And while I stare, he just looks on silently.
He doesn’t fill silences just for the sake of it. When you’re with someone whose sadness can’t be quelled with words, I guess you kind of get used to it. So he lets the silences breathe. He listens with a strange kind of stillness. It makes me feel truly seen. I don’t know whether he puts it on, or he’s really like that, but it works for me. If it’s an act, it’s a really good one with no cracks. Top-notch Oscar stuff.
And yet, he’s not the brooding type, thankfully. He can really speak, and when he’s done, then he really listens to what the response is. I think he feels guilty about having spoken a lot, that he has to listen. Or maybe that’s just how he is. I am not sure of that as of now.
And then, Kunal scoops up the rest of the cake and eats it. ‘You’re welcome?’ he asks.
‘What?’
‘You were sooner or later about to eat it and then feel guilty about it,’ he says. ‘So I solved it for you. No more guilt. Neither are you missing it.’
‘Maybe I’m missing it.’
‘Then, we should order another one,’ he suggests impishly.
‘Maybe we should,’ I say.
‘Fine,’ he chuckles and starts waving down the waiter.
I start laughing and he stops. ‘I know you,’ he says.
I try not to find too much meaning in the words even though he clearly meant it like that. ‘Fine, thank you,’ I say, still laughing when I see them.
My laughter dies in my throat.
The fragile bubble of my afternoon pops. Shouldn’t I be used to fate playing with my happiness by now?
Through the café window, I see Raghav and Shilpi walking through the mall’s atrium. He’s holding a half-dozen shopping bags from H&M and Zara, and Shilpi is skipping slightly ahead of him, pointing at a storefront, her face alight with a joy I haven’t seen since she arrived. But even in her despondence, I have been secretly happy for her. Finding out that your parents were never abundant in unconditional love early is a big boon. Very little of parental love is unconditional. A good girl. A good boy. And their definition of it. That’s what matters.
My heart eases a little seeing her happy.
Then I look at Raghav. He looks like a brother, a real one, enjoying the simple act of spoiling his sister. He’s smiling, a genuine, unguarded smile that I don’t remember seeing ever. Ever.
A small warmth spreads through my chest, seeing him like this. This is also a part of the reason why I want Shilpi to quit living with her parents, stay here, right here with her brother. That’s what Raghav needs.
He doesn’t need me because I have failed and I have failed terribly. There are many failures you can live with. Failing your best friend isn’t one of them.
Tejal and Sumrit have failed too.
But Shilpi, maybe Shilpi will heal him. Am I being selfish putting it on a sixteen-year old? Maybe. But I don’t care. Anything that helps him through this pain.
And then he sees me.
The smile vanishes instantly. Shilpi follows his gaze. The two of them stop.
‘What is it?’ Kunal asks, his voice soft, following my line ofsight.
‘That’s... that’s Raghav,’ I say. ‘And his sister.’
There’s no avoiding it. Kunal, ever the gentleman, the networker, the guy who always finds the right things to say, the one who never shies away from any social interaction, and sometimes irritatingly so, like today, stands up.
‘We should say hello,’ he says, and before I know it, we are walking towards them. The introductions are quick and seemingly painless, but I can feel the tension radiating off Raghav in waves. All the previous happiness has evaporated.
‘It’s great to finally meet you. I mean, I have heard a bit about you,’ Kunal says, his voice effortlessly kind.
Raghav just grunts in response. The silence that follows is excruciating, and Raghav’s squarely to blame. I just want to turn back time, order another cheesecake or three, and not look out of the window.
It’s Shilpi who breaks it. ‘Bhaiya, look.’
