The Summer Of Love

A WALK IN THE STREETS OF PALI

"It's just a five minute walk from here. You'll be able to walk, right?"

"Are you kidding me? You are the one living in a Palace," I state the fact.

"Right. Are you feeling hungry?" he asks.

"Not really. It's just noon."

"Alright. We can change our clothes inside, then," he points towards the Rajasthani dhaba.

"Can we use the room, sir?" he asks to the old man, kindly.

"Of course, Akshat. But who's that young lady with you?" he asks looking at me. "You sure have a good choice. She cares for you."

"No, sir. It's not like-"

"Oh, stop, boy. I've been seeing you since 10 years now. You need not shy away," he winks at us. "You may use the room."

"Come," he sighs as he leads me inside. It's a narrow hall having a single room and a bathroom opposite to each other. "You go first. I'll wait here."

I go inside and lock the door. It's a small square room, approximately 8 metres tall and 5 metres wide. There's a small mirror in here too. I look at a reflection of the girl who is supposed to be me, pale and a rather thin face, with light brown eyes. I have straight brown hair, a feature I inherited from my mother. I get why my mother is worried about me, I don't really take care of myself properly. How'd she trust me when I'd even forget to drink water?

I quickly remove the top and the wide leg jeans I'm wearing and put on Muskaan's dress. It shows off too much of my back and the stomach than I'd like. I should have checked it before. I put on the shawl in Gujarati style, which is ironically more popular here, as I've heard from Muskaan. I haven't touched my hair, it's the same way it was, pulled down from the front and open. I've never worn the dress by myself. I put on the silver jewellery- two long earrings and a necklace.

I open the door and find hazel eyes looking at me. Nervous, I ask him, "How do I look?"

"You look.." his gaze following me from head to toe. Finally, he speaks after a minute. "Beautiful," he says, adoration in his tone. He's still looking at me when I advert my eyes so I clear my throat.

"Why don't you go change?"

"Yeah," he huffs quickly looking at his side. His body barely brushes with mine as he goes inside and locks the door.

The old man comes in just when I'm about to go out. "I see you've changed your clothes. You look pretty, dear," he says with gleaming eyes.

"Thank you," I smile at him. "How do you know Akshat?"

"He has been coming here since a decade. Every now and then. I knew his father, when he was a child." He picks up the newspaper kept on a low chair. "I love the boy like my own child. He was there for me, when my own son wasn't," he says recollecting some past memories. "Trust me on this, you won't ever get someone like him. Take care of him and yourself, He has plans for you if He has brought you in each other's lives."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I think you've misunderstood us. We aren't together. We're just friends," I explain to him. He's a good man, he wants the best for him, I'm sure, but he's wrong.

"Oh, my bad. I just thought.. nevermind. Have a nice day," he waves as he walks back to his shop. I think about what he said when Akshat comes out of the room. He's wearing a blue short kurta decorated with mirror work and orange and yellow embroidery designs. Guys do look good in traditionals.

"You look -"

"Mesmerizing, irresistible, gorgeous, stunning, it's alright, you need not say all of that. I understand your condition." Well, now I'm sure that he's back to his self aggrandizer mood. He cannot go a minute without boasting about himself, can he? I don't blame him.