Seven Dates A Weekend | RO ✓

13 | the one in which she has a night racer date.

Stomping onto his foot I had broken free from his grasp and dashed through the exit of ththeatreer. The cameramen had followed me through, shouting and cursing words at my sudden change of behaviour. If anything at all, I had made their job ten times harder.

But my feet refused to stop. Not unti, I realise the crashing of the waves against the sea-shore. A gust of salty wind hits my face as my legs come to a pace of walking. Before m,e the sky begins to paint itself in darkness ceasing any existence of stars in my peripheral view. The water bodymirrorsr the black-cloudy sky with the only white lining of colour tracing the designs of the waves on the brown sand on the shore.

I feel overwhelmed and alone.

I could have stayedont the date. I could have reacted in a better way. I could have planned the output of this date in a more successful and profitable way. But my actions had been controlled by my emotions. Did I regret running away like that? Not really. Did I regret how I acted? Yes, I did.

My body begins to tremble under the rustling of the salty wind. I cling onto the denim jacket, thanking Meera for suggesting to wear this. If it wasn't for the jacket, I'd sure have gone cold under the weather. Inhaling and exhaling any further thoughts, I try my best to gain controofon my mind. I scramble around the edges of my mind as I try to form a plan for facing my consequences. And only when my mind is completely immersed into the sea of thoughts much like the sea before me, I hear a saint voice.

"Saloni."

There it is. The very voice that makes my name sound like a spell. Like an endearments. Like it isn't just an identification symbol. Like it's isn't just a bunch of letters.

He makes it sound like the letters are woven with magical powers. And I can't help but wonder why. Why does he have this effect on me?

I don't realise that I haven't moved at his voice, haven't spoken up or even breathed a proper amount of oxygen; I don't realise how rooted I am to the ground until his footsteps begin to get closet to me as I turn to look up at him.

There he is. Aahan Kapoor. With his Curly hair gelled back into a slick pattern of firmness. With his checkered blue and grey shirt rolled up at his sleeves, flexing his forearms. With his formal pants and formal shoes. The intimidating Aahan Kapoor.

"What the hell are you doing?" He barks as soon as he comes into mvicinityty. I flinch at his words, backing up a step or two. The lips refuse to talk or for a matter of fact talk.

"You can't just run away!" He takes a step further and I shiver. Something rises up the back of my throat but it breaks onto my tongue leaving a sensation of warmth. "The cameramen can't run after you every timeme you just take off. The crew can't follow you, if you keep doing this. Do you realise how difficult some people have their jobs to be? Do you even realise the consequences?"

Do you realise your consequences? My mother's voice chimes at the back of my head. A look of disappointment flashes before my eyes only for me to realise that it's now all over Aahan's face. Disappointment.

"Are you not even willing to talk?"

"No, I'm not." I barely am able to say. But my voice comes out so strained and distant it shocks even Aahan. His eyes widen before pulling back into a frown. Something flashes in his eyes. Something beats in my heart.

You just need to communicate.

But I don't feel like it. I don't wish to communicate.

For what is communication with a person who refuses to hear you out first?

Walking back to the theatre feels like a long journey. I can't tell if it's because Aahan refuses to even look into my eyes or is it because of the silence filling in between the spaces of us. I can't help but feel even more caught up with my emotions. I can't help but ponder on the thoughts of him. For making me feel so much, he doesn't compare in his action.