|Chapter Seventeen|

"I've put the milk to boil, so make sure you put the stove off before it all spills out."

"Okay, ma."

"Wake Nitya up after five, don't let her sleep like a sloth all evening."

"Will do."

"If the newspaperman drops by, pay him the bill and make sure to take a receipt from him."

"Okay," Aisha sighs with internal exasperation, "You can go now."

"Right," Tulika nods, satisfied with herself, as she turns to the open ajar front door. She pauses on her step though, causing Aisha to roll her eyes. "Did I tell you about the milk-?"

"Yes, you did," Aisha cuts her off, passing her a meaningful glare. "You'll be late for your meeting, now go," she adds, earning a wide-eyed reaction from her mum who seems to be struck with realization.

"Yeah, okay," the mother nods distractedly, "Take care!" And with that, Tulika dashes out, down the stairway in her haste.

Smiling at her mother's vibrant ethics, the raven-haired girl shuts the door close and heads back to the couch where her father lay leisurely, switching through channels to pass his time. Settling back on the spot next to him, Aisha brings back the morning's newspaper and a pen to her lap, focusing on the crossword puzzle she had been working on. Yes, Aisha likes crosswords, and you can call her a grandma for that but she ain't letting go of this game in a million years.

Pranjol chuckles as he watches two politicians hurl crumbled papers at one another in the Parliament, another little disagreement among the parties being resolved with chaotic conflicts. Indian politicians, apparently, are three year olds.

"I firmly believe that politicians are the biggest comedians of my country," Pranjol comments, still more chuckling when a chair goes flying across the screen. Apparently, the Speaker of the house had had enough and decided to call it a break by flinging his chair at a random spot.

"I won't deny that," Aisha nods with a grin, her eyes resuming to the crossword and her brows furrowing in confusion as she thinks about the question in front of her.

"Hey, deuta," she calls for her father who in turn averts his eyes over to her.

"What's the synonym for joy which starts with an 'e' and ends with an 'n'?" she reads the question off for him.

"Um..." Pranjol wonders, his eyes roaming over to the ceiling thoughtfully, "Elation?" he guesses after a moment.

"You smart fella!" Aisha remarks with a grin as she scribbles the last word off with a euphoric sigh.

"Mere compliments won't do," Pranjol shakes his head, "I want a generous piece of that chocolate cake which your mum has hidden away somewhere in the kitchen."

"Go find it yourself, you lazy being!" Aisha scrunches her nose.

"Don't you think I'd have eaten it already if I knew where it would be?"

"Fine, I'll get it for you in a minute," Aisha mumbles, folding the papers which she then dumps over the coffee table in front of them. Before she departs, however, she thinks about this one thought which has been nagging at the back of her mind since long now. And, considering the situation, it's the most appropriate of the times. With a little skip to her steps, she marches off into the kitchen and grabs the box of chocolate cake from over the top of the fridge, her mother's usual hiding spot.

Cutting a lavish piece of the velvety dessert, Aisha places it over a platter with a spoon and heads back to the living area where her father beams at it like a child, his teeth on display. Smiling back, Aisha hands it over to him before settling back on the couch, next to him.

"So, how are things?" Aisha asks conversationally as she fidgets with the remote in her hands.

"Work is going on good, we got a new partnership with the leading industrialist from Pune day before yesterday," Pranjol explains, sighing contentedly as he devours on the cake.

"And how are things in here?" Aisha asks, her eyes focused on the reporter babbling over the TV screen.

"What do you mean?" Pranjol asks, shoving the spoon into the cake.

"How are things with ma?"

Silence is all that welcomes Aisha, seeping through her consciousness and making her heart hammer against her chest frantically, telling her that it was a bad idea after all. However, a seemingly contradictory voice tells her that it's okay; it's Veer's words which are laced with solace that flash through her memory, rekindling her determination. Raising her eyes from the random spot on the coffee table, she averts her gaze over to her father.

Aisha's heart breaks somewhere deep down when she takes notice of the dejection clouding over her father as he gazes down at the half-eaten cake, his spoon scraping it indifferently now while his thoughts drift off to some faraway land of misery. "It's all okay," he mumbles with a nod of his head, as if trying to convince himself of the statement.

"Don't you think the fights are turning more frequent?" Aisha asks cautiously, mustering all the courage she can. Sure, her father's a friendly creature to her, always on the playful side of things. But he does switch into the 'Stoic-Father' mode on certain occasions, so she can't be taking any chances.

And as those words sink deeper in Pranjol, the father in him probably wakes up, pushing back the emotional mess that's begun to surface out. "Nah, we disagree on certain things, that's all, Ash," he tells Aisha.

Aisha can't help but frown at him. "But-"

"This is neither your age, nor your space to think about this stuff," Pranjol cuts her off, earning a disgruntled groan from her.

"But father!" she tries, her hopes perishing with every word that proceeds, "Maybe it's time you both consult for some help?"

And that's when all hell broke loose.

__________

The cackles of laugh amid the crowding students and the lively chatter of friend circles appears distant and insipid to Aisha as she marches across the canteen, not really looking forward to today's lunch. Her paces quicken when she figures out the faint voice which calls out for her, probably somewhere at the far end of the corridor behind her.

Descending the three steps at the periphery of the canteen, she heads out into the campus lawns, hoping that Veer gets the gesture and leaves her alone. She's still angry at him and God forbid if that boy, the sole reason to this mess, crosses her path anytime soon, Aisha fears what her wrath would look like.

"Did I upset you in some way?"

And there he is.

"Ash, talk to me. You've been ignoring me since morning now!"

Don't hurl your bag on his face. Don't attack him with your shoe. Don't throw a punch his way-

"Aisha-"

"Veer, take the bloody signs that I'm making and leave." And, is Aisha surprised at the sudden irate in her voice? Yes, she definitely is.

When the series of ceaseless questions stop after her outburst, Aisha glances up to find those brown hues locked in on her face, flashing confusion and guilt and maybe, just maybe, Aisha feels a teensy bit bad about yelling at the boy who is oblivious about everything. But her stubborn self refuses to back off, it's too late anyway. So she keeps her glare persistent as her eyes search for any more emotions over Veer's face.

And her heart shrinks a tiny bit when she notes the flinch of dejection surfacing.

Vivek and Payal, who were accompanying Veer closely, were equally convulsed at Aisha's upsurge. Clearing his throat, Vivek takes Veer by his arm and tugs him away gently. Veer doesn't protest to it anymore, but simply turns on his heel before heading back to the canteen, his stance lacing wounded fervour.

"I'll go talk to him," Payal mumbles as she follows the boy, leaving Aisha in Vivek's company.

"I'm a useless person!" Aisha grumbles, stomping her foot over the grass, trying to channelize all the bottled up vehemence out with that smack on Earth and earning a few amused glances from onlookers.

"Stop beating up on yourself, Aisha," Vivek speaks in hopes of comforting her nerves.

"It's true, Vi," Aisha snaps, turning away as she heads off to God knows where. Her mind's a jumble and all she wants is some peace which seems too much to be asking from the universe.

"Explain yourself," Vivek offers, following her with his unfazed demeanour.

"My parents think I'm studying for the upcoming Physics test when all I'm planning about is the hairstyle that I'd be working on at the next round; I'm deceiving them both with this!" Aisha blurts out, letting go of the thoughts that have been clawing her alive. "All my useless ass can do is watch mutely as my parents are on the verge of calling their marri-" And she pauses abruptly, realizing the personal stuff she was about to spill out in her frustration.

Sighing, Aisha stops pacing, and drops her shoulder bag, letting it land over the grassy lawn with a soft thud. Closing her eyes, she runs her hands through her hair, clutching at the roots as she stifles a cry, not really wanting to grab more attention from the students in the distance. Her jaw clenches as she thinks of last evening when her father ended up rebuking at her with fury, warning her never to repeat such a suggestion ever again.

Apparently, Pranjol firmly believes that he can handle his own marriage very well. He doesn't need a third party to interfere in his personal life.

"Come this way," Vivek mumbles as he places an arm around Aisha, ushering her off the open lawns where every eye can spot the mess of a girl that she is at the moment. Without much question, Aisha scurries off the space, allowing the hazel-eyed boy to lead the path.

He leads her to the back of the campus building, surrounded with random wildflower bushes and a sort of clamminess in the air, considering the lack of sunlight with the building blocking the path for the light. Sighing, Aisha leans against the walls, trying her best to blink back her tears. No way is she going to cry in front of Vivek.

Her heart clenches with contemplation when the hazel-eyed boy steps up and wraps his arms around her, shielding her into a caring, fragile embrace. It's different from Veer's hugs which are warm and bone-crushingly strong. Vivek's arms drape around her rather expressively, pulling her into a trance of peace and comfort, bringing her frantic heart at ease.

And let it all go to hell, Aisha needs this.

It starts with soft sobs which slowly but gradually turn into absolute weeps, tears streaming down her face as she clutches onto his silken shirt, listening to the blissful whispers emanating from Vivek who rubs her back in soothing circles, attempting his best to pacify her.

Minutes pass in silence, laced with the excruciating sobs from Aisha who still clings onto Vivek's shirt for dear life. She's better than before but isn't really sure about how to face him with this anymore. Maybe the boy hears her thoughts, for he gently leans away, his hands resting on her forearms as he peers down at her with those soft, hazel hues. "You don't need to tell me anything," he assures to which Aisha nods mutely, wiping off the remnants of those tears from her cheeks.

"Do you think Veer will ever talk to me again?" Aisha asks, her voice a mere whisper.

"He will sulk, yes, but he'll surely come around in time," Vivek says, smiling down at her comfortingly.

"He better do that," Aisha responds with a nod, "otherwise I'm gonna kidnap Popo and blackmail that idiot."

To this Vivek ends up chuckling, his laughter surrounding the April air, chasing away any fragments of sorrow and distress that may have remained. Aisha watches wordlessly as his smile grows wide with the corner of his enthralling eyes crinkling lightly, causing her own lips to grace a small smile and making her at ease.

And she's grateful to Vivek for it all.

____________

Author's Note:-

Things don't always go as expected, right? 

Ps. I hope the character development is happening? I mean, the characters are displaying their personalities clearly to you? Do lemme know if I can improve. 

Stay tuned for the next update! 
Buh-byee