64

-• we'll wait forever •-

Rudra

I don't know what a family is.

Opening the tap, I collect cold water in the cup of my palms and splash it on my face. The heat in my blood is eager, like boiling lava, springing above the confines, rushing to spill past the edges. Is it anger or is it anxiety pumping my heart so fast? Maybe both. Because I wish to thrash everything around me with my bare hands and at the same time, I want to find a damn corner to hide in until the sun rises and I can get the hell out of here.

I don't care what these people think of me. And I certainly couldn't give a dime if they want me around as a part of their family. I've never found a place among people, and I'm not about to try and fit in just because a bunch of people are ready to offer me a space between their tight knit relationships.

The thought of trusting people unnerves. Because it's dependent. Trust, in itself, is so wrecked and weakened, that it breaks over and over again, and still falls in the wrong hands. I can't be one of those emotional fools. I hate associating my decisions with someone else's actions. I hate it when people say, I trust you because you've given me a reason to. No. If they've given you a reason to trust them, they'll also give you a reason to break that trust. Humans are fickle creatures. You cannot ever trust them.

It took me seven years, a thousand lies, and two heartbreaks to put my trust in Taranya, and the irony being? It was all my fault. If I can ruin my happiness with my own hands, how can I put that responsibility in someone else's hands and turn a blind eye to it, hoping they don't misuse it?

Because they will.

I got lucky with my wife. She has to put up with me, not the other way around. I know that I'm too much work. I have many issues, and I'm not emotionally stable, I'm barely even reliable. I'm a mess. A mess she has so lovingly scooped up in her fragile hands, and has been gently sorting it out ever since we got married. She is my person. She knows me. She understands me. And that's a miracle within itself. You don't look at every broken thing and think it must have been perfect once, so let me try to put it back together. Because that's a responsibility you'll never want to take up. Broken things have sharp corners, and uneven edges, sometimes they cut deep enough to leave scars, and sometimes they don't fit because before reaching you, they've gone through times that had grated off their remaining softness, leaving them abandoned and decrepit for the rest of their lives.

These people, as hard as they try, cannot become my family. I'm tired as it is of my own past, I cannot listen to theirs as well, and find comfort in our shared miseries. These people are loud, they are demanding, and they want me to accept them as easily as they're willing to accept me, but I can't. That's not how I've made myself.

I've only one family. And it's Taranya. With her I'll grow as a man, as a husband, and as a father. It's her I trust with offering me changes, and new relationships, for I know she'll be standing with me through it all.

"Rudra, are you okay?" Taranya asks softly from the outside, her tone apprehensive. I'm mad at her. She clearly knew I'm not comfortable staying here. But she persisted, assuming this is best for me. It's not. I'd know my good better than anyone else considering I've had only bad thrown at me all my life. This is not what I want, and I've never wished for it.

"Okay, I'm sorry," she mumbles. "Look, these people are actually nice, Rudra. They really care about you. They want to get to know you."

I place my hands on the basin and lean in, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The water drips from the tip of my nose and chin. I inhale deep breaths to compose myself. It's just a night. I will sleep it off and the first thing in the morning I'll be doing is to get the fuck out of here.

Life had shoved me in situations far more uncomfortable than these. This should be a piece of cake for me.

Standing straight, I take off the towel from the hook and dab it across my face, wiping my hands dry before putting it back in its place. As soon as I open the door, Taranya stands straight, looking up at me nervously.

She looks gorgeous.

I've always loved this woman in white.

But in white traditionals?

Fuck me.

I love the skirt. It drops low for me to see her bare waist, one that I've fucked far more times with my tongue that I can keep count of. The blue dupatta is styled in pleats, draped over her shoulder, with one of the corners tucked inside the skirt, while she holds the veil on the crown of her head. After marriage, it's the first time I'm seeing her in so much jewellery. I wouldn't say I'm a fan of it, it's too much work to get them off, but to my eyes, she's a piece of art and they certainly love what they're seeing.

"What a clown," I mutter, still angry at her for trapping me here and moving past her, holding back the chuckle of amusement that tilts my lips at the corners as she gasps loudly, certainly offended at my words.

"Did you just call me a clown?" She whirls around, hands on hips as I sit down on the bed end and look up at her.

"You look like one."

Her eyes grow wide in disbelief. "I don't!" But still, she hurries in front of the mirror and examines herself from all over, turning and twisting, and posing like supermodels. "You've got buttons for eyes, mate. I look hot. You're just jealous you cannot pull off feminine and masculine fashion like I can. I bet I can wear one of your suits and still look sizzling hot."

You will. You'll look hot in a fucking grain sack, or a waste bag, and in fucking nothing.

"Why are you getting so defensive?" I frown, enjoying the teasing. It's putting my mind off the stress of having to stay overnight at an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people claiming to be my family. In the records, yes. They're right. In reality? It's the pitfall of all uncomfortable things.

"I'm not." She snarls. "You know what? It's good you have that huge dick to make up for your antisocial personality."

"I've a huge dick?" I smirk.

She scoffs. "Imagine your whole personality being all about your huge dick. You've got a few screws loose. Don't talk to me before you fix them!" She turns back around to face the mirror, trying to look confident but failing to as she eyes herself unsurely. Great. I feel like a dick now.

Getting up, I step up past the ottoman and wrap my arms around her front, bringing her back to my chest. She struggles in my embrace, trying to fight me off her, but when I don't budge, she gives up and falls quiet. "You look gorgeous, my love."

She snorts.

"I was lying earlier."

Nothing but silence.

"Look, if I was genuine with my insult, I'd have already handed you a note of hundred. But did I?"

She shakes her head.

"That's because I didn't mean it." I kiss her temple.

She smiles shyly, before she realises the underlying meaning of my words and the smile drops. She tears herself off me and spins around, a wild hurricane raging in her eyes. "Wait! So all the times you called me dumb and slow and stupid, you meant that?"

"Now now, Taranya, I've already said I'd never use such offensive language to describe a woman's lack of intellect." I clarify myself. "There's a huge disparity between your IQ and EQ, but I'd never call you dumb, you're just a lot more used to making decisions without putting much thought into them."

She grits her teeth. "An eloquent arsehole is still an arsehole."

"I'll consider the eloquent part as a compliment."

"And the arsehole part?" She asks sarcastically.

"Your inability to form an accurate opinion."

She hits me on the chest, having nothing else to counter with. I laugh softly. She shoves me on the shoulder and I stumble back, still laughing hard to the point my stomach hurts. "I hate you!" She grabs the lapel of my coat in tight fists, glaring up at me heatedly.

Removing my wallet from the pocket, I slide out a note of hundred and roll it, slipping it between her cleavage. "There, I paid you for your service."

"I'm not for your amusement." She growls.

"You are." I reply. "You're responsible for my every plight, every moment of grief, and every second of happiness. I've earned you Taranya, and now you're mine to do everything I please." I remind her. "You own me, it's only fair I own you too."

"I own you?"

I nod.

"Alright then," she takes out the cash thrust in her cleavage and slides it in the waistband of her pants. "I'm paying for your services now. You wouldn't disappoint your owner now, would you?"

I smirk, drop her nose ring and chase her lips with mine. We sink into each other's mouth with a synchronous moan. I hold her waist firmly, the bare skin alight beneath my touch, like flames of fire, licking ferociously against my icy surface, determined to melt them off and break through my walls.

A knock on the door causes us to spring apart. She fixes herself and attends the door. The woman from before, who Tara introduced to me as Devyani smiles at us from the doorstep. "Hi, the dinner is ready. I've come to escort you." At her words, Taranya stiffens.

I shake my head in disbelief. She clearly has restrictions when it comes to food habits. Why would she put herself through this torture for me?

And it hits me.

That's right, she's doing this for me.

I didn't ask her to, and I don't even want her to, but the fact that she's going out of her comfort zone, and is even willing to challenge her eating disorder just so I can spend some time around the people that want me to be a part of their family sets my heart aflame, like it finally found an everlasting reason to keep shining bright, even if it means at the expense of its own demise.

"Uh, yeah, sure, let's - let's go," she looks over her shoulder at me, plastering a fake smile over her face, and reaches for the dupatta that had fallen off her head. "C'mon, Rudra," she ushers me out.

I follow the ladies out and close the door after me, placing my hand on the small of my wife's back, and rubbing my thumb on the bare skin to calm her nerves down. She doesn't need to worry about putting herself through any kind of agony for me. I'm there to have her back and fight the wars she's unsure about.

The dining hall follows traditional dining methods. Fourteen low upholstered seats are queued up parallel to each other, seven on one side and seven on the other. Copper plates and bowls and spoons are dished out and arranged on the small flat tables in front of them. All the men of the house sit on the left and all the women sit on the right. Thank God for that because I wasn't eating if my wife is to be made wait until I'm done. I know these people follow the old practices, and I had assumed they'll also put up with the patriarchal standards under the disguise of culture bullshit, but since they're not, I feel slightly guilty for being so judgemental.

The man of the house, Mr. Rana Singh Rawal sits in the middle, next to him his elder son, and on his left his younger son, and then his adult grandsons sitting next to their fathers. The kids must have already eaten and are off because I can hear their giggles and laughs coming from the corridors but they aren't being called for dinner.

"Come here, Tara Bai sa," a woman says to my wife. Taranya displays a shaky, nervous smile and walks up to the woman, sitting down in the place designated for her.

"I want to sit next to my wife." I say loudly.

The chatters stop. Women have their jaws hanging open while the men stare at me in shock. Well, except one man. Because he looks furious.

Taranya looks embarrassed.

"We follow certain rules here-"

"I can see that." I cut him off. "But I'm not used to them."

"Anita Bindani, arrange two seats for them seperately." The old woman says.

"Ji bhabho," The woman I'm guessing is Anita, says obediently.

"Padmini!" Mr. Rawal chastises sternly.

"Manne niyam se jyada mharo choro pyara hai." She shuts him up.

Unexpected warmth fills my body at her words. I shake it off.

"Atthe aawo," she beckons me and Taranya towards the adjacent couple seats arranged at the end. Taranya gets up hesitantly and walks over. We both sit down together. "Anita Bindani, serve them." The petite woman nods and instantly squats down to serve us. Taranya stares at her plate nervously, eyeing the many delicacies they keep on adding. I reach to cup the back of her hand discreetly and the tension in her shoulders loosen.

As everyone sit down to start dinner, Taranya and I exchange looks. She catches onto my nonverbal affirmation and nods. For the next hour we sneakily exchange food items that she can and cannot eat. I know I'm going to be full to the brim by the time we're done. It's not easy to eat all that's on your plate, along with the most things on your wife's plate while women of the house are adamant on feeding you the appetite of an elephant.

"Aur doon?" Anita bends over to serve me more dal. I shake my head. "Only a little?"

"No-" I'm cut off by a loud burp of my own. A deafening silence follows. My hand slaps over my mouth and I look down in embarrassment as everyone bursts out laughing. I even see Taranya's shoulders shake from the corner of my eyes.

The tense atmosphere automatically lightens and faces smile, chatter, and laugh openly. After dinner, Taranya insists on staying back to help the women clean up while the men move on to do their own things. I get stuck between following my wife and holing up in the room until the next morning.

"Rudra," startled, my eyes shift to the source of the voice.

Padmini approaches me with a tentative smile. "You've eaten a lot. I'm sure you are full. Come take a walk with me."

I clear my throat and look at the kitchen entrance. Taranya blends in with the women so easily. It makes me envious of her ease, how she accepts any and every thing life throws her way. Her soul is so fluid, flexible, it adjusts without a complaint, without losing a piece of herself. I also admire that about her. She's too good for me.

"I'm proud of your choice."

My head whips to her in attention of her words.

"You couldn't have found a more wonderful woman. She's perfect for you."

And that is enough to bring a smile on my face. I can see it makes the woman happy because she smiles wider than me, but her eyes carry the sadness that her lips fight to hide.

"Come," she places a hand on my bicep, worried I'll pull away. "Please?" Sighing in defeat, I face away from Taranya and let the woman lead me outside the dining hall. She takes me to the third floor, and down the hallway where several paintings line up in a queue. We stop in front of the one that reads my mother's name and the time she was alive. Only twenty years. My heart clenches.

I turn around to leave. I'm not ready for this.

"She loved you the most in the world."

My steps falter.

"And she hated your half brother to the point she wanted to kill him. It made her so guilty she couldn't believe the mother inside her was capable of such thoughts. She was afraid she'll be a threat to her own child, so she left this world early." I turn around and Padmini looks over her shoulder at me, "She was scared her love for you would turn her into a monster for your brother."

I tilt my chin up, sucking a deep breath to reel in the chaos happening inside my head, somehow controlling the assault behind my eyes, but I still feel them tear up.

She loved me.

God, she loved me so much she was afraid she'll kill my half brother for me.

I don't know whether the thought terrifies me or soothes me. I don't know if that makes her an ideal mother or not. Maybe not. But I'd have still chosen her alive than dead. Even if that makes me selfish for giving up on my half brother. I want that shred of love, and I want it with her, I don't care if her maternal instincts towards me were strong enough to destroy someone else, that being her own second kid, a product of rape.

But that's not what happened.

Because if she chose death over me, does that not mean she also chose him over me? She left me to die, because she didn't want to be the reason of her second child's death.

So what's the point of loving me more?

I never received it.

"Don't ever hate her." Padmini begs.

"I never did."

I pull back into my shell and bid her goodnight. Taranya returns to the room close to the midnight. She removes all the jewellery, drops the dupatta on the couch and joins me on the bed. I take her in my arms, gathering her close until her head is on my chest and her arm draped across my torso. She falls asleep almost immediately. I stare up at the rotating fan for the rest of the night.

The next morning, at the break of the dawn, I wake my love with soft kisses on and sweet nothings. She stirs awake and whines, burying her face in the nook of my neck, unwilling to get up.

"C'mon, Esther, we gotta go." I rub her bare arm.

"You get ready first." She pulls away and presses her face into the pillow.

Sighing, I leave the bed to get ready.

An hour later, I'm standing back over the bed to wake her up. She finally complies. We move downstairs at six in the morning. The entire family comes to see us off.

"Will you be returning?" The girl named Devyani asks, a giddy smile spreading across her face. She's the same eight year old who had asked me the same question a decade ago.

But my answer hasn't changed. "No."

Her smile falls.

Taranya slaps me on the arm. "We'll definitely come back, Devyani."

Devyani forces a smile back. She knows the truth. We're not returning.

"It's okay," Padmini whispers, "We'll wait," and her eyes meet mine before she adds, "Forever."

But a family wants to know me.

Because suddenly, I'm not so alone anymore.

There, tied up the loose ends of his past neatly so we can move onto bigger things.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.