|ROSES AND CIGARETTES Book-I|
She was someone who likes to be in her shell and He was someone who likes to break all the shells.
"Junoon ban chuki ho tum. Ishq ki tapish se bhi tez aur pagalpan ki har hadon se paar. Is qadar beyhadh ki tumhari rooh...
There's something I would like to highlight... This book is fiction and with dark references, so many things happening here isn't justified in real life. Aarav threatening the doctor or bribing the hospital isn't justified in reality either. Kindly keep fiction and reality seperated.
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Mishika's pov "Mumma, ab bas. Please." Ignoring my pleas, Maa pushed another spoon of khichdi in my mouth and having no other option, I've to eat it.
(Mumma, enough.)
As Mumma kept the now empty bowl aside, I let out a secret sigh of relief. Softly caressing my hair, she made me drink water, her complaints unfolding, "Itni dubli ho gayi hai aur kamzor bhi. Abhi ghar chalo fir dekhna."
(You've become so skinny and even so weak. Let me take you home and then see)
Brown moms and their complaints about how skinny you've become, just to make you eat more will never stop.
I can't wait to go home anymore. This is my second time spending days and days in hospital and I wish it to be the last. Hospitals literally make me feel homesick.
For us middle class people, affording a private room in such a hospital is like putting a part of fortune in it. Nevertheless my father-in-law was adamant that either my father allow him to spend on the expenses or he is taking me to Oberoi Mansion.
Papa only agreed with conditions of his own. First, only my parents-in-law are allowed to meet me. And second, I'll stay with my parents and won't go back to Oberoi Mansion.
For so many days I kept thinking that those were just dreams. The presence I felt, those fleeting touches, the warm breath looming around me and those soft pecks, I thought it was all a reverie knitted by my dazed mind. Nonetheless it wasn't.
And the rose I found this morning in my hair proves that he was here last night. And he had been here every night and I've felt it, nonetheless denied to acknowledge. Because that way it was easier to convince myself that he doesn't care, that he is still staving off from reality, from the truth, from guilt again.
Putting on with my resolve is getting overwhelming as everytime I tell myself otherwise, he makes me feel like I actually matter.
My chain of thoughts broke when the door opened and Papa walked inside. His lips curled into a smile as he looked at me but I could sense the conflict, the hurt behind it and it didn't let me reciprocate his smile. Ishan, who walked in just after Papa, noticed our brief exchange and passed me an assuring smile.
It clenches my heart to see my Papa so crestfallen, like he has failed. No parents are perfect and I don't want any perfect parents, I just want my parents, happy and content. I love my parents and I don't think anyone can love or have ever supported me like my parents do.
"You brought these ?" Only when Papa mentioned then did I notice the bouquet in Ishan's hand.
"This is for Mishika." Casting a glance down at the bouquet in his hands, his gaze moved to Papa before settling on me. He made a bee-line to my side and I took the bouquet from him and as he spoke again, I caught a slight stutter in his voice. "Mishti sent these."
