Did You Get Your Period?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

The week following Shweta's meeting with Vaibhav had been quiet and rightfully so. It seemed like a well-deserved break; the quietude that followed after the explosions that had happened consequently. Seema has been trying to not come across as overbearing but the fight she had with Shweta still sits with her. It was disrespectful, she feels. The silence however does not feel as hostile and Cold War-like as it was.

Shweta, for her part, is concerned with the new development in her life; while simultaneously musing over Shruti's words. The fight with Riddhi is sitting uncomfortably on her conscience and she knows that she needs to make amends sooner or later. While Vaibhav was a wonderful addition in her life, she only realized how much it made her miss Riddhi and how much she had taken Riddhi for granted.

Nani had returned but not without preparing a stack of powders ranging from crushed alive seeds, ground dalchini, turmeric, and all possible spices that are found in the Indian Household. Shweta had been obediently taking a bit of the powder and mixing it with water and drinking it. While it had not done anything other than bombarding her tongue with sensations of different kinds and her period still was nowhere near in sight.

"You don't understand." You could make out the slightly high-pitched voice speaking as you rounded your way up the spiral staircase that led to the terrace.

"That's just stupid." This followed by a giggle. Shweta walking upwards towards the terrace raised her eyebrows. What was Shruti up to? It sounded like a phone-call; one that Shruti wouldn't want to be interrupted. But according to the Younger Sister Code of Conduct, Shweta decided that if her sister didn't want to be interrupted, it was only more reason to interrupt her.

Shruti, phone in hand and a cigarette in another, her back against the terrace as she laughed animatedly, was not what Shweta had expected to see. Alright, it was only the cigarette that surprised her.

With reflexes that would make a cat jealous, Shruti scrambled off her comfortable seat, and her face that had only been holding a smile before drooped downwards, an awkward grimace tracing her features.

"Whoa," Shweta says and the utterance of that little word is enough to make Shruti cringe. There is something so humiliating about the inevitable shift in our persona when being caught doing something we aren't supposed to.

The shift to defend oneself irrespective of the action is something that is so deeply rooted in the human character. And humane as she was, Shruti felt her nerves rise as she defended herself.

"What? I'm a free-thinking, grown woman. I can do what I want."

"I didn't say anything," Shweta says, raising her hands but the unerasable look of curiosity and judgment is present in equal amounts in her eyes.

"I know you didn't," Shruti says, rolling her eyes. "But wipe that goddamn annoying look off your face."

"You're a free-thinking, grown woman, Shruti. If you want to damage your lungs, it's entirely up to you." Shweta says, surprisingly condescending.

"What happened to all your modernism?" Shruti asks, her tone a bit snarky unable to hold off the comment.

"Modernism and all is fine. But voluntarily walking towards cancer? No thank-you." She remarks.

"You sound like Dadi," Shruti says, still stung by the condescending way in which Shweta was addressing her. This might be the way in which she had expected some aunty off the streets to have spoken about it, but not her sister.

"I might," Shweta says, shrugging the comment off. "Why are you smoking anyway?"

The casual, accusatory manner in which Shweta says makes Shruti itch with irritation. But she manages to not let the irritation seep into her voice.