Avec Amour || Shubman Gill. [ON HOLD]

2

Chapter 2 : To not be modest.

Song : Happier ~ Marshmallow, Bastille.

Being the new girl is extremely hard. People stare at you. You have no friends to go to. And being the new girl is even more hard when you know nothing about the place you are in.

My weekend at my new home, passed really fine.

I went out with my cousins to see a few places, we ate quite a lot of native food and everything was very different.

I had never lived with so many people and yet now I was living in a very big house, with a very big family. I didn't realise joint families were still a thing.

God! I sound so outcast.

"Jhanvi Malik-Bernard?" The principal came into the classroom and I stood up.

"That's me, Sir"

I had gotten no formal introductions or anything. I was given my schedule and sent off to class. A few people noticed that a new girl was among them but most of them couldn't care less.

"Please come forward"

Wow really? Way to go! I thought as I made my way in front of the classroom, every head turning towards me.

"I suppose you weren't given the proper introduction?" The principal asked me

"That's fine, Sir" I was too embarrassed now to do any sorts of introductions

"It's okay." He smiled at me and then turned to the class "Everyone please pay attention, this is Ms Jhanvi Malik-Bernard. She has joined our school. She's from, I suppose France"

A few guys whistled

"From Delhi Actually" I corrected him and everyone started snickering.

I hate this class.

"Yes, Yes, Jhanvi is from Delhi. My bad" The principal addressed the class again and then motioned for me to go back to my seat and so I did.

With that he took his leave and went back, and I was left with about 30 strangers all staring at me.

Okay. Stare away, people. I'm used to it.

Not to be vain or proud or anything but I'm far from modest and I would say I'm quite pretty.
I mean, My mother was an absolute goddess and I have inherited quite some beautiful features of hers.

-and this to : to not be modest.

She, very frankly taught me to be proud of my self and the way I look.

I've over done it and God! I'm so vain.

-but not more than Rudra. He is a complete Greek God and way too proud. He's Totally our mothers son.

***

When I met Rudra in the lunch break, he was doing very great. Like really very.

He had made friends. His teachers were liking him. He was confident and he had had a great day so far.

"My god, Rudra. I am so jealous of you!" I say to him as I play with my salad

"Of course you are, Jhans" he winks at me "I love you still"

I just roll my eyes at him.

My rest of the day was a blur and now I was back at my new home.

I had no homework or any house work, so I was totally bekaar. (Idle)

I decided to take out one of my Mothers journals

"Il avait l'air très différent et il n'est pas venu me voir comme les autres gars l'ont toujours fait. À la place, il continua à regarder autour du musée"

There was no English translation to this one and I realised that this journal wasn't a practice journal, this was her personal diary. My mother fell for my father because he wasn't swayed by her looks the first time they saw each other.

And that is what my father always used to teach me.

Fall in love with a persons soul not their face, fall in love with the way they make you feel, not the way they look.

My parents were completely opposite of each other.

And maybe that's why they were together

(he looked very different and he didn't come to me like other guys always did. Instead he carried on looking around the museum)

With these thoughts, I went to sleep and like always, I prayed before sleep.

This too was a habit that Dad inculcated in me

"Oh Lord Please let our mother come back to us. Please please turn her heart towards us. Grant my Dad paradis (heaven) and keep me and Rudra sûr (Safe) and always under your protection.
Amen"

Lately, I've been, I've been thinking, I want you to be happier, to be happier.