Chapter 15:- Closure

The past cannot be changed...but can the perception of the past be? 

Slumped shoulders and bag dangling aimlessly, I walked as slowly as possible outside the premises of college. My vision blurred occasionally while I steadied the lumps forming in my throat, all in vain. The turns seemed familiar yet the path never as intimidating as it did today. My steps hadn’t been this dubious, hadn’t faltered every now and then as they did today. Because I had never been accused of plagiarism before, never had my sincerity in my work had been questioned. Not in school, neither at home. I could have maintained my record if not for Sameer Maheshwari.

Stupid love. Intolerable, vulnerable love.

If not for this four letter word, I would’ve never found myself in this mess. Never torn between my heart and mind.

Walking towards the nearest bus stop, I sighed dejectedly while sitting on the wooden bench, waiting patiently. My thoughts wandered back to him; the person I least wanted in my life and yet my heart ached the second my mind reprimanded. The road was too difficult to embark on if a constant thorn by the name of Sameer Maheshwari continued to pave obstacles. A lone tear escaped my eye as I turned my hands to observe the lines screeched across my palms. Tilting my head, I gazed with blurred eyes, trying to decipher my fate. What else did my sordid destiny have in store for me? A lot more pain perhaps, in addition to mental suffering. A few occasional shocks that would skip a heartbeat. Attempts of revenge, another heartbreak. What more could I expect?

It was no longer the cynical outlook of life I had, but more of the sinister experiences that had uncannily prepared me otherwise.

Slightly turning, I shuffled through my bag in search for a piece of crumpled paper when my hands touched the torn, uneven edges. Scrupulously hiding it from the entire world, I hesitantly opened it and traced each letter with my fingers. Each emotion, each tear. Each moment of betrayal. Reaching the end of the page, rereading every word as if it were new yet so familiar, I turned the page only to find faint imprints. Just like the scars that prohibited me from turning a new page. No matter how much I wanted, I just wasn’t allowed to move on. Or maybe I just couldn’t. Just like him.

A horn hooted its presence, jerking me from my reverie. I looked up to find a crowd of people; some in mundane sarees while others in creased shirts, filing their way into a stifling local bus. I stood up and cleared my throat, straightening my worn off shirt and scurried through the wind of people into the chaotic mode of transport, just in time to find the last bench. I grasped the rusty railing and balanced myself on the minimal space alongside the window. My gaze wandered off to the passing blurs outside as the engine revved and the conductor called out.

How absurd is life - showing a thousand images yet remembering only a few, random ones that bombard us every moment, inflicting pain upon us.

I quietly hummed to myself while my hair flew recklessly against the growing wind. Nothing could be any more deceptive than this one element of life. It starts by faking a calm, cool breeze, it’s soothing effect spreading tranquility to the soul. And just when you get used to its beautiful charisma, it defies your assumptions, creates havoc with its strong gushes, jolts streams of pain and agony, leaving you completely shattered. The calm before a storm; ironically something only the wind has control over.

I looked around to find a lady; around her mid-forties, dozing off every now and then with the regular sways of the wheels. On the far end I saw someone who seemed like a distraught father, constantly steering his gaze to his surroundings; as if trying to avoid the reality, the pang of emotions he was threatened by. I look ahead to find a delighted girl around four or five, whispering sweet words of assurance to the doll in her hand, shaking her hands, waving back at her. Next to her a woman sat; perhaps her mother, cautiously looking at her with a grim smile on her face before hiding her tears behind her eyelids. I couldn’t clearly see, but I could definitely feel. Feel the hardships around me. The struggle everyone had to open their eyes too.

Amidst the roaring silence, a thousand voices cried; in plea, in revolt, in pain. In hope. I was one too. Though I couldn’t exactly determine what I had to express.

My feet touched the barren road as soon as the bus jerked to my designated stop. I looked around scrupulously before hastening my speed. Tearing my gaze from the prying stares, I focused on my austere gait. Within two minutes, a right turn led to a familiar sight of a complex I called home.

Nirmal Jyoti Society; my home, my childhood, my source of happiness.

I gulped while a sweat bead rolled off my forehead. Despite the familiarity, the place suddenly looked daunting; uncannily intimidating. Maybe because of the shame I had been carrying on my shoulders, perhaps because of the burden I had become today.

I took slow steps towards what I called home; each step more incoherent than the previous one. Gliding my fingers on the railing, I tried to grasp for balance, only to find my legs more wobbly than they had been the second before.

Standing in front of a closed door with name ‘Agarwals’ faintly imprinted on it, I debated for a while. Maybe I should just dodge this situation and seem oblivious to it. Or maybe I should just confront and release this burden off of my heart. I chose the latter option and reached for the doorbell. Dubiously, I subtly shook my head and thought otherwise. Shuffling through my bag, I fished the house keys I was given at the start of college and inserted it in the keyhole. With shivering fingers and bated breaths, I heard the door click open and quietly peeped inside...only to find a deserted, average sized living room.

The cool wind still made the sky blue curtains dance yet there weren’t any people who relished it with warm tea in their hands and fresh ‘pakodas’ in their hands. There was one  wooden rocking chair on the far corner of the living space while a six-seater dining table stood sturdy on the other end, right adjacent to the kitchen. A plain mahogany sofa set stood in the center of the hall, decorated with cushions covering a spectrum of colors. The walls were still beige in cream white in color with minimal pictures adorned. Before my tears threatened to spill, I walked to the far corner, behind the dining table, where the telephone sat royally over a vibrant hand crocheted mat. Taking a breath, I took the receiver in my hand while I dialed the number second most automatic for me.

“Hello.” A soft voice began from the other end.

“Chachaji I…” I narrated the entire incident as elaborately as I could, the confidence in my voice wavering every second.

I waited in anticipation as a long moment of silence prevailed before the clearing of throat. Before he could say a few words in consolation as I had expected, a tumultuous wave crashed over the line, leading to a loud bellow. It wasn’t Chachaji anymore.

My voice turned surreptitious as I nodded in affirmation, “Yes.”

Questions bombarded, laced with cruelty and suspicion as I continued succinctly, “Yes.”

“But I--” I had been interrupted again.

“No.” I jumped in defense before catching the overflow of emotions.

“Yes.” Came my meek response to the final interrogation.

The call hung up as a series of long beeps tauntingly echoed in my ears, reminding me of the rejection and defeat. I slumped to the ground, waiting for the moment to end, for the pain to cease. But all that came out were a fresh new stream of tears.

It wasn’t Chachaji anymore. It was him.

The clock continued to tick incessantly. The wind had perhaps left its magic for all that left was its suffocating humidity. Suddenly the heat became intolerable and all I wanted to do was scream my lungs out, trying to prove myself right. I hadn't done any wrong; but somehow, like always, I always remained within the circle of doubt, under everyone’s tantalizing stare. All I wanted was closure, from the rest of the world.

Heaving a desperate sigh, I stood up for some water to quench my thirst, simultaneously recalling how he had possibly stolen my research paper. We never interacted that often in college and I didn’t remember him coming over to my place. How on Earth did he copy my project? My brows furrowed and I grunted in frustration when I came to no solid conclusion.

I glanced towards the corridor that led to my room and soon found myself taking steps towards it. After ransacking for writing materials, a workbook and a few lined papers, I shoved them in my hands and set them on the dining table; my new workplace. I wasn’t following his harsh words that had the potential to traumatize, instead, I was abiding to my Chachaji’s unsaid words of support; to never give up. Scattering everything around myself, I had only begun to rewrite notes I could recall from studying from our economic textbooks in the library, when the doorbell buzzed alive, jerking me from the silence.

I frowned in confusion before heading for the door. Swiveling the knob, the door opened and instantly a gasp left my mouth. My lips quivered, hands clutched the edge of the door frame, eyes widened and the hair on my neck must’ve stood up in alert. A spark of fury raced through me as I faced the uninvited intruder in front of me.

Sameer Maheshwari. The person I very lovingly despised with all my heart.

“Hi Sameer. What brought you here?” I cheerfully asked with a smile playing on my lips.

My words had created a palpable environment around us, for he narrowed his eyes in perplexion at my unexpected behavior.

“Naina?” His succinct question only expressed bewilderment.

“Yes, Sameer?” I nodded in glee.

“Are you okay?” He suggested with hesitance glinting in his tone.

“Yeah. Are you? College hasn’t even ended yet.” I tilted back to check the time; 11:30 AM.

“Stop pretending, Naina.” He finally vented out after a long minute of straining silence.

I passed a complacent smirk before turning hysterical, “Stop beating around the bush for once, Sameer Maheshwari.”

He caught my stare filled with anguish and fury, and pursed his lips guiltily.

“How could I have not returned the favor?”

“Sameer?” I peeped into his oversized master bedroom for the first time; with dubious   footsteps yet a determined purpose. If I was the one who got him into this mess, I should be the one helping him out too.

He turned on his heel and faced my fearful gaze with one filled with anger, making me more remorseful.

“Why are you here, Naina?” He gritted through his teeth, trying to suppress his raging fury.

“I’m here to apologize. And...to help.” I stuttered amidst thoughts.

It had taken me a lot of courage to prove him wrong in class. Not because I feared the consequences of being honest, but because it was him. Sameer Maheshwari. The boy I had started to admire for his charismatic looks and stylish suave.

However, it had taken me a lot more courage to surprise him at his place. Yes, I had gone over to my friends’ place before too. But this was a boy. And I wasn’t too sure whether we were friends.

“Apologize? For what?” He lashed out with hysteria as I looked away.

“Sameer. What you had done was wrong. You shouldn’t have copied Sanjay’s work.”

“Are you here to apologize or to make me apologize? Because you don’t seem to, and I won’t be.” His retaliation echoed in my head as his anger rose.

“Did you ever bother to consider my justification, Naina?” Sameer spoke contemptuously.

“Wasn’t that an excuse--”

He interrupted me in whispers, “You thought of it as an excuse? You out of all people?” He accused.

I looked away incestuously, unable to carry the burden of guilt anymore.

“I thought you were different, Naina. I thought you trusted me. I thought you would fight all the odds for me.” He ranted when a monosyllabic word shot in curiosity, “Why?”

“Because…” His incomplete sentence lingered in the air while his orbs glimmered with brimming hope.

“Because I thought you loved me. And would never leave my side.” He finally completed the sentence that had been bothering me for nearly four years.

No matter the glistening eyes and the flicker of excitement in the pit of my stomach, I agreed his words showed no effect on me. It didn’t matter anymore, because he had obliterated that one part of my heart completely.

After a long moment of pondering upon, I decided to remind him, “I also came here to help.” I voiced meekly.

His anger seemed to have subsided a little because his fists weren’t curled anymore and his shoulders had relaxed.

“What?” He asked in clarification.

I took a deep breath, “What you did was wrong. But what I did wasn’t right either. I shouldn’t have betrayed a friend this way.” I looked up at him to match a gaze filled with genuine sincerity.

“Shanti Ma’am has only given you two days to complete this project whereas the other students got 14. I’ll help you complete it in time.” With newfound confidence I announced my decision.

He stood rooted to his spot and before long he questioned in amazement, “Why?”

“Because that’s what friends do, right?” I smiled, one that lingered and spread onto his face too.

“Strangers don’t keep nor return favors.” My voice sounded impervious to any feeling that lost memory brought.

He took three strides towards me, not only claiming himself inside this house, but reducing the proximity to a dangerous extent too.

“Naina Agarwal. One thing is absolutely clear, that you and I are anything but strangers.” He hovered over me as I raised my head to meet those orbs filled with regret yet complacency.

“And two, shall we get to work now? Unlike Shanti Ma’am, JBR has given you just a day.”

With that he entered, not only physically into the apartment, but secretly into my heart too. Again.