36a - Him & I within barren(S2)

NOTE: The story timeline is set in 2014 this story is concentric on that time and all the events are happening based on that time, and so is their past I hope you understand stories happening not in 2024 but in the past 2014, I guess I cleared a lot of doubts.

also, I made mistake it was year 2002 not 1999 mathematical error, apology for that.

The tires screeched, As almost about to burst from the air pressure and the sudden shift in direction.

With that, Prithvi hit the car recklessly against the offside of the road.

The crash followed with a heavy sound, leaving him numb as his head hit the steering wheel. He winced in irritation and pain, his senses reeling.

However, rather than searching for the bump or any evident scratch on his forehead, he moved his hand impatiently, tapping on his ear repeatedly as if trying to pause the ringing sound that wouldn't stop. His hands then moved to his head, pressing against his temples as if blocking the sounds that roared in his brain, tearing him apart inside. The noise was so overwhelming it made him nauseous-it felt as though he could hear the air changing its direction.

Struggling, Prithvi eventually made his way out of the car. He stumbled outside, the failed exhaust clamp still ringing with a malfunction that had temporarily deafened him. He was barely holding himself together, trying to escape the suffocating sensations in his mind.

It was bound to happen-driving with so much on his mind, at such an accelerated speed.

He was behaving so unlike himself, so unfamiliar to his own nature.

The place itself was entirely unfamiliar, with narrow roads carved out of rock and large mountains enclosing the area. There was very little light; with the only source of light- being the street lamps that flickered weakly, barely illuminating the desolation. His car's headlights created a small cloud of colloidal, snow-like dust.

Breathing heavily, Prithvi staggered, his legs unsteady beneath him. He began to move to the other side of the road, his eyes red and wide with fear, as if haunted by something he couldn't shake.

And then, he froze.

Someone called out from behind him, their voice cutting through the creepy silence.

"Where are you running away now?" Prithvi halted.

His body was as still as a stone placed in the middle of the road. His rigid muscles stood unmoving, his untucked shirt and disheveled blazer hanging awkwardly over him. He was hardly breathing, standing there like a motionless sculpture or a monument frozen in time.

The perfectly gelled or sprayed hair he once had was now a tangled mess, betraying the exhaustion etched into him. A scratch marred the left side of his temple, with dried, brownish blood crusted over it. His entire disheveled state seemed to mock him, teasing and pulling at his fraying edges.

Prithvi backed away and walked out as if walking on eggshells, anxiously and silently searching for the speaker. He felt as if, at that moment, the past was calling him back, forcing him to revisit haunting memories.

He turned around but found no one.

"I asked, where are you running away now, Prithvi!?" the same voice called out.

He turned again, searching for an answer, and everything around him turned into a dusty fog.

The fog seemed to overpower his senses.

Then, he stumbled into a forest and found himself trapped... within.

The flickering street lights cast a strikingly warm glow on his amber skin tone, giving away a hint of strange guilt that seemed to consume his entire existence.

Perhaps, indeed, the look in his eyes reflected uncompromising guilt and regret.

"Where are you running, huh?" This time, he could see the person clearly. Prithvi gulped hard and stretched out a trembling hand.

"No, stop! Please get down," he pleaded.

"But why, Prithvi? You always get to play all the time," the voice's owner, a girl, said.

She stood at the edge of a large rocky cliff, her presence was creepily glowing. "Now it's my time to play. You were always the big player, Prithvi..."

The girl appeared calm, completely opposite to Prithvi's growing panic, as if she had reached a state of ultimate peace.

But suddenly, she began crying, her voice choking as she blamed him."Y...you killed me."

Prithvi was growing more and more tense and pressured. Uneasy, he moved backward, shaking his head. Suddenly, he began breathing more hard, as if breathing normally was becoming impossible for him.

It wasn't just the girl-he felt like he was losing his own life with every breath she took. Uneasily, he placed a hand near his left chest, trying to calm the sharp pain radiating there.

"No... don't get killed," he murmured to himself like a mantra.

"Prithvi, right now I'm dying, and the reason is only you. You've become the reason that I have no option but to die," the girl screamed.

Prithvi stepped backward as the girl moved her leg closer to the edge of the cliff.

She stopped herself, then sat down and began crying. "Why, Prithvi? Why?"

"What... what are you doing here?" Prithvi asked, his voice trembling.

The girl looked up, staring at him. "Please go. I said go... go away from me. Leave me!"

"Leave you? Prithvi, you killed me..." the girl said angrily as she stood up.

"No, I... I didn't," Prithvi stammered, attempting to defend himself. "No, I can't. I can never kill someone."

"You did!" she shouted, marching toward him from the edge of the cliff. "I... Prithvi... I-"

"No, stop!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as the girl slipped over the edge. He rushed forward, only to find her vanish into the air like magic dust.

He breathed heavily, staring at the spot where he had last seen the girl, sweating.

Then, someone tapped his shoulder lightly.

"chéri!" a voice came from behind him.

"Huh!" was the only sound he made in response as he turned around, trying to grasp what was happening. His expression shifted from shock to something more haunting. The girl placed her fair hand on his shoulder, her expression changing from joyous to concerned as she studied him.

"What happened? Why are you so stressed? What happened, chéri?"

He tried to compose himself. "I- I..."

She cut him off, smiling gently. "I'm sorry, mon chéri, but I was asking you... could you wait for me for a week?"

She waited patiently, her charming smile directed at him.

"P... Pearl, how can you speak?"

She looked annoyed by his response, trying to remain nonchalant but couldn't help herself from asking, "What? What are you talking about? Chéri, you know how to ruin the mood, but I'll let you go this time because I'm really happy right now."

He looked completely bewildered, trying to snap his mind back into focus, but it felt like dust was clouding his judgment. "H... how?"

She looked irritated, her eyes and nose scrunching together and freckles turning red. She burst out, "Prithvi, I have a one-week performance. I need to leave and prepare. I'll give you my answer after."

She started to move, but he put his hand on her arm, blocking her.

"Now don't say I can't go there because you can't accompany me," she protested.

Turning his deep grey eyes on her, Prithvi stared into the soul of the girl. "H... how are you able to be here?"

"Why? Why can't I be here?" she pointed out, but before she could finish, he cut her off mid-sentence. She turned, alarmed. "You are dead. Pearl"

Prithvi stared at her, terror and shock flooding through him. "You are dead!" he shouted, and the girl disappeared into the fog.

He put his hand on his hair, looking around but found no one else than him. His words echoed in the empty silence.

There, he was regretting every nanosecond. Whatever he was now, if anyone could be the biggest hater of Prithvi Chauhan, it would be himself-the biggest hater of what he had become.

He was totally exhausted, a man who no longer resembled the image he had projected to the world. The man who sought authority-he was no longer visible. The real Prithvi was just an ordinary person, skilled at disguising himself in fancy parties. Outside of that, this Prithvi wasn't someone capable of handling himself in tough situations or enduring hardship. The real Prithvi struggled to face the world, while the fake one had the power to make others swoon with his mere presence. This one was just a scared pony, a single branch broken from its stem.

The powerful Mr. Prithvi Chauhan was nowhere to be seen, neither in the spectator's view nor in the near distance.

He was a weak man, trapped in a never-ending cycle of juggling himself, only to end up ensnared like a mouse in a trap, punished endlessly. His whole existence felt like it was shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller-like a tiny piece of magic dust or a black hole in the universe collapsing into itself, as if succumbing to the inevitability of the Big Crunch.

What was he on? He looked around, confused. Was I finally going insane? Is this the final sign? he thought to himself.

Why didn't he feel relaxed? Why didn't the open space, being out of the car, bring him relief? Instead, it still felt as though he were trapped. What was his mind up to?

Why did he feel like a nest, perfectly sized to enclose him-built specifically to capture his fractured identity? Was this all his doing? Was his hopelessness driving him into this inescapable prison?

Covered with the cowardice of big mirrors, unable to face himself, Prithvi's thoughts churned relentlessly. Were these mirrors meant to monitor him? To watch over his wildness and desires that always managed to surface?

Everything around him seemed to spin anticlockwise in circles. For a faint, shattering minute, he felt a precarious cloud forming within him-a storm threatening to erupt, tearing through the barren emptiness inside him, leaving no room for reflection or reprieve.

And in those fleeting moments, it felt as if everything could change-his whole fate could transform.

But barrens are called barrens for a reason-they can never be evergreen. Their fate is to remain deserted and dry, untouched and unvisited.

No flowers grow there.

So how could he arrive at the compelling conclusion that some rebellious plant would suddenly sprout with a bang, striking through his desert and turning his land into a lush green haven again? Restoring its beauty and vibrant colors seemed nothing short of folly.

It was sheer stupidity to entertain such thoughts when brutal facts were already laid bare before him, spitted on his face. It seemed whatever he sought in life always became blurry, while the things he faked grew gigantic in size, glaringly visible and uncomfortably clear. That contradicted not just his hopes but also his very sense of spirituality.

He heard the same voices again, swirling around him, but this time, there were too many to distinguish just one. Some were laughing, some crying, and some were screaming.

Prithvi tilted his head in discomfort, clutching his ears as a pang of pain shot through them, feeling as if he was going deaf.

The ringing noise crescendoed and then abruptly gave way to silence.

"Prithvi," came the sound at last, spoken in unison.

Prithvi turned, his heart pounding. "You!" he cried out.

"You were just there a moment ago. How...how is this possible?" He saw the same girl standing at the cliff's edge.

"No! Don't go there! You don't need to prove anything!" Prithvi screamed, his voice breaking with desperation.

"Stop! Please don't go... I said listen to me once...will you?!"

She turned and began walking toward him, smiling, her face serene despite his panic. "What are you saying again?"

"I said don't go there, please. It's not safe," Prithvi gulped, his voice trembling abnormally. "I said don't go---"

She cut him off, saying, "No, but why didn't you tell me earlier?" She came face to face with him. Her face and features were different-she didn't resemble the girl standing on the cliff but rather the one who had tapped him on the shoulder. And as Prithvi looked at her, he seemed sad and regretful, as though he had committed some grave sin.

She was pretty-very pretty-and unusually fair for an Indian girl. But her words, on the other hand, weren't pretty and pleasing. Unlike her beauty, they carried a weight of ache, the tone of someone who had endured real pain and betrayal. "I already went there, and now you're acting like a saint...." She looked like someone who was having fun watching him suffer.

"I'm sorry, Pearl, Pearl, I don't know, please...."

"No, no, chéri, you shouldn't beg like that in front of anyone, huh?" she said, taking his hand in hers.

"Prithvi, I didn't do anything," the girl cried, trembling, moving backward, shaking. "I didn't do anything, believe me... I did only---"

Prithvi looked traumatized, moving backward in fear, shaking his head in denial, rubbing his hand near his neck and face.

He took more steps backward. "No... no! No!"

Out of the blue, he felt someone put weight on his shoulder, turning him with all the complaints. "Why are you not listening to me, Prithvi? Does my life not matter to you?"

He turned to meet the previous girl and said, "Huh!" But Prithvi quickly turned back, seeing the girl, feeling an urgent need to tell her and stop her. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for disappearing. I should have been with you."

"But you never liked me, right?" the girl asked, waiting for his answer.

Prithvi looked nervous all of a sudden, as if he didn't have any affirmative answer to stop her. His silence only brought her more turmoil, encouraging her to lash out.

"Prithvi, you never did, right? You know how much I went through without you, all alone... those boys, they made a joke out of me!" She pointed her finger towards herself, breathing sharply, her body thin like a straw, that might, with one turn of air, be taken away into the depths of a dense overflowing mountain ditch.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I thought of coming, I never knew you would take such a step. If I had known, I would have come to you." He felt the urgent need to explain his side of the truth.

He took a deep sigh, then muttered, "I apologize, now please leave me alone."

"Chéri!" The girl stepped in front of him, interrupting. "You promised, at least not with her, but with me, to spend your life. You said we would live forever."

"You said you would live forever... mon chéri," she came in front of him, while he marched backward. She gritted her teeth together, while Prithvi looked over her shoulder toward the girl standing on the cliff, looking at him gravely.

Then he turned to the girl standing in front of him, both of them glowing eerily. She followed him as he moved backward, shaking his head, and putting his hand on his head.

A migraine pain shifted into his system.

He closed his eyes again and, with half-closed eyes, tried to look at them, but he couldn't really see-they were radiating too much light. Now, seeing was becoming hard, as if breathing wasn't already a challenge for him. The pain was inflicting his whole body, his legs staggering with the increasing smog and dangerous frequency.

He didn't know where he was!

"Mon chéri! Prithvi!" the girl called him again as if she didn't care one bit about his suffering. "If we can't live forever, then we can die, Prithvi... huh!" She came close to him, holding his hand.

"No, no! No!" Prithvi tried to remove his hand from hers.

Her hands were really cold and bloodless, grave cold, strangely white. He removed his hand and rubbed his back on his trousers, moving backward. But in that movement, he tripped on a stone. The woman didn't stop.

"No! No, I can't!" he cried out and pushed his heavy body with all his strength, moving backward.

"I said no! Why don't you listen?" he shouted with all his strength, closing his eyes tightly, as he felt her presence hauntingly near him.

He waited for a response, his eyes still closed. But all he heard back was his own voice echoing in the silence. His voice became unstable, and his breathing was audible. His struggle was real, not just some piece of hyperventilating imagination. "Why are you back again? First, you leave me, abandon me!" Putting his pain into words was becoming much harder than anything else.

He was disappointed.

He didn't stop-nothing stopped him from asking, roaring out, "Then why are you coming again, huh? You didn't trust me, now you're here to blame me? Why? You left me!" He gulped hard, putting his hand on his chest, forming a big fist, and hitting harder as if trying to move the stone that seemed to suffocate him, or maybe twist in a wicked manner.

"Not once! Can I ever have peace?" The voice was all dried out from tiredness, giving in, frustrated.

"Why can't I ever have peace? What did I deserve to get this life?" He groaned loudly at his dying fate, then opened his eyes to look back, eye to eye. He was right; he deserved to know. What did he do wrong? There's nothing wrong in asking, "What did I do wrong?" If we don't know, don't we deserve to know why life is mocking us so cruelly?

He didn't remember being cruel to anyone-so why? Why him?

"Please..." he looked around, continuing to speak but finding no one.

Suddenly, it felt like he was talking to the air. He looked around-no one was there. He shouted, "Please stop playing, whoever you are! I said, come out!" Prithvi tried to stand, but then failed, settling back on his knees with support, panting heavily, no longer having the energy to talk or fight back.

His hands were on the soil, supporting him.

He looked around, searching, wondering why he was no longer in the forest, but still felt suffocated, as if his soul were caged in an invisible trap-hard to breathe, hard to stretch his body. Every move he made was painful.

He was having an attack.

No more forest, no more cliff-just rock-covered roads, like where he had come from. But it still felt like a trap.