The Things We Love and Lose

Chapter 11

You cannot be with him.

I am glad for his help but he is not of our society.

His world is not yours, Sanjana.

How accurate yet heartbreaking his words had been, how disappointing it was to accept those words and realise foolish dreams I had kept before, and now, those dreams were nothing but a mere stupid thing I used to hold to my heart. Some things never make to reality, never breathe a sigh.

And trying to be with him was one of the things.

We couldn't be together.

I clutched my hand tightly around the paintbrush, the wood breaking in pieces.

[ A R N A V ' S      P O V ]

"Holy fucking shit."

When you know someone from a long period of time, you pick some of their habits such as what they like and how they utter out their sentences and make sense of them. And one of the things I knew about Sanjana had been her aversion of abusive language, she wouldn't whisper those words in a normal conversation because according to her, it was impolite.

I could say it was impolite with her awestruck look.

Parting her a glance, I shook my head and waited for her to grab her passport and visa from my hands.

"I didn't have a passport. I never applied for one."

"Actually, you did," I reminded her. "One day I had called you for some work and you gave some details. That was for your passport. Things you forget in your paintings." Grabbing her bag from the driver, I nodded at him to leave and let me handle this girl for next few days, let me ask permission for something far greater than anything I have done in my entire life. "Shall we, Sanjana?"

"We are going to Paris," She gushed, an instant grin wrapping her face as she jumped up and down. "We are going to Paris." However, the smile dimmed down. "But how? I don't have money."

Rolling my eyes, I caught her hand, rubbed my thumb on her palm to calm the stupid nerves she was having, to make her see everything would be okay as long as she was here and money thing was the last thing she had to worry.

"Just enjoy this trip." And let me get away from my father who kept on irritating me to get married and leave you. I cannot leave you."You deserve this after everything."

"But—"

"We will be late for check-in. Come on. Let's not miss this chance." Curling her hand around my upper arm, I helped her to come inside the airport after all the checking and the way she grinned at the people running around, the commination of the airport, it didn't take long to understand it was her first time in the airport.

Things she had been denied too.

I am adopted.

I don't know where I actually belong.

"Why do you have an American passport?" She asked out of curiosity.

"Because I was born there." I glanced at the black colored passport and clenched it a little tighter. "That's why my father never had a problem in sending me to America."

"When did you go to America?"

"Seventeen." Because he was too scared of what I might expose if I stayed here, what I might say to everyone if I got too angry, what I might do to him if I get the pain again.

"But you said your sister died when you were eighteen and—"

"I never came for her funeral." I side-glanced at her fallen face. "I couldn't do it." Swallowing the cloaking emotions, I caught her hand and tugged it to the check-in boards. "We have a trip."