already said too much." Then, he dusted his pillows and mattresses, lying down on them. "It's best you do not speak to her about this, please, I beg of you." He turned his back on them, an indication of closure on the topic.

"It's doubtful I will have any memory of this tomorrow," Oscar mumbled, putting down his glass and repeating Zafar's actions. But Xavier wasn't going to forget. He wasn't drunk. And even if he was drowning in alcohol, he could forget the entire world, anything but her.

"Married?" he whispered to himself. The word cut into Xavier frantically whirling mind like a sharp blade. He sighed dejectedly, rubbed a hand over his face, and then pulled at his hair exasperatedly. Zafar had gone to sleep as if he had not just ripped Xavier's whole world to shreds with a few careless words. Xavier barely heard himself, his mind whirling in shock. His mind was drowning in images he didn't want to see; Aditi in someone else's arms. Someone else's lips on hers. Marrying her. Lying with her.

When those were all of the things he wanted to do.