Chapter-12: Question Not Asked? Not Answered.

Aadhira

My first kiss was at the side of the lake, and as the cool air surrounded us, I felt his warm lips enclosed around mine. It was strange. The feeling of being kissed by the person you like. I have read a lot of novels and read many descriptions of one’s first kiss, and it’s always the same but feels different. Now I understand what’s different from each one of those descriptions. Love is a strong feeling, and it’s different for each couple; their stories, experiences, and situations are different. With such varying feelings of love, their kisses differ from each other too.

The feeling is the same, but the way I want to describe it is different. The air around us feels much colder with his warmth on me. Or is it just my imagination? He tilts his head and wraps his lips higher on mine, and I feel something tingling in me. Then a question popped into my head. Is it his first kiss? But as soon as the question arises, I place my palm on his shoulders and give him a slight push. We part, and I try really hard to catch my breath. Did I just kiss? I kissed Keshav. Or he kissed me. It doesn’t matter; we just kissed.

“We just kissed.” Keshav murmurs.

“Yes, we did.” I murmured back.

***

Keshav: ‘Where are you?'

You: ‘Where else? At home.’

Keshav: ‘Then, come down.'

You: ‘What do you mean?'

Keshav: ‘I mean, come down and open the door, Aadhi'

I sit up in alarm. What the hell? He’s downstairs? I immediately get out of bed and look through my window. The road was empty, with no sign of life. Not here.

You: ‘Stop joking. You’re not here. I just checked my window.'

As soon as I hit send, I heard something crack behind me. I turn around to find that everything’s normal. What was that? Then there’s another crack. This time, I realize it’s the sound of something hitting the window glass. I go close to the window, completely alert.

Clack.

I jump away from the window in a fit of fear as a tiny yet accelerated pebble hits the window right in front of my face. That definitely scared me. I pick myself up from the floor and cautiously return to the window. At first, there was nothing, and then another rock hit the window, and I saw the direction it came from. And with that, I found Keshav standing under the mango tree outside our garden, waving at me.

I am so stuck in the moment that he had to throw another pebble onto my window. At this rate, the window might actually break. I signal him to stop throwing pebbles, but I can’t help but be stunned by this surprise. He’s supposed to be in Vizag. As far as I know, his parents got divorced, and he’s living with his grandmother, who is going to take care of him on holidays when he gets home. Why is he here?

Another small rock hits my window, and my attention snaps back to him. He’s going to break my window tonight. He signals me to come down, and I nod in agreement. My parents are sleeping, and I know I shouldn’t, but Keshav is someone I trust, and I am doing nothing wrong or being reckless. But then again, why am I explaining myself?

I slowly open the door to my room and step out into the hall. I pass the TV silently and open the bolt locks of the front door, and then I slowly close the door behind me, making sure not to let it lock from inside. Then I go downstairs to meet Keshav.

As soon as I reach him, he closes the distance between us and hugs me tightly. No one would believe that an introvert like Keshav can actually be this affectionate in love. Oh, yes. Keshav and I are now in a relationship. I think so. Neither of us really talked about it, but maybe we are kind of a couple now. Because friends definitely won’t give each other air kisses on the phone. Yes, we’re more than friends. But then again, we were never just friends; there was always something more to us.

“How was your day?"

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? And why did you come? Aren’t you supposed to be with your grandmother?"

“So many questions. Can't you just be happy that I am here with you?"

“Yes, I am happy, but your grandmother must be alone at home in Vizag. It is not appropriate for you to be here."

“Thank you for your concern for my grandmother, but I didn’t leave her in Vizag. We both came to Vijayawada together. Grandma's son, my uncle, lives here and wanted me to spend the summer here, so I agreed." Keshav moves closer, enclosing me in his arms, as he said. “I am starting to like it here, in your hometown.” I relax in his arms and close my eyes as I lay my head against his heart. Comfort. There's a lot of it in his arms. Yet, there are questions in this relationship that are neither answered nor asked. Do all questions need an answer? My answer? Yes. If there is no answer to something, then there should be no questions raised. If there is a question, there is an answer, and if it’s not for the search of the unknown, where would we be now? If it is to remain unknown, what is the point of the question to begin with?

What is our relationship? I didn’t say I loved him, nor did he. Are we still a couple? What did the kiss mean? What does this hug mean? What do my heated cheeks mean? What does his racing heartbeat mean? What does this moment mean?

***

“My dad used to take me out on every new year right after the countdown. There was so much traffic that the bike hardly moved. My mom was not much into it. She always stayed behind. You should be here next year. I know you don’t like crowds, but New Year's is fun. Maybe I should take you to the 'Eat Street' while you’re here, but they’ll open late at night, and I don’t know if Daddy would allow me to go out that late at night. But you can go alone if you want, but I have to tell you, there’ll be a crowd. A lot.”

I ramble away about all the places he should visit in Vijayawada as he slurps on his pina colada. Yep, he likes pineapple for some reason. I hate pineapple; it’s in our jeans. No one in my family likes it, but I still like him. So, it can't be helped.

“I think the only place I should visit is your home.” That brings a smile to my face. Sometimes, when he doesn’t look moody or cold, he’s cute. And it happens when I am with him, or I think it only happens with me. God, I like him.

“Are you saying that you want to meet my parents?” I don't know why, but I just can’t imagine him meeting my parents. I still think we’re too young and don’t have our own source of income. Keshav is someone who can win over parents pretty fast, but the problem is that it would be fake. He hides it well, but he’s an introvert. In front of most people, he acts like a playful person, like any other normal 19-year-old, but he’s not any of that. He doesn’t like it when people touch him or talk to him like they’re close, but he doesn’t show it and lets it go. I don’t want him to put on such an act before my parents, but if he doesn’t put up the act, will my parents be able to accept him?

Lost in my own head, I didn’t notice the heavy awkwardness that fell over the air around us. As Keshav continues to stay silent, I don’t say a word because, let’s be honest, even I am not sure whether he should meet my parents. The silence continues until I break the ice.

“Have you visited ‘the Prakasham barrage’?"

“No, I am happy staying at home.” I can tell immediately that he’s not in his best mood. Did I make him uncomfortable by asking about meeting the parents? But I genuinely wanted to know what was on his mind.

“Let me take you there tomorrow. It's beautiful out there. I used to feel so at ease there when I was a kid. I can also take you to the Durga temple. It’s pretty close to the barrage."

“We’ll see. Tell me when you’re free, and I’ll come pick you up."

“Babu, no need. I was born and brought up here; I am not the one new to the city. I can manage. The question is, Can you?"

“I am fine; I'll get there on my own."

“Will you bring your grandma along?"

"I don’t know. Let me ask her." I smile at him, but I can’t help but wonder: if he’s that uncomfortable about meeting my parents, will he be okay with me meeting his grandma?

“Sure.” He takes another sip of his pina colada, and I contemplate how to continue this conversation.

“Tell me about Vizag. Your childhood, how was it like?” Keshav pauses with his fingers on his straw. It was only for a second, but I think I saw it right. His expression dropped, like his mask just slipped, and I saw his smile empty out of his face. He blinks away the unpleasant expression quickly before he pulls back the curtains on his face and smiles for me, but it is not my smile. It’s the plastic smile that he gives everyone else.

I return his smile with a questioning glance, and he simply shakes his head.

“I studied all the time. I had many friends who I didn’t really pay attention to, and I almost never talked to my parents unless I was forced to. My childhood may look very dull to the likes of you, but it was the most enjoyable one for me. It was just peaceful."

I wanted to ask about his parents, but he’s always on edge when it comes to his parents, so I skipped the topic altogether.

“Was there any time you didn’t study? But why didn't I have many friends?"

“Did you not hear? I just said I had many friends."

“Yeah, friends that you don’t pay attention to. Why? Is it that hard to open up to someone?” He doesn’t answer for a while, and I wonder if he will ever answer when he speaks.

“I am opening up to you. So, I don’t know anymore."

That was all it took for me to understand that my introverted, maybe-maybe-not boyfriend is the most real to me. Does that mean that he meant it with the kiss? I am not a dating expert, and this is my first time liking someone. So, I am not sure if it’s normal for people to just kiss and stay together without talking about it, as they carry on being in a somewhat complicated, unable to describe, love relationship.

Keshav comes with a lot of complications and too much baggage, and I wonder what made me like him in the first place. Yes, it was his charming smile with his dimples associated with it and that handsome face that matched his personality. If I take out the things I now know about him, he’s nothing less than perfect, not that he’s no longer perfect. Just more human. It was at that time that I saw him crying, and when I found out he could be weak too, I realized it doesn’t matter why I liked him at the first moment anymore, because I have more reasons to like him now than ever. For letting me in and holding on to this emotion when all he has to do is hold himself back. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to push me away, but he chose not to, for god knows what reason.

Love is so crazy. It made me fall for someone with no shred of light but a lot of fake brightness. He lived for eighteen years before he met me, but somehow he never met someone he could open up to. After emptying his pina colada and my peanut butter milkshake, we both strolled around the area. I take him to Raghavayya Park. We walk for a while and then sit on a bench at the side of the garden where big trees, whose names I don’t know, are grown, leaning against the wall behind them.

“When I was a kid, my dad used to bring me here a lot. Even my mother used to join us. She is always ready to picnic. My mom used to pack us snacks and food and stuff the bag with blankets and all the necessities we needed. To make the food, she used to wake up early in the morning, which she usually doesn’t do, and she even packs me a change of clothes because I often get my clothes dirty while playing. Whenever we went there, I used to butter up people there. It didn’t matter if they were strangers; I'd go up to them and start talking to them and asking them questions until I got comfortable with them. Then I used to introduce them to my parents. Maybe it’s because I am so nosy that it is very easy for me to make friends, but I never had to try to open up to anyone in my life. Or is it because I am an open book?"

“Must be later."

I laugh at his spot-on assumption. “That must be it. My parents were always happy that I am so good at socializing because it means I won’t have a hard time in new places, and me not being so bad at studies was only a bonus. As I grew up, they had less and less to worry about me. Whenever I whined about them not caring enough about me, they used to just say, ‘You can make it on your own out there’. I thought it was just them bringing typical parents, but when I came to Chennai and they got me settled here, I saw the worry on their faces."

“Anyone who knows you would worry about you, Aadhi.” I turned to face Keshav and saw that he was telling the truth. I give him an annoyed smile.

“I am not so worrisome, you know?"

“Whatever you say,” and then he places his hands on mine and looks me straight in the face. “It’s cold”

“It’s summer, you idiot!"

He just smiles that dimpled playboy smile that he always carries around the university—only it’s not so fake now—and holds my hand tighter.

“Maybe it’s just that you’re warm.” I just shake my head at his attempt at flirting and smile to myself.

“Anyway, where was I? When I saw the worry on their faces, I tried to assure them that I was going to be fine. You know what my mom said?” I give him a pause until he nods. “She said, ‘I know you’ll be fine; you’re a ball of brightness. You'll be fine anywhere. It's just that we won’t have that ball of brightness with us anymore. You see the expression on our faces? It's not that we’re worried that you can’t make it; it’s that we’re afraid we can’t make it. You have studies, college, and friends to distract you from missing home, but nothing will be able to distract me from your absence."

“Your parents really love you.” He says it as if it’s new for him. It must be because his parent's situation is not exactly normal.

“And I love them. But the funny thing is, we never said ‘I love you’ to each other.” it’s true. The reason I am saying this is so that Keshav can think about whether what he sees in his family is really just hatred. As someone who was brought up with love and care, I just can’t label a relationship between a parent and child with hatred.

“That’s because you never needed to. They love you; it’s so obvious."

I shake my head and tell him, “Do you know when love is most powerful?” When he shakes his head, I continue, “When it is invisible.”