One of the reasons Chennai based Samridhi Ganesan hates her life is because of Dhruva's presence in it. Dhruva's overprotective nature or his passion for Martial Arts doesn't please her one bit.
Army officer Shiva crosses paths with the fearless re...
Everything changed after their fallout. No more reading together in Appa's study. Samridhi reads in her room.
No feeding Mrs Sheila and the kittens together. If they crossed paths outside the felines' abode near the gazebo, they'd avoid each other's eyes.
He'd feed the kittens — Chunky, Cyril and Parthu. (She was the one who named them.) And she'd handle Mrs Sheila.
No more bike rides, just awkward train rides. (They agreed on this part to avoid Amma's suspicions and for security reasons.)
No exchanging words before parting ways near their campuses. No hanging out together. Neither of them tries breaking the barrier, the quiet between them oppressive.
Sprawled out on his favourite couch in Appa's study, Dhruva recalls the events of the past few days. Minus the distractions of the day, the situation is driving him insane, the pitch-black darkness of the night ever slowly encroaching on his heart and mind. No matter how much he thwarts, the doom and gloom are always back, like the tidal waves returning to the shore.
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He can't go on like this. He can be on the verge of a mental breakdown if he doesn't get a grip.
The hour is late and the couch across from him is empty. Sitting up, he glances at the book he's been clutching to his chest — War and Peace. A beautiful book, reading which always brought him peace but not tonight.
***
His birthday falls on Pongal. It's more a day when Appa rescued him from the streets than his birthday. But he has always been happy-go-lucky enough to celebrate the day with fervour.
The first few years after Appa's demise had been stifling. Birthdays were lonely. He missed Appa though Samridhi and Amma were with him. And today, on his 28th birthday, his heart is hollow, but the pain of losing Appa is very much healed.
He doesn't know his exact birth date but the year should be exact. Maybe the orphanage has it?
His thoughts wander as he checks his image in the long mirror he hung on the wall. This is all he has — a crooked, elongated oval reflecting surface haphazardly dangling from a nail. Samridhi Ganesan has a dresser, not him.
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