Warm Love|✓

23

"Mom what's for dinner?"

"Potato curry." She speaks.

"Mom please make chicken curry. I'm carving for it." I make the best possible pleading face.

"No Mom. Make potato curry." Shivam crys out, instantly.

"Shivam let's make chicken curry. Your sister has come after long time." Dad jest discreetly. Which I find unusual.

Shivam scoffs, "Okay, make it. The princess  has come." He gets up from the couch, walking towards his room. Not before slamming the door close with a thud. The couple carried a disappointing look, however they cover up with a shake of their head when they catch my eyes.

Something is definitely not correct.

After dinner, I dip myself in the hard mattress, relaxing my aching muscles from the after effects of jet lagged. Shifting on my left side, I take a look at my room. The door right next to my bed leading to the small balcony, my study desk on top of which photo frames of my family are kept.

The room is small, sophisticated but I didn't let it as a hurdle, and not decorating it properly. The daydreamer hung on the window, the twinkling light emitting from stars, the dancing doll and the trophy from my first dance competition. Not to forget the beautiful words hung on the wall to remind me that,

Life is like a flower petal, coming with its own wildness.

The room has hardly any luxury unlike Reyansh room but the amount of comfortness I get can never be traded off.

My phone beebs with an incoming message. Clicking it open, an unknown number popes, stating,

'Good night, meet you tomorrow, my lady.'

My lady. Nice way to woo a lady. I close my phone keeping it on the nightstand.

Raising my palm I rub over my face.

The new situation, the new problem demands enough strength and patience  from my side. I look at my raised left hand, tracing my fingers on the lines carved on the surface of my palm.

Mrs. Chakroborty, my noisy neighbour, once told me that a humans life is plastered or can be predicted of from the lines of your palm. But my palm is nothing but a scribble twisted amass of lines.

Majority of us run behind, with a lame light adventuring themselves to search for love, and finding the meaning, just to ease down their curiosity, matching with the words mentioned in books. A crave to feel those bookish feelings.

I ran my finger on the mangalsutra chained on my neck. Which I hide through my turtle neck top.

But, I always ran to search for,

What's destiny?

A broad daylight which can just blind your vision, or something spiritual blaze of glory differing from person to person. Or a Christmas tree, we decorate with enthusiasm to make it stand out the most.

"Kiraz in what position are you sleeping?"

A loud shrill voice, of my mother discern in my ear. I grumble dipping my face more in the mattress. However, a slap on my forearm has me wake up in an instant.

Mom stand there, dusting my desk with a cloth. Her eyes flared up with anger.

I gaze at my table watch, and it's close to noon. Biting my lips, I gulp to parch my dry throat.

"How many times should I tell you to wake up early and do some excercise?"

Same thing. Same words. I am hearing since past years. According to her if I go out and do some yogas and excercise my physical as well as mental health will be in perfect equilibrium. Though it's true, and I side it with but my sleeping habits just washes the thought before it even touches the fire of zeal.