I have loved you in every life I think. Scatter my atoms across the universe and they would still know your name.
-Manasvi-
Days went by. I tried to ignore Aryan as much as I could. He did apologize me for not informing me with a 'sorry'. I declined his offer of dropping me to the station once and I refused. He stopped asking. Probably, he knew I was resentful or maybe he just didn't care.
Despite all this, who would I lie to. Days went by, but nights were at a halt. Every night I would keep gazing at the moon hanging in the starry sky. Reminiscing about everything that happened on the particular day. Making my mind memorise every detail of him, his mascular bod, a single fringe hair hanging on his forehead, the veins that popped out of the skin of his hand, the semi whitish complexion of his skin, the lobe behind his ear (he used to say that his mother had one too), the perfectly upward, thick eyebrow above his slightly brown eyes.
Those nights were spent recalling every single habit of him, the way his eyebrows rose in irritation when he read an absurd dialogue, the way his eyes narrowed when someone messed up their lines during rehearsals, the way he used to move his fingers through his hair occasionally, when sitting relaxed he used to always pick something up to play with- sometimes a pencil, sometimes a rubber band, he needed coffee 5-6 times a day, at 5pm he used to have biscuits with his coffee. He still has the walk of his father, and the laugh of his mother.
One such night, lying on my bed, I remember thinking about different references throughout cultures and history that were witness to my situation and to my horror Shakuntala crossed my mind. And as a Sanskrit student I cannot do anything but think about my own fate.
For those who don't know the context:
"Shakuntala" is a Sanskrit play by the ancient Indian playwright Kalidasa. It tells the story of Shakuntala, who falls in love with King Dushyanta. After their brief encounter, Dushyanta leaves, causing Shakuntala to long for him intensely. The play explores the theme of separation and longing in the context of Indian mythology and literature.
I had fallen in love. Fallen in love. For the first time, and probably the last time.
This is what I thought then, maybe it was just attraction- dilkashi. It all did make sense. I had always been hungry for love. I always tried to seek it in others, first- my parents, then my family, then my friends, then maybe some guys I had a crush on. Maybe Aryan to was one of them, how could he be different.
As I look back, I find that the void I felt within me, was never the same after Aryan happened to me. Nothing ever was able to fill it.
On those nights, I felt his absence more than I felt the absence of understanding parents, more than I felt the absence of a loving sister, more than I felt the absence of true friendships, more than I felt the absence of a guiding mentor. I felt his absence more than I felt the absence of a childhood in my life.
I developed a coping mechanism. It was 'trying to feel him' around me. I used to convince myself that he is here with me, he always will be. He is mine. I found him in the folds on my blanket. I found him in the rose kept in my copy of the novel, a thousand splendid suns. I found him in the Rose Woman perfume I used back then. I found him in the bygone things I held in the trunk placed under my bed. I found him between the hanging kurtis in my wardrobe. I found him in the umbrella I used that monsoon. I found him in my stolen glances at him during the sessions. I found him in my heart. I found him in my soul. I found him my mind.
One day at the rehearsal, while I was sitting in the corner on the hall on a stool, while he was going through the script on the final day of our practice, he looked at me, and smiled. I smiled back. He went on with the reading, but I realised, that it was probably the last time we would be together, like this, getting fanned by the same fan hanging on the same ceiling, snacking on the same table kept for the team, amidst the same people, in the same hall, under the same roof, breathing the same air. This was the last time.
And just like that, I made up my mind. I would tell him. I would tell him what I feel about him. I would tell him how thrills chased my spine when I sat beside him in the car. I would tell him how happy I was when we decided to visit the library together. I would tell him how heartbroken and betrayed I felt when he went on without informing me that he would not be able to make it to the library that day. I would tell him how badly I waited for him to offer me a ride again. I would tell him how thrilled I was when he insisted me for playing the role of Sohni. I would tell him how proud and confident I felt when he praised my craft in front of everyone. I would tell him how I longed for him to utter my seven letter name.
I would confess my love to him. Tomorrow. After our performance, I had thought.
To put it down as I read somewhere, love has a right to be spoken and you have a right to know that someone loves you, I prepared my long long speech.
I thought of writing this chapter through the female lead's POV to show the development of her emotions.
The next chapter is going to be a big one (already started with the writing) cause it will see the end of a phase in the characters' lives, again through her POV, cause the male lead, Aryan, is an adult, and we don't want any kind of pedophilia..
Stay tuned...
Love love.
