Now
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His mother once asked him why he ran miles and miles and miles. Shravan doesn't remember what his excuse was. He is certain that he said that was his only way of staying fit when you are a law graduate or that he didn't want to join the gym due to odd timings. But Shravan runs miles and miles and miles because it's the only time he allows himself to grieve.

It's the only time, the burden of responsibilities hovering over his head like a grey cloud ready to burst, slips down his spine and rests under the safety of his blankets. It's the only time, he is not diving head first in quicksands of difficulties but floating with every steps he takes. It's the only time, he is himself — not a man spiraling in adversities, not a son bound by responsibilities, not a lawyer climbing the ladder of success — he is a mere shadow escaping the realm of contradictions and reality.

Shravan relishes the sound created by the loud stomping of his shoes on the floor, the burning of his lungs from the impending lack of oxygen, the way his mess of a hair slap against his forehead with every movement. The young boy inside him would steal the chance to escape with open palms, refusing to let go. He appreciates the ability to defy the wind and reign in the gravity. And he doesn't stop till his legs are tired from escaping his shadow.

It's a strange escape from reality, the physical exhaustion is palpable and still it restores his heart with faith and patience and on the way back to the home made of red bricks, he collects remnants of one thing or another.

The best and the worst.

Gentle sunlight warms his face, slipping in from the tall windows of the living room. On tip-toes, he cautiously makes his way inside the house, careful not to make any sound. The floor cracks under the weight of his feet and he is left immobile for a moment, eyes clenched and bottom lip between his teeth as he waits to hear shuffling that would indicate any kind of movement.

Nothing.

He sits on the adjacent sofa, making sure that it doesn't creak under his weight. A sigh of contentment escapes his lips as his eyes take in the sleeping form of his mother slumped on the leather sofa, book in her lap and glasses still perched up on her nose. That complete sight of her.

It never fails in making him feel like he has achieved something of great importance. That somehow he gave her courage to rise again.

Being the lightsleeper Nirmala is and sensing someone's scrutiny on her, it takes seconds for her to rub the remainders of sleep from her eyes and then she is staring at him with a questioning glance through half-lidded eyes.

"Happy Birthday," He whispers softly.

Slowly, he replaces the book on her lap with a box wrapped in a decorative paper. At first, she seems startled and confused but it's soon replaced by a spark of recognition as she tears delicately through the decorative paper.

An album of pictures stares back at her, each moments of her life etched on the pages, writing a story of its own. Her first steps as she holds her father's pinky. Her first day of school, her eyes dancing with mirth. According to her parents, she was a bright child since the very beginning (it was a point of contention between Ramnath and her, both wanting to take credit for Shravan's academic excellency). Her first date with the love of her life. Her wedding, still the happiest day of her life. The birth of her son, the happiest day of her husband's life. 

She lets her fingers slide through the pages, her eyes marveling at the intricacies of life, at how fast time flies.
A blink of an eye and a whole world is turned upside down. But, she has learned to cherish these moments of lingering sadness and she appreciates these droplets of joy and grief that drench her face times to times, a sharp reminder of her many losses and her many wins.

"I love it." She smiles at him and squeezes his hand. "Where did you get all these photos?"

"I have my sources, mother." He winks at her and she chuckles at his enthusiasm.

"You've got that look on your face." Shravan points out between mouthfuls of chocolaty goodness.

"What look?" Nirmala's brow quirks in question.

"That look when you have something on your mind and you are debating whether you should tell me or keep it to yourself," Shravan concludes, a knowing smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"This voicing my thoughts out loud needs to stop." Nirmala retorts, eyes narrowing in mock anger.

"I am a lawyer, that's what I do for a living." Shravan laughs, shrugging his shoulders quizzically.

Nirmala brings a napkin to her lips, discreetly erasing any subtle signs of scheming from her lips. "That's what gets you in trouble."

"It does!"

"Now, that doesn't tell me what's on your mind?" This time, he asks directly. Nirmala's gaze finds the floor and he is taken aback by the action.

"Maa, what's going on?" Shravan shifts at the edge of the sofa and reaches out to take her hand. She meets his stare and sighs when she notices the stain of worry between his brows.

"Nothing, I just..." She exhales roughly.

"Tell me," He encourages, squeezing her hand in order to demonstrate his words.

"I miss home." The words are spoken in a whisper, timidly, but he hears her all the same. Shravan is stunned. He is at loss of words.

His hold that was solid seconds ago is now yielding. His gaze that was soothing is now furtive, almost ashamed.

"We are home." Shravan's voice barely registers over a whisper.

"No, we're not!" She says more sharply than she intends to and regrets it almost immediately. "Four walls and a front door are not enough to make a home." Her voice is soft, almost pleading.

"Shravan..." She reaches out to him, forces him to meet her eyes. "Let's go back home. We don't belong here. You don't belong here."

Despite every awful thing that made them leave Delhi, despite every awful thing that happened before they settled in Manchester...

Delhi is still home. It is still their home. A home with memories tucked in every nook and cranny. A home full of thorns and taunts, nonetheless, still a home.

"I know that you have built a life here, but Shravan —"

"It's not about that anymore, Maa."

She gives him a look full of questions and confusion. Shravan wants to sink into the floor. "About what then?"

Silence.

And then she whispers, "About your father?"

"Shravan, look at me." Nirmala nudges his chin with a finger. "You can't run forever."

"Running away was our only choice." He lowers his head.

"Then, maybe it's time for us to catch our breath, rest a little." The melancholy that laces her words is too hard to hide.

"Okay."

"What - ?" Nirmala is bewildered and he smiles at her expression.

"I said okay," He repeats.

"Are you sure?" She asks, skepticism coloring her words.

He nods wordlessly, managing a small, burdened lift of lips.

"Thank you." And there are tears in her eyes.

"Anything for you." He kisses the crown of her head in a promise.

"I promise."

And there are tears in his eyes.
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Shravan feels like his life is happening in flashes.
It comes to him in blurry shapes and repetitive echoes.

A little after dawn, it looks almost exactly as it had the last time he'd seen it. And yet, everything has evolved in his absence. The blue paint and its white trimmings are still immaculate and a path of marble had been plowed for a perfect line leading from the driveway to the front porch.

His eyes trail along the swing as it moves back and forth, each movement lulling him back to a time he used to lay down on it, the soft creak making his eyelids droopy.

Fallen leaves littered the driveway, bathing it in dark red and orange, and he steps on them with a reluctant crunch, his shoes and luggage slapping against the stone steps that led to the porch. Shravan could almost hear his father's voice calling him from the front porch and he'd look over to see his smile spread wide.

The metal of the doorknob was cool against his palm and he twisted it with ease and enters the dark living room.

Shravan notes how strange he feels walking back into his home, almost like he was walking in a memory. Even in the dark, he could make out the furniture that decorated the rooms. As he wanders from one room to another, he lets his fingers trail the walls at his side, his palms feel the smooth texture, leaving only a residue of the life he knew under his fingernails.

He walks back down to the hall to the only door on the opposite end. Shravan lays a hand flat against the door, resting his head on top of it and his heart constricts in his chest. He reaches for the doorknob, but hesitates at the last moment.

He enters the room. His father's study is as full and personal as the day he left it, almost five years ago. As he wanders deeper and deeper into it, he lets himself remember. He was strictly forbidden from coming inside this room. There was only an occasion, when he was allowed to sneak inside and that was for his birthday. Little Shravan could choose the book he wanted from his father's shelf and it was his forever.

His father's books piqued his interest, fitted his peculiar taste and quenched his immense thirst for knowledge, for the thrill of an adventure and the world brimming with possibilities.

Shravan turns to the arm chair and runs a hand over the back. A thin layer of dust sticks to his fingers, a sign that the room has been empty for some time, but he just wipes it on the leg of his pants. He lets himself fall in the arm chair, his arms resting were his father's strong and warm arms used to rest. His head finding a resting place at the top of the chair and he lets his chaotic train of thoughts find a rhythm as the chair balances itself, back and forth — back and forth.

Despite the tempestuous weather outside and the rain hammering against the window, despite the slight fever enveloping him in its trance, winter has departed from Shravan's chest, melting the glacier around his heart.

"It's good to be home."

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"I'll be back at 8." Shravan announces, tying the laces of his shoes.

"Where are you going, dressed like this, young man?" Nirmala surveys him from head to toe.

Shravan looks down at himself. He was wearing a white shirt a and jeans. It couldn't get more simple that that.

"I have a date."

"A date?" She questions.

"A date." He affirms.

"A date with a living, breathing girl?" She teases, humor coating her words.

Shravan simply shakes his head in dismay. "This is the part where I stop answering you."

"At least, tell me her name!"

"Not happening!"

Suddenly, Nirmala lets out a sound, something between a gasp and a squeak. She looks at him in horror, her hand on her chest. "Is it a boy?"

Shravan is frozen. "Mother, you are impossible!"

Nirmala laughs loudly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I am sorry, I just had to know."

As he walk to the door, he can still hear her lingering laughter filling the corridor. "Shravan."

He stops, standing at the threshold.

"Buy some flowers on your way, your father loves them." She smiles with all her heart.

"I will." He smiles at her then – wide and bright.

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"To you, Papa." Shravan brings his cup of tea up in the air, looking straight at the horizon as the meandering river flows.

He walks a little ahead when something catches his eyes and suddenly, there is a lump in his throat and a furious stinging behind his eyes.

IN MEMORY OF
                                Ramnath Malhotra
                                         1965-2014

His fingers marvel over the letters as he traces them with his pads leaving smudges as his tears mingle with the concrete. Fresh white roses lay next to the inscription and then his eyes are searching for something, someone.

And then Shravan sees her through the mist in his eyes.

He can't see her perfectly but he sees a silhouette drowning into the darkness, like a fragment of the night, a sole dark freckle among allies of streetlights.

His world spins on its axis.

"How is this possible?"

Shravan drops everything and starts running towards the end of the street as fast as his legs can carry him, his chest burning at the gleam of dark, sombre hair.

It's been five years, it's been half a decade.
His heart still skips a beat around her.

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I don't know if you guys noticed, Shravan asked a question in chapter 1. I think he got his answer.

I want to know everything! 🤓