Welcome :)
This is the fifth part in a set of stories.
This is the fifth part in a set of stories.
If you want to check out the previous parts, below are the links-
One - 'Cheers'
Two - 'Cheers 2'
Three - 'Stunned'
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I just stare at the ring for what seems like an infinite
amount of time. A thousand thoughts rush through my head. I try to convince my
over-imaginative brain different explanations of what I see, trying to push
away any optimistic thought on this.
He is a friend. He
speaks his mind. Always. What makes you think he wanted to ask you for your hand in
holy matrimony and that he simply discarded the idea? This is not a Jane Austen
novel. And that is not the way he is. This is not how these things work. People
usually have special grand ways to do this stuff. They invite you to quiet
dinners in pocket-money-emptying restaurants and have a couple of violinists
play while you cry over a fortune cookie which has just revealed the ring, or a
champagne glass which shows the circular piece of metal with something shiny on
it. They go to beaches walking hand in hand when suddenly someone decides to go
down on one knee, look you in the eyes with the sincerest of emotion and pop
the question. They show up from nowhere when you are in a different city and
recite beautiful words from your favorite books before sheepishly bringing out
a ring from their pocket. This is totally not the same situation. You accidentally found the ring. The ring which simply has a mysterious story. But
you don’t need to go all Sherlock Holmes about it.
After a while of giving myself these explanations, I
realized I am picturing my silly friend in these situations. I tell myself this
thought process needs to stop now. It can wait for later. I could always ask
him what the ring means some other day. Today is my day. It need not be marred
by this interesting object which means nothing, for it is just there lying on
the table. Besides, maybe my eyes are playing tricks for all I know. Maybe the
symbol on the ring is similar to the
one that I saw inside the box, but not the same.
‘Almika?’
You might have noticed my sudden absence in the living room,
so you call out loudly. I return, thoughts in place, but confusion still etched
on my face.
The symbol was the
same though. This is no hallucination. What does this mean?
‘Are you alright?’ you ask slowly.
‘Ya I am fine’
‘You do realize that’s just a beauty spot. One doesn’t worry
about such things’ you bring up our conversation about my last imperfection in your
list of my twenty five imperfections for my twenty fifth birthday.
‘Yes, I know. I am not thinking about it’
‘Then come over here, let’s sit. Let’s talk’ I walk gingerly
into the living room, expecting you sitting there calmly but half hoping the
band of violinists.
‘I feel like going home.’ I notice the absolute absence of
violins and people who know how to play them.
‘What happened Almika?’ you ask now with genuine concern.
‘Nothing at all’
‘Then why do you look so serious? Is anything bothering you?
Was the letter too much? Was the cake too much? Is it something I did?’
‘No, it’s not about you.’ I lie.
I don’t know why, I can’t shake off my confusion. It is a
silly ring. It could have actually belonged to the box, and you simply wanted
to use the box to surprise me. But I feel disappointed. I imagined you would
act surprised when I entered the room. That you would allude to the ring in
some way. That you would make it very clear that it wasn’t placed there by
accident. That it may not really mean what rings usually mean, but that it did
mean something, maybe a token of friendship? I don’t know what I want it to
mean. But in spite of your letter, the sweetest letter anyone has ever given
me, I want more. I had it all played out in the extremely amazing slow seconds when
I saw that shiny metal - you and me in a nice place, you asking me the most
flattering question a guy could ask a girl, I just didn’t play out the part
where I respond something. For I don’t know what I would respond. But it feels
bad we never got to that part. What feels worse is that I want something I
don’t want to want. It’s ridiculous. But that’s what’s making me act so silly -
like someone on a radical mood swing, someone who confuses and frustrates you.
I realize I have been just standing there thinking all this
while you stare at me. Somewhere I even noticed you going to the kitchen, maybe
to clean up. You have returned now, but you still see me standing on the same
spot like some stunned animal. Does turning twenty-five change people and turn
them into victims of their own imaginations and feelings? I hope not, though I
feel convinced about it, in this moment. I was better off with my quarter life
crisis and FOMO than this mess of thoughts.
Damn you stupid ring.
‘Almika, I think we should talk’ you say again with concern
etched on your face. I feel your concern is justified, but I am sure if I tell
you what’s on my mind, you would be more concerned.
‘Almika, sit’
I follow what you say in a daze. I think I am not good at
keeping secrets. At least from you. But I’ll try.
‘Here have some water’ you hand me the long glass you just
filled when returning from the kitchen. I notice you are acting like a parent
acts with a child. I don’t question you. I drink the whole thing promptly, in
one go.
‘So, tell me, how are you feeling?’ I can sense you are
trying to make eye contact. But I am trying to look everywhere in the room
other than at you.
‘I am fine’
‘Ok’ you say, with obvious doubt lacing your tone. You sit a
little closer, not knowing that may be just making me less fine in the long
run.
‘Look at me please’ you say again. I don’t know what I’ll do
if I look at you. Your eye contact is intimidating yet gentle. It always feels
like you are reading my mind and yet soothing it while knowing everything. I
don’t want to look at you but I need to. And I have to, for I can’t think of
appropriate words to communicate what I am feeling. I just want to ask you who
does the ring belong to, but I don’t want to hear your answer. I finally avert
my gaze from studying the shiny spot in the room created by the reflected glass
of your watch and look at you.
‘Tell me, what happened, honestly?’ you say in an almost
whisper.
‘I just felt a little …’ I leave the words hanging.
‘Felt a little what?’
‘Different about things.’
‘What things?’
I wonder how do people express what they truly feel in their
heart? How you get past that lump in your throat, that hesitance and fear? How do
you turn off the total self-control where you clutch closely the most tender
thoughts you have and act even for a moment like it wouldn’t matter if it hurt?
I wonder how people do that. For in this moment, even though I debate so
furiously, nothing in me makes me get past myself. My eyes might give away a
little of what I feel so deeply, but somehow, I just feel like stretching on to
what I have. For I know, if pulled beyond capacity, the best of bonds can
break. I don’t know why doing life threatening bungee jumps comes so naturally
to me, but something this easily feels impossible.
‘I feel different about things in that I see that you can
actually write in legible handwriting, which is just shocking!’ I say finally.
Yes, I may have turned a year older today, but I have not yet
adopted a mature way to communicate. I turn the one single opportunity to be
honest about what I feel about you into a joke. And a lame one at that. I don’t
expect you to laugh, but you still do.
‘Ok okay, but I am sure there’s something else on your mind,
and you have to promise me to talk about it the next time’ you say. I know you
wouldn’t buy what I said, but at least I have got you off topic. I look at you
again, and the simple way you gaze at me, and I find myself forgetting about
the ring.
It doesn’t matter.
It seems silly in
retrospect. To expect more when you have got enough. For the moment at least.
‘What are you looking at kiddo?’
‘When did I become kiddo?’
‘Since last night. Answer my question first. What are you
looking at? You are staring into my eyes an inappropriate amount of time’ you
say in your mock scolding tone.
‘You just answered your own question. And no amount of time
is inappropriate. And this is my standard staring time at people. You should
know that by now.’
‘Okay creepy girl’
‘It’s my birthday. You don’t get to call me creepy’
‘Blah blah blah blah.’
‘Go away silly guy’
‘You will miss me if I do’
‘No I won’t’
‘Are you sure?’ you ask with that smirk.
‘We’ll see’ and with that you scoot further towards me and
ruffle my hair. Not that it was much unruffled to begin with. Sometimes I feel
like a pet with your body language around me. I like it though.
Oh dear sweetest
friend of mine. How I wish I could tell you in this moment how much you mean to
me? But I’ll sit, and I’ll wait, and I’ll see us drift apart. For I don’t know
how to be with someone. I never have. You have taught me a little more about
how to be with someone and not mess it up. Thank you for that.
I think this as I act nonchalant while you treat me like
your pet. Turns out, growing older has taught me to stay away from troubles.
Even when they are sitting right beside me, as oblivious as they can be.
Hope you enjoyed reading ! :)
