Warrior Hearts

Water And Oil

Although my reply to Malhotra's question is perched at the tip of my tongue, I find myself gawking at him instead. He most definitely has not demanded a convoluted answer from me, and neither should I be pondering over what to say. However, for some odd reason, I am unable to provide him with so much as a one worded reply. Perhaps Malhotra has caught me off guard. After all, never in a million years would I have expected him to simply blurt out this question, and especially not when we were nowhere close to that topic.

This time, though, I am absolutely certain about one thing: Malhotra is speaking in reference to the way he fooled me before marriage, so as to acquire my hand with utter ease. As I stare at the man behind me - my eyes as wide as saucers - I watch his head bow ever so slightly, almost as if he's trying to draw the answer out from my expression. This slight change in movement, however, brings me back to the present; pulling me out of the daze that I was stuck in. Blinking, like a person who's just surfaced from a compelling daydream, I whip my head back around.

"Message received," Malhotra mumbles, his voice barely audible above the whistling wind. Frowning, I furrow my brows together. Did I catch a hint of disappointment in his tone? Well, if my ears are not betraying me, then I'm assuming that Malhotra has interpreted my silence as a no. If he's half as intelligent as he considers himself to be, then I do hope that this is his guess. After all, it's not such a difficult conclusion to draw up. Malhotra doesn't say anything else for what seem to be the longest minutes I've ever had to endure. However, the silence that surrounds us isn't uncomfortable, it's merely unexpected. After all, whenever I'm in Malhotra's company he's always blabbering on about something or the other, and so the lack of his voice seems to be taking me by surprise. I guess tonight is all about him catching me off guard. Perhaps Malhotra has somehow dozed off behind me, or he has silently headed back to his tent. Although the curious bone in my body is itching for me to turn around, and gain the answer that I desire, my stubbornness is the dominant force that prevents me from so much as glancing at Malhotra over my shoulder.

"You misunderstand me a lot, Princess." Malhotra's voice surrounds me, as if he's heard the thoughts that are causing me great discomfort, and he's attempting to put them to rest. "But I'm not blaming you for it. If anything, I am the one to be blamed for being unable to explain myself to you very well." A sigh of resignation escapes Malhotra's lips, his voice clouded over with hesitancy. At once, I am aware that the topic of conversation that he has struck up isn't an easy one for him to approach, or carry forth. "I mean to say, I've never felt the need to explain myself to anyone before. But that's not the case with you, Princess."

Malhotra pauses, but I can tell that his thought is still incomplete. For some reason, hearing his deliberate efforts, and the struggle in his tone, has me wanting to tell him to stop. After all, I don't have to hear what Malhotra has to say if it's this difficult for him to put together into a string of words.

"I wish for you to understand me," Malhotra continues. "I want you to be aware of my actions, as if you could hear the very thoughts that they stem from." I don't fail to catch the sliver of disbelief that creeps into Malhotra's voice as he utters these words. Truth be told, gauging from his tone, I can safely say that both, Malhotra and I are equally taken by surprise at the words that are escaping his lips at this very moment. Although I wish to turn around and assess Malhotra's expression, I'm well aware that if I do so, I will merely be making this situation all the more difficult for him. So instead, I stay rooted to my position.

"I wasn't refusing your company in the battlefield because I feel that you're incompetent," Malhotra says. The mere mention of this topic has me clenching my jaw. "On the contrary, Princess, I'm well aware that you're more skilled than our entire army." A chuckle of amusement escapes Malhotra's lips, as if he's cracking an inside joke. "Trust me, I've been on the receiving end of your blows." My arms tighten their hold on my knees, my mind transporting me back to the wretched night that I lost a duel to Malhotra, regardless of whether or not he played dirty.

"But because I cannot afford to be worried about another on the battlefield," he explains, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's tough enough to hold my own back during a battle, and the last thing that I desire is to have my mind scattered in two different directions." A scoff escapes my lips.

"The only reason why you'd be worried about me, Malhotra, is if you considered me to be incompetent." I say, repeating the word that he used. "Your words are quite contradictory," I accuse, offering him a sharp glance over my shoulder. Sighing, Malhotra watches me as if I've left my brain behind in my chambers.

"How do I explain this to Her Stubborn Highness?" Malhotra murmurs rhetorically - exasperated - as he glances around himself. Frowning, I follow his line of sight. He seems to be searching for help from the soil around him, as if the answer lies there. "Alright, Princess, let's try this once again. Hypothetically, let's say that I'm your parent. Now regardless of the years of training that I've seen you undergo, and the knowledge that I bear of your unbeatable skill - after all, no one has more faith in another than that of a parent's in their child - I still won't be able to sit still whenever you're out there on the battlefield. As a parent, I'll still worry about your safety. But that doesn't mean I'm doubting you in any way." Malhotra adds hastily, before I have the chance to lash out at him. "It just means that I care for you, and your wellbeing."

Throwing his hands in the air, Malhotra shakes his head at me helplessly.

"Don't you see, Princess, I can't see you getting hurt by thorns, much less at the risk of another's sharpened sword." Is that why my father never seemed to show any concern, or worry about my return or departure for war? Because he was so sure of his warrior daughter's skillset, and leadership? Whether or not I have finally grasped the reason behind his nonchalance, the thought is sufficient enough to comfort me.

I narrow my eyes quizzically at Malhotra, my gaze lingering on him as if this is the first time that I've ever laid eyes on him. For some reason, I always seem to forget just how vastly different Malhotra's and my thought process truly is. If he's water, then I'm oil; two substances that could never mix well together, or coexist in harmony. However, whenever situations like tonight arise, and the man in front of me lays forth the workings of his mind, I am reminded - time and again - of this glaringly obvious truth.

My lips part as I suck in a sharp breath, the weight of another realisation pressing down on me. For the first time, in this given moment - my eyes interlocked with Malhotra's - I find myself wishing that two polar opposites could blend together in harmony. In my mind, I conjure up a vivid picture of a golden goblet. However, as I stare into its hollow base, I am not just met with the sight of pure water. Instead, I find myself staring into a mixture of oil and water; swirling like a miniature hurricane in the confines of the goblet, as the two liquids struggle to turn into one solution.