WICKETS AND WIDGETS

Echoes Of Kabir

She took a deep breath before murmuring softly, "I touched Kabir."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You touched your little brother? Well, that's hardly groundbreaking. Most siblings touch each other, you know, sharing the same living space and all."

"That's not what I meant," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

"Then what did you mean?"

"I-I abused him as a child," she whispered, her voice trembling through the phone. The word "physically" hung there, heavy and damning.

My eyes widened, the world narrowing to that confession. "You did what?" My voice cracked, anger and disbelief colliding.

Her sobs erupted, a storm of remorse. "I didn't know," she choked out.

"What didn't you know?" I pressed, my anger rising. "That you shouldn't break a sibling's trust? That innocence is fragile?"

The seconds ticked by, each one an eternity. "He was just a little boy," she finally whispered, her voice brittle. "I was angry, lost. I didn't understand the consequences."

"But he did," I said, my throat tight. "He felt every blow, every bruise."

Silence stretched between us, a void too vast for forgiveness. Darkness settled, irrevocable and suffocating—a weight we both carried.

I saw people giving me strange looks. I quietly said into the phone, "I'll call you back." Then, I hung up on her.

"Fucking hell," I muttered, stunned, my head sinking against the bus seat. Eyes closed, I grappled with the weight of her revelation, a silent sorrow settling in.

Moments later, the bus came to a halt, its speakers crackling to life: "Film City, last stop." I rose slowly, stepping off the bus, I entered the bustling realm of Film City, my thoughts swirling with uncertainty about how to confront Sana after her disturbing confession.

As I stepped inside, Natasha's familiar face greeted me, her smile warm and welcoming. "Hey, Aryan," she said, hurrying over to me.

I mustered a smile in return. "Hi, Tasha."

"Tasha, huh?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Going for full-on nicknames now, are we?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "If you don't mind."

Her smile faded, concern flickering in her eyes as she gently cupped my face. "What's wrong? You look troubled."

"Just a minor disagreement with a friend," I replied, trying to downplay the situation.

She pouted, casting me a reproachful glance. "You never tell me anything."

"Natasha, we've only known each other for a day," I retorted, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "And now you're acting as if it's been years and you still don't know me inside out. What do I even know about you? Just your first name and that you enjoy watching matches in stadiums."

"I didn't mean to upset you," She clarified, her tone softening.

I furrowed my brow in apology. "I'm sorry, Natasha. I'm just not feeling myself today."

Her smile softened with understanding. "It's okay. We'll catch up later," she assured me before drifting off to join the shooting crew.

Well, isn't this just the cherry on top of my perfect day?

I approached the director, meeting his gaze as he signaled for me to come closer. Hastening over to him, I braced myself for whatever request he had in store.