Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Forty-Eight : In Between His Arms

"I left the book club the next day I joined," I confessed, turning away from him in embarrassment and burying my head in the cloudy pillow. Everything about his room was perfect, from the pillows that never sank from overuse to the neat, dark wood bookshelves that were adorned with hardcover books of eclectic collection- from sciences to literature. It appeared like he barely lived in this space since livable creatures were prone to some movement that would cause paint to chip or a door hinge to become loose. The rest of his house was the same- orderly where sane people existed, which was why the girl who crammed clothes in the closet and shut the door before they would fall could have never survived here. That girl was my dear sister.

Yet, here I was, following her steps and knowing that the lacerating consequences would forever desecrate my family. I didn't wish to be the last wound to kill our family. Pavitra was an expert at that and I didn't want to take away her spotlight. Before I could torment myself as to why I was playing this dangerous game, that his family who was on some pilgrimage could return home and catch us, his warm musky scent misted my senses. That pillow smelled so much of him that it felt like a little hug from him. How could I smuggle this home?

Everything felt worth it then, the hide and seek game that we played with our families were all rewarding.

"Why?" he asked and with one swift movement of his arm, I was pushed safely against his chest and he pressed my head on his shoulder like I was a baby. Once he was satisfied with our closeness, he continued typing away on his Macbook some head-ache inducing numbers. How could he be all these things- handsome, rich and smart? Not counting the deeper waters of his personality- his self-assurance that soothed my insecurities, his care that comforted my loneliness and his pragmatism that slandered my pessimism.

And what did I have to offer? Like all the anticipated bad things in life, it was best to distract myself and avoid answering this too.

"Because I liked you ever since that first day on the train," I murmured against the hardness of his body. I had only my love to offer to him and I was going to offer all that I had like Indians offering snacks to a guest. "Maybe it was my imagination that made me like you from the beginning. But you lived up to it and above and beyond." I peered at his face that was focused on the laptop, yet I knew he had heard me from the slightest smile that graced his lips. "You should have some flaw. It's impossible for someone to be this flawless . . ."

Chuckling, he pressed my head against his shoulder again as if urging me to rest. "Of course, I have many flaws."

"Now that you said it, it makes you humbler and even better," I said, loving the laughter that resonated from the depths of his stomach and rippled through his body. I threw my arms around him, bringing my face down so I could hear the steady beating of his heart. The last time that I had been this close to someone, to hear the beating of their heart was with Lila. Perhaps, it was because of how she was that I thought her heart to beat differently than his. Wilder, louder and irregular. Lila and Dev were so different that I couldn't compare them to day and night, for at least, day and night met at twilight.

With my toes, I tried reaching for the copy of "Lady Chatterley's Lover" by D.H. Lawrence and even though I could reach it, I stopped. The instinct to stop came as naturally as turning off a running tap. All because I could picture my mother smacking the back of my head for touching a book- Saraswati with my feet.

Picking the book with my hands, I slumped against him and said, "Read this for me."

"Let me see," he said, keeping away the headache and plucking the antidote from my hands. Outside, it was the last October rains that whipped and rattled the window. I loved to hear him read in his deep, calm voice. He always read with a quiet emphasis on certain words that one knew exactly how the character was feeling. He began with a raised eyebrow, "His body was urgent against hers . . .?"

"Wrong page!" I snatched the book from him, flipping through the pages at the speed of a hunted bird flapping its wings. "I swear I don't read only eroticas."

"I remember that day---"

"That day on the train when we met accidentally? That book wasn't mine, it was from the book club. I don't read that sort of books."

"Not that day. The day when I started liking you," he said and I ceased ruffling the pages, giving him my undivided attention. That made him smile in amusement, but he continued, "I visited your house once, before my brother's marriage to your sister. I had to drop some things for the wedding. You were there, sleeping on the couch with a copy of Moby Dick next to you. Your mother tried waking you, but you didn't budge. She told me that the second you opened that book, you fell asleep."

My thoughts were in a relay match, passing the baton from one embarrassing thought to another. I buried my head in the book, my face hot against the cool pages. "Why did she tell you that? That normally doesn't happen . . ."

"It's okay, I felt the same when I read that book," he said and I raised my head, to see the rare look of mischief in his eyes. "I liked you then, while you were sleeping." He gestured at my face, "With your mouth and eyes half-open."

"It would have been better if you had kept that to yourself," I muttered, despite the delirious pleasure that flushed my cheeks. "And you-you didn't think me weird, when I came to you that time, on the wedding day?"

"By that time, you were already my person," he said, holding my stomach and pulling me again so I was half-sitting on top of him. Through the foggy window, the sky and the buildings were blurred, the rain now gently pelting against the glass panes. "Now, which was the page that you wanted me to read?"

"Here," I whispered and placed my thumb over the words, feeling his warm breath on the crook of my neck. "This paragraph speaks to me, consoles me."

"The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work; there is now no smooth road into the future, but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles," he read, his voice low as if he was measuring each word. Then, he hummed, pleased with the last line, "We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen."

It was alright for me to love him, to love him despite our families and my past, to love him like it was my first time loving someone.

* * *

Glossary :

Saraswati- Goddess of Knowledge in Hinduism.

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