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This Ship Is Starting To Sail

8. This Ship Is Starting To Sail

A/N: Hi guys, welcome to another dollop of Raghav and Himani. I am not quite sure how many chapters will this book strike out totally, yet. I am hoping for a best of twenty to twenty five chapters considering each and every update is long enough. But this chapter might be a shorter one—I thought Himani should have some fun, before actually deflating her balloon, *grins devilishly*

This chapter is dedicated to @Tanuja84 , Please make sure you check out her profile for a handful of finely woven stories, guys. She's amazing.

And we have hit a little over one hundred votes, yay! Celebration!

Please do not expect the story to be filled with suspenses or unforeseen twists—you will not find conundrums here—it's a lighthearted story with a very few serious chapters. And this chapter is because (I love telling you people the reason behind each and every scene, please listen patiently. *puppy eyes*) I want Himani to act on her urge of comforting Raghav.

This chapter, however, might not live it up to the mark. Please bear with me. I will edit it in the future. Though, it's a mediocre chapter, I still have spent a decent time and energy spinning it, so please do not forget to let me know what do you think about it in the comments.

Rant over, Enjoy!

***

Raghav's phone buzzed.

For the third time in the two hours, after he'd started from the show venue that night.

Meena had called first, when he was still at the hall and was just about to wind up the disagreement there—after having known about it from Khushi, to check up on Raghav. When she'd hung up with Khushi, she juggled with her phone to speed-dial him, while sitting up for their turn outside the doctor's room, for her father's routine check-up—it was squarely why she was not able to go to his show that night.

Khushi had texted, next, asking if he wanted to talk; if he needed help, right after he had come back to his room.

Now, flashing on the screen was Rahul.

Raghav picked his phone up, laying on his back and an arm tucked under his head. With a disapproving glare he answered the call, not pausing or letting the person on the other side, talk. "Time's past one in the midnight, there. Why have you not slept yet?" He queried matter-of-factly, his eyes closed shut attempting to dismiss the rousing needling sensation behind his eyes; and rubbing his temple gently, massaging away the splitting ache.

He never spoke like that—like he was in the middle of a deliberate contemplation—but it bared itself out in his voice, at this moment.

"We were talking to Samhitha and Suresh uncle," Rahul's voice sounded in the background, as if he was in an arm's length from the phone. "We came to know what happened from them, and wanted to check on you," Suhasini's voice, daintier than ever, came out; relatively close-by.

Raghav sighed. "I am okay."

Rahul sought, softly, too. "Sam said you protested you wouldn't perform tonight."

"I did, I was blocked out by anger. Probably, Sam got upset by seeing me that way," Raghav murmured, fluttering his eyes open, and looking fixedly at the ceiling. "I should go, talk to Sam and Suresh uncle tomorrow morning," he added consciously. He must do it, and ferret out some alternative approach for their project.

"We know it's difficult to not think about it, but give your brain some break, don't tire it out—" Rahul's voice was interrupted by Suhasini, "Perhaps, you already have done that. Just close your eyes, and try to go to sleep. We will see what we can do about it in the morning?" Suhasini's suggestion seemed impassable momentarily.