#21Days

Day 9

2.30 am

My throat is feeling dry. I try to wet my lips but I feel the need for much more than that. Against my will, I get up for a glass of water. My eye is drawn to the bright blinking lights reading 2:30 coming from our nightstand. They do their bit, piercing the darkness of the room with their luminescence.  We're on the home stretch before sunrise. And Rohit is still not home. I haven't called him since our altercation at the hospital. And neither has he. 

I go to the kitchen to quench my thirst and then move to the couch. Sleep's vanished. My thoughts are running amok. Was I too harsh? Did I push him away even further? I don't know. I've never been so unsure of myself. I pick up the phone to call Rohit and then put it back down. I don't know if he wants to talk to me and I don't want to do something that will help me achieve the exact opposite of my goal. 

 I decide to watch a movie until I feel like sleeping again. I open the Youtube app on my phone and search for Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. What I end up watching instead is a video titled Most Bollywood Ever - Diwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge Review. It's funny, the practical way in which these two blokes describe the absurdity that lines the scripts of Indian movies and television shows. Was it always like that? Was it just that none of us paid any attention to it? I can't be bothered. At 3 am, I hardly care about the psychological aspects of scriptwriting and film-making in India. I simply enjoy the parody and I laugh...laugh hard. I haven't laughed like this in ages. And that's how Rohit finds me when he opens the door ten minutes later.

"You're still up?"

His question is rhetorical, much like the stuff that's included in Bollywood scripts, but I still nod my head in affirmation.

"Will you have dinner?" My question is rhetorical too. Nobody eats dinner at 3 in the morning. I'm genuinely beginning to believe that the lockdown has affected a part of our brains where we are seeking answers to the obvious. Conversation, any conversation is welcome.

He shakes his head.

"I'll go and change." I burst out laughing, reminded of similar absurdities that the blokes in the video were describing. He stops to give me the quizzical look. "Everything okay?"

"Yes..," I say, trying hard to breathe while bringing my laughter under control. He lifts his eyebrows up questioning my response.

"Nothing." And then to change the topic I ask him, "How was your day?"

He turns grim. I walk up to him and hold his hand. "You want to talk?"

He shakes his head and makes his way to the bedroom.

*****

3.30 am

The lights are off. Rohit and I are sleeping on the same bed. He's turned the other way, pretending to sleep, but I know he's wide awake. We haven't resolved what happened at the hospital, but I sense now is not the time to broach that discussion.

I ask him again, "You want to talk?"

He stays quiet.

"You know you should talk. Mom always said sharing feelings might not always help find a solution, but it definitely helps get things out of your system."

"What do you want to know?"

"There's nothing I want to know Rohit, but I know something is upsetting you. And I want you to know that if you ever need someone to listen, I'm there. That's the least I can do."

He's quiet. He's unsure if he can trust me. I can sense his struggle. It upsets me. I've been trying so hard for the last three weeks to show him that I care, that I've changed and he's not letting go. I'm about to say something sarcastic when I hear my Mom's voice inside my head. You can't repair something in a day that you've broken over a year. I reign my temper in.