Approach

~Alexie Ivanov~

Creating a slight opening in the doorway, I made certain that Nari was peacefully asleep. The medications had effectively numbed her body, alleviating the healing process and sparing her from any excruciating pain. As my bare feet met the cool marble floor, I proceeded towards her. Observing that her curls had once again become entangled, I took advantage of the moment to carefully comb and weave them into a neat braid. I was confident that no young lady of her age would relish a chaotic mass of fallen hair.

With utmost care, I picked up the novel next to her pillow and positioned it perfectly parallel to the wall. Subsequently, I proceeded to retrieve the dishes, gently pushing the trolley to ensure absolute silence so as not to disturb the girl beside me. This routine had evolved based on my observations since the day she awakened. The evident discomfort and disdain on her face were palpable with even the slightest touch, especially from a male. Nari, still reeling from her alleyway experience, may not consciously recognize it, but her subconscious does. In consideration of her well-being, I had established this methodical approach, driven by the patience I needed to buildup. Did her current state assist in calming my own demons, relentlessly scratching at the door to urge her to toughen up? Indeed, but I acknowledged that, at her age, she was undoubtedly much stronger than I ever was.

My methodical approach was both simple and grounded in reality: maintaining a comfortable yet welcoming distance, allowing her to gradually become at ease in my presence. I began with small gestures and notes, aiming for her to become familiar with me. My subtle efforts, caring yet not forced, were intended to gradually draw her closer to me, or so I hoped. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving her perpetually scared and wary of all male touch and intentions. It was crucial for her to realize that, despite the actions of her father, professors, peers, or those rowdy individuals, there existed men who didn't impose their will on a woman's heart.

A sudden revelation shook me as I pondered, 'Do you want her heart?' Shaking my head, I reminded myself that she was my ward—nothing more. This, whatever it might evolve into, was just for a year. Only for a year, a monster like me got to play at being human, seeking happiness with an angel. With that in mind, I left the room with light footsteps.

I walked into the kitchen, where I efficiently stowed away the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. A demanding meow from Nyx, the cat, drew my attention. I scooped her up, giving her a good scratch, and then proceeded to prepare her food. While she indulged in her meal, I set about making breakfast for Nari. Glancing at my Rolex Dateline, I noted the time on the dial clock – 5:45, just about the time for her to wake up.

For her breakfast, I opted for a simple yet nourishing dish. I prepared Egg Drop Soup, a Chinese delicacy featuring vegetable stock and a beaten egg slowly swirled into the hot seasoned broth. Despite Nari's fondness for an array of spices and complex dishes, I believed she needed something easy to digest yet fulfilling. Plating the soup in a warming casserole, I placed it on the trolley along with a note. The note detailed the dish and included instructions for her medicines – five capsules aimed at relieving pain and promoting healing, with a plan to gradually reduce the dosage over time.

~Nariya Patel~

Gentle nose rubs proved to be a delightful way to kickstart the morning. "Good morning, Nyx," I greeted her, and she responded with contented purrs under my gentle strokes. A smile adorned my face as a nostalgic memory surfaced, transporting me back to the time when I was just seven years old and stumbled upon a stray on my way back from school.

Despite knowing that having furry pets was strictly prohibited, I couldn't ignore the pitiful state of the little kitten. Driven by the innocence of a child's heart, I did what many kids would – I discreetly stowed the tiny guy in my backpack and brought him home. In the initial days, our secret remained undiscovered. After all, my mother often worked late, and my father was seldom at home. Constance, my caretaker, proved to be a kind soul and assisted me in concealing the kitten, at least until we could find him a new home. However, keeping him without my parents' consent was strictly forbidden.

One day, Constance cautioned me that my father would be returning briefly, urging me to ensure the kitty was well-hidden from his view. I tucked him away in my room before heading to school, only to return later and discover he had been taken to an adoption shelter.

Evidently, my door had been left ajar, allowing the kitten to slip out unnoticed. To Constance's horror, my father stumbled upon him. The repercussions were severe; not only were the household staff reprimanded, but Constance also faced the threat of dismissal, narrowly saved by my mother's pleas. I vividly recall that rainy day when I happily returned home only to be met with my father's rarely seen face, boiling red with anger.

In a fit of rage, he unleashed the first and only screaming session directed at me, chastising my disobedience and condemning cats as bearers of bad luck. It marked the first and only time I screamed back, asserting that he had no right to dictate, as he was never truly my father. His bewildered statement lingered in the air as I hastily retreated to my room, echoing his insistence that, under his roof, I was obligated to adhere to his rules, whether I liked it or not.

Devastated, I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face, realizing that along with the kitten, all his belongings had been taken away. He, being the lord of the manor, wielded absolute authority, and I felt like a princess confined to a tower. I was merely his vassal, subject to his commands and whims. As tears continued to rain down my face, my mother and others were barred from talking to me. I rejected food, and after a prolonged period, on the third day, I received a call from my grandmother.

"Dadi," I called her affectionately. She was the only person exempt from my father's restrictive rules. On that day, she reached out to me through a video call, kindly explaining the situation in her ever-reassuring voice.

"The true reason why your father, that fool," she said, "forbade all furry animals was because he has had a severe allergy to fur since childhood. Yet, that stubborn fool refused to show any weakness in front of his household."

"But... but," I cried to her, "he said such mean things about cats! Is that true, Dadi?"

To this, she chuckled in her hearty voice, "Oh no, dear, those are just superstitions spewed by some old coot. In fact, in many parts of the country, they are worshipped and housed as they are considered bringers of wealth and prosperity. So, my dear, don't worry about what that old coot says. Go make sure that kitty receives a loving home where it is wholeheartedly accepted," she reassured me with a comforting tone.

I lowered my gaze, pondering why her son could never be truthful when he was hurt and instead had to go out of his way to hurt others around him. As if sensing my thoughts, Dadi continued, "Dear, do you remember the story of Krishna, where he lifted a mountain to save the villagers?" I nodded my head; her calls always included a story about Krishna, the god who, in his childhood, performed many incredible feats.

She went on, "Your father, he is a man of many emotions and uses few words to express them. Maybe if I had taught him better..." She trailed off in her own thoughts before resuming, "Anyway, like Krishna, he tries to carry all the burdens on his own and, well, fails to be the one thing he should be. I hope one day you realize his love for you and your mother and how much he is sacrificing for that."

That night, I went to my mother and shared what my grandmother had revealed. The following day, we ensured the kitten found a loving family to adopt it. Their daughter was thrilled to have her first pet, and I couldn't deny feeling a pang of jealousy. To lift my spirits, my mom, Constance, and I treated ourselves to Dairy Queen afterward.

During our outing, I inquired about why we never visited India to meet Grandma or why she didn't come to visit us. My connection with Dadi was limited to a screen and a broadcasted voice telling stories and offering comfort, and I longed for her physical presence. I was always told that she was very elderly and sickly, and travel to America was impossible given her condition. I often wondered if she couldn't come to us, why couldn't we go to her. However, my mother consistently diverted the topic. It wasn't until much later, after the passing of both my Dadi and my mother, that I learned of the animosity she held in the hearts of my father's family, including my seemingly kind Dadi.

Ironically I never got to know the hardships of my father to bridge the family together, infact, now I doubt I would ever know.