Riya

"I guess, no matter how much power one has, actions have consequences."

My comment lingered between us. The silence made me think that maybe I spoke too much too soon.

A dreaded realization crept in. I wasn't scared of him or his anger. I was worried that my words might have hurt him, and he would go back to his shell, which he paraded like armor. I bit my lips to stop them from trembling.

Abhay's lips curved into a half-smile, but there was no warmth. "Power is only useful if you know how to use it and how to pick your battles," he replied, his tone measured.

"And you know how to use it?"

He raised an eyebrow, studying me for a moment. "I know exactly how much I have, and I know who'd prefer that I don't," he said, voice low. "But it's not always as simple as using it. Power has conditions."

It was the first time, he was sharing his mind, and I wanted to soak it all up.

"So, you're saying you could...what, change things if you wanted? But you're choosing not to?" I knew somewhere it all tied back to his family.

He shrugged, his fingers tapping lightly on the clay before him. "You could say that. Sometimes, the best way to hold power is to let everyone think you're not using it."

"You're more calculating than I thought."

He shrugged and went back to shaping his clay. His fingers moved with precision and confidence, dancing with the clay. There was no hesitance. It seemed like he was making a hand.

"I heard you were not much of a party person," I stated, looking down at my clay. I bit my tongue as I realized what I had just asked.

He didn't answer for a second, and I looked up to find him staring at me with an amused smile. "Curious, are we?"

Nice to see someone was amused in this situation because I certainly was not.

"It was an observation," I mumbled.

"Of course, Little Miss Saviour needs to be observant. How else will she save the world?" He said as he picked up another tool from the bench. His voice dripped with mockery.

"Can you stop calling me that?" My tone was too sharp.

"Calling you what?"

"The name you call me." My fingers itched to pick up a tool and throw it at his head.

"Now that can not happen. How else will I keep you on your toes?" His eyes were stuck on his work as he replied with a smirk.

"You're infuriating."

He chuckled and looked up from his work, peering into my eyes with a smirk, "You have no idea how infuriating I can be."

My lips parted, but no words came out. I pursed my lips instead, hoping he couldn't hear the drumming of my heartbeat.

"Forget I asked," I mumbled, going back to my flower bud.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Family." He mumbled as he shaped one bony finger out of the clay. "My brother wanted to go out. So, I had to."

The smile that crossed his face was so unexpected that I almost forgot to breathe. It was a softness I hadn't seen before. My stomach twisted, and a strange knot formed. I didn't know why it affected me this much, but it did.

I tried to focus on his words. The woman with him that day must be his mother. Questions kept popping into my mind, but held my tongue from making a fool of myself as I was already halfway there.

He looked up, "he paints, by the way."

My eyes widened. "Oh! I paint too."

"I know," he said in his husky voice, looking into my eyes.

How did he know that?

"Um...what's his name?" I asked, ignoring the skip in my heartbeat. Was he doing it on purpose?

"Veer. He's six." The smile on his face was blinding. "He's got more talent and spirit than most people I know."

"I would love to see his paintings."

The soft smile on his face was blinding, a rare warmth that momentarily dissolved the usual coldness around him. His eyes softened with something tender. Abhay Raichand, the stoic, was letting me glimpse a piece of his heart, a heart that belonged to his little brother.

"You know, the word potter comes from the Old English pottere, which basically just meant 'a maker of pots.' But way back, it was related to poterium, the Latin for 'drinking cup.' I guess it's all about containing things."

His hands paused. Then, he glanced at me, his hair falling over his eyes with one eyebrow raised, though a faint smirk tugged at his mouth. "Is that a dig at my art piece? Because I'm not exactly making a drinking cup here." His work wasn't anywhere near being done, but the rough shape suggested a hand holding something.

It wasn't a dig at his work. It was just a passing thought about how he too, was containing everything else. But I wasn't going to say it out loud. My quota of doing stupid things for today was filled.

I smiled at him, forgetting that I was furious a few seconds ago. "No, it wasn't."

He looked intently at my face as if searching for something. "You have a habit of reading into things, don't you? Remember, I'm not up for any analysis."

My heart sank, and the flashes of our last conversation blinded me.

"I'm not your next project. Keep your interference limited to Dhruv."

My jaws tightened. "You wish I spent my time analyzing you."

He chuckled. The amusement in his eyes was disappearing as he held my gaze. "And yet, here you are. 'Containing things,' analyzing my art, my personality." His eyes searched mine with a challenge. The challenge to deny it.

I couldn't. I looked down at my flower, squashing the urge to wilt the flower. "Fine, so I overthink things. Not everything has to mean something, you know."

"And how would you feel if I returned the favor?" I glanced up at him as he leaned closer, his voice low. "Riya Sharma, making a blooming clay flower, waiting to grow out of her shell because her life revolves around other people, and she can not make friends to save her life. Can not speak up to save her life and chains herself into some twisted savior complex to feel better."

My lips trembled, and I clenched my jaw to not do something as stupid as crying. The tingle of my nose was rising, and I cleared my throat not to let it reach my voice. "Are you done?"

"Doesn't feel good now, does it?" He straightened up with a poker face. And I was in no state to read his expression. I didn't want to. I felt bruised.

Humiliation sank its teeth in my back, and the urge to hurt him back shook me. But there was no point.

Then, he went back to his clay hand, which held what looked like a...flower bud. His body was all coiled as if bracing for something, but my courage had run out for the day, and my mind was too much of a mess to even think about all of it.

I picked up my clay model, hoping it wouldn't break. It hurt to even look at the flower. I felt too exposed.

He didn't look up, but his jaw tightened, telling me that he noticed me getting up. I looked around to find a secluded place where I thought if I wanted to leave or finish the flower my hands held.

𐃢𐃡𐃢𐃡

After the session, as Sameer announced the reflection session, Abhay disappeared into his room at the back door as soon as I left the table. I had decided to stay and finish my piece. It was me, my creation. Leaving it in the middle was out of the question. But I knew it was the last time I was stepping in here.

"This is amazing, Riya," Sameer exclaimed after the reflection session. I was keeping my piece on the wooden rack assigned to us for this session. This was going to be glazed, then we could come and collect the piece and paint it as per our choice. I wanted to ask if they could deliver it to my place.

"Thanks. I liked today's session. It was fun." I said, looking around at the beautiful pieces.

"Would you like to buy something?" He asked, watching me look around. "Have I told you Abhay is working on his next collection?"

"Yes, you did. And I'm not buying anything, just looking." I was sure I couldn't afford anything Abhay made.

"It was nice seeing him talking and working. Usually, he prefers silence when he's working with clay." Sameer smiled fondly.

"Probably because it was a fun session for him too." Sarcasm dripped from my voice, but I masked it with my smile.

Sameer had a smile on his face at my comment, "Probably."

I looked around for Abhay's art piece, but it was nowhere to be found. I guessed he took it with him. I wished I could ask him. Why a hand holding a flower? Was it something he wanted to protect or nurture? Something related to his brother? But that was the problem. Every time I got close to his answers, I felt myself getting pulled in deeper and deeper. Right to where I didn't want to go because I was afraid I would find something I wouldn't like. Or worse, something I would like too much.

But then, he went ahead and sliced me open with his words. Was that how he saw me? A girl with a savior complex?

I know I should've stopped thinking about it. I had already made a fool of myself.

My eyes searched for my bag. I thought I could handle this, handle him, but now...what was I even doing?

Flashes from Siya's party came back to me as I walked outside, looking for my umbrella in my overflowing tote bag. Did he really look at my lips that day? Was it an illusion? I was thinking too much.

Maybe it was an illusion.

I opened the gate to find pouring rain. September was my favorite when the rain was at its peak. Green brightened the usually dull city, and the rain made the deafening sounds of vehicles a bit milder, a bit bearable. An illusion. I opened my umbrella and started walking to the bus stop. The air held the smell of the rain that I liked. It was beautiful, so why did I feel like I was drowning? 

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