Crossing The i's And Dotting The t's

(XXVII) Conflict

Kian

I have always been an idealist.

It's funny really, when I think about it, to have a notion of the universe where every single object and creature exists for a purpose. Where everything—emotion or action—occurs or happens for a reason. Where I strongly believe that each act of ours, even at the simple stages of an idea, a thought, a mere feeling, means something, that it has consequences, both good and bad.

That is not to say that we're not conscious of our decisions. There is always a choice. But what leads to us making a particular choice may or may not be in our hands. It depends on our past choices, on the present situation, on our deeply suppressed desires, on the conflict between two or more wants that can be equally attractive at times.

Karma is more complicated than it seems.

So naturally, when my phone rang with the call of my hopelessly pragmatic neighbour while I was hunched over my Mac and experiencing crazy emotions, I thought that it was a gentle nudge of all things divine to remind me of my temporarily forgotten conflict.

"Are you awake?" Her voice was hushed, like she was afraid of waking someone up, probably her sister.

"No, I'm sleep talking." A small smile crept on my face as I repeated the words she had said to me months ago, the night when I had realised that this girl was special.

Maybe she remembered too, for she let out a muffled snort. "I should have expected this from your unoriginal self."

Switching off my computer, I leaned back on my chair. "You can't expect a better reply at two thirty in the morning Ash, my brain's half dead."

Our body clocks were totally screwed.

She took some time before responding to that, and I could hear shuffling in the background, followed by the distinct sound of the movement of her apartment's iron front door. "Well, is the other half up for a midnight chat? I'll be on the roof."

"Always." Cutting the call, I made my way out of the house, letting out a breath when I managed to slip pass Kanishk's room with its door ajar. Shutting and locking the front door behind me, I quickly ran up the stairs of three more floors above mine before I came face to face with the unlocked door of the building's terrace.

It was an empty space with a lone water tank fixed in the middle and enclosed by low, waist-length concrete boundaries. Its dusty floor was littered with discarded joints, a clear indication that this place was the haven for weed lovers.

Ashiana was standing at the far right corner, her back facing me as she tied her hair in a messy up do.

"So what's up?" I asked, coming up beside her and lightly placing my hands on the boundary. It was a typical June night, still air, starless sky and high temperature.

Two strands escaped her knot, framing her oval face as she regarded me. "I can't sleep."

"I've heard warm milk helps."

"Yeah...it won't today." She faced me fully. "What are you going to do Kian?"

"I need more context to answer that babe."

"I meant like...career-wise. What's your plan?"

An unexpected ball of wool got stuck in my throat when she said that. "Is this what you wanted to 'chat' about?" I asked, in a desperate attempt to distract her.

"Yes, because I'm sure you're hiding something."

I sighed, knowing that there was no escaping when she was in one of her infamous interrogation moods. Besides, I knew this conversation was inevitable, but this happening today of all days made me overplay its significance. "I...well I just got confirmation today."