The Dance Of Destiny

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 : 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐨𝐲

The S was perfect in shape.

To someone unaware of the incident, it might seem like someone deliberately wrote an S there.

Putting the kurta aside, I changed and returned downstairs. Sharvi sat in a corner, her both hands adorned with mehandi.

As I approached her, a passing waiter caught my attention with a tray of assorted food. Picking up a plate of chaat, I continued toward Sharvi.

"Get lost," she muttered upon seeing me.

I was taken aback, "What's wrong?"

"Parth, you are coming with food in front of me when I cannot eat," she said through gritted teeth.

I chuckled and took a seat beside her, saying, "Ohh, that's the problem. I thought you were angry because I ruined your mehandi."

Her eyes remained fixed on the plate in my hand.

God! This girl loves food more than anything in the world!

Taking a spoonful, I offered, "Hmm, here, have it." She responded with a million-dollar smile, eagerly opening her mouth.

I fed her two or three more spoons.

That's when my phone suddenly pinged with a message. Retrieving it, I checked the message while simultaneously lifting a spoon of chaat. Lost in multitasking, instead of directing the next spoonful into her mouth, I ended up putting it in mine.

A sudden realisation struck me.

Damn! We just ate with the same spoon!

I glanced up to see her looking at me and the shared spoon. Awkwardness settled between us as she broke the silence, saying, "I will just wash the mehandi and come.”

As she left, I looked at the plate and noticed just a spoon of chaat left. Without second thoughts, I scooped up the remaining contents on the same spoon and disposed of it into my mouth.

✿

Later that evening, I was heading towards my room when I heard someone crying.

I paused for a second, when the sound seemed to vanish.

As I resumed my steps, the muted sobbing echoed once more, compelling me to halt in my tracks. It was as if someone struggled to stifle their cries, creating an unsettling atmosphere.

Curiosity tugged at me, and despite my initial hesitation, I pressed on to investigate.

The figure leaned beneath a tree, obscured from full view, with only the outline of her dress visible.

The dress immediately struck a chord of familiarity; after all, I had spent the entire afternoon staring at the person who wore it.

Sharvi.

The initial curiosity dissipated, replaced by a mix of surprise and sadness. Questions swirled in my mind – why was she crying?

Why were the eyes I admired the most filled with tears?

As I stood there, watching her cry, something deep within me shattered. Despite the countless years of knowing her, I had never glimpsed her in such a state.