Cupid never had a chance in their messy, parental-restricted love story
Karishma Jha, a twenty-one-year-old recent graduate with the world at her feet if only she chose to face it. Plagued with the worries of the future and yet healing from the scar...
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The next time I saw him, he was on his feet and feeling much better. He had kept in touch these days through texts, not wanting to meet me in case I caught the cold. It looked like he did not remember much of the evening I had come over to nurse him. He had sneezed and coughed all over me.
I was on my way to buy groceries when he came running up the stairs. Sweat dripped down his face as he breathed heavily. His yellow shirt was tucked into the waist of his white short shorts. My lips parted.
His broad shoulders and chest heaved with heavy breaths while his sculpted abs contracted and relaxed with each move. I thought a body like this was a myth. Damn, this moment was right out of the pages of the book.
Two schools of thought ran in my mind. One praised and admired him, while the other brought out the hypocrisy. I took the path less traveled.
"Wow, you went out like that and were not attacked for violating the sanctity of the society?"
If any girl had ventured out in a similar attire of shorts and tank tops tongues could have been wagging for hours. Including my own mother's. I had fought a long and tiring battle against this mindset, but my opponents were as stubborn as me, if not more. I could only hope that they got a taste of their medicine one day. And maybe they did, and that was why they had made it their mission that every girl tasted this better pill. However, it was not of much relevance at that moment, and I could go on forever if I had started.
"Oh no, I heard things. All good, I assure you," he said with a smug smirk. He lifted his water bottle to take a sip but found it empty.
"Of course. Double standards," I muttered under my breath. He could stroll as God's gift to mankind, while I could not even wear leggings without a calf-length kurta. But again, it might not be his fault, per se.
"Where are you off to?" he asked, peering at me. Wet strands of hair curtained his eyes. Still testy from the discrimination, I gave him a bitter answer.
"Let me see. I have a shopping bag in one hand and a purse in another. I am going to bury a body."
"Just as long as it is not mine." I took a step back as he tried to stretch his hamstring. "Mind if I join you?"
"Sure," I shrugged. Company meant less time with my thoughts, and that was always a welcome offer. "You could carry the bag."
"Give me ten minutes. I will take a quick shower."
I stood outside his door, scrolling through reels. I wondered if he had an account. I ran a search on his name, but it yielded no results. Maybe he had a secret account to snoop on people.
He was frowning at his phone when he came out of his flat. His black polo shirt stuck to his shoulders as if he had not dried himself properly.
"The fare for auto or cab is ridiculously high. Anyways, where is it that you want to go?"
