Dikhou found an empty pair of seats near the back of the bus. He dropped his bag and the dhool on the aisle seat and slumped down on the other.
It felt like the end of the world.
He could still feel it, the lingering scent of Junak's skin on his... or maybe it was just his imagination; he couldn't tell anymore. It was like Junak had invaded all his senses and now, without him, Dikhou felt hollow.
And cold. So fucking cold.
The cold had never bothered him before, but tonight, it seemed to be clinging onto him. He roughly unzipped his bag, then remembered how Junak had worn his hoodie that morning and then randomly strewn it somewhere across the room, so obviously, in his hurry to leave, Dikhou forgot to pack it.
Fuck.
He wanted to cry. Or maybe he was crying, judging from the way the bus conductor practically shoved a bottle of water towards him before hastily walking away.
Dikhou wrapped his arms around himself, as tightly as he could, and rested his head against the window. The interior lights of the bus were on so his reflection stared back at him – his eyes were red and puffy and his hair was thoroughly messed up from back when Junak was playing with it.
His heart ached.
He closed his eyes.
The bus rumbled, then slowly began to roll out onto the road. The lights dimmed and Dikhou was suddenly very glad to be drowning in the darkness.
It hurt. So much. Dikhou did not understand why. Neither did he know what to do with it. It swelled inside of him, the pain, choking his organs.
It was so foolish of him, to get swept off his feet like that. He should've known this was how it was going to end, but no, he was far too deep in denial. And now here he was, hurting like he was going to die.
He could not forget the Junak he saw with those two friends of his – it was so different from the Junak he knew. He seemingly spoke a different language with them, one that Dikhou knew he would never be able to learn. It also reminded Dikhou of how vastly different both their worlds were.
Stay there and do what? Farm?
How long are you staying there then?
Two more weeks, maybe.
It was said so casually, with a laugh and an air of indifference, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Who was Dikhou kidding? It was obvious. It had been obvious since day one. Dikhou was the one who grew blind to it.
He had been so stupid! He jeopardised everything for this; his life, his future, his family. He fought with Jiri over this!
Oh god.
Hastily, he pulled out his phone. For a brief moment, as he unlocked the device, he hoped against hope to see a call or a text, anything, from Junak. Even as he had walked out of the house, he had desperately hoped Junak would run after him, say no, stop, I'm not leaving, this means something to me too.
Of course, he did not. Dikhou was such an idiot!
Junak had told him several times how he was used to dating and hooking up with people without having any feelings for them. And the way Puhor reacted when he walked in on them – not nearly as surprised as Dikhou would've expected a brother to be – simply proved this was something Junak did a lot.
It was clearly not as important to Junak as it was to Dikhou.
He gulped down a sob and opened his chat with Jiri.
Dikhou : You were right. I was wrong.
Dikhou : I'm sorry
Dikhou : And I'm over it now, don't worry
He hoped she would understand; he did not have the courage to say more.
He also did not have the courage to see her reply, so he locked the phone and shoved it in his pocket.
The ride back home was long and painful. It was dark outside, with brief patches of civilisation occasionally swooshing past in a blur of lights. A few people were snoring on the bus. Someone behind him kept whispering into his phone the whole time.
Dikhou felt broken. His heart ached so much it felt like there was a physical knife lodged into it.
He could not stop thinking about Junak.
He was everywhere – smiling as they held hands, pouting in the middle of the pond, working in the kitchen in Dikhou's hoodie, eyes wide as he stared at the fireflies cupped in his palms, face flushed and lips parted as he kissed him.
I'm glad.
Sing something for me.
Will you leave me on a sand bed and walk away again?
Tell me a secret.
You know that feeling of sitting near a fire on a winter evening?
You feel like that.
It was a little past 3 am when Dikhou stepped down from the bus. The world was dark, frozen, and the whole village was deadly quiet except for the call of insects and the occasional hoot of owls.
For the first time in his life, Dikhou hated the night. The silence. The cold. The moon hanging in the sky – a bright half-crescent surrounded by clouds – that somehow seemed to be mocking him.
He wiped his cheeks on his sleeve as he walked from the bus stop to his house, and then quietly crossed the lawn. His mother and his sister were sleeping and getting inside meant waking them up and asking them to unlock the door for him.
He could not do it; he had already hurt and bothered them enough. He also did not have the strength to face his mother's questions.
So he sat down on the porch. The floor beneath him and the wall at his back were freezing.
He hid his face in his hands and hoped for the pain to go away.
It did not.
It was the longest damn night of his life.
"Dikhou?" His mother was the first one up, in sync with the sun. She stood near the door, not looking nearly as surprised as she should've been to find him there like that.
He was shivering, but thankfully, he was not crying. He rose to his feet, keeping his eyes on the ground.
His mother side-stepped, asking him to enter without saying a word.
He was glad.
He walked into his room, changed out of his clothes and curled up inside the blanket. It was cold – the bed, the pillows, the sheets. His heart.
Sleep, I'll make breakfast, Junak had whispered from where he was tangled in his arms. It now felt like something out of a dream.
Dikhou hugged himself and willed for sleep to come and take him. It was all in vain, though; it was impossible to fall asleep with the memories poking and gnawing at him.
It wasn't supposed to hurt this much.
This... this felt like drowning.
When the sun was fully up and the village settled into its usual morning activities outside his window, he got up. It was a new day, he told himself, and he had to leave the past behind. That was the whole point. It was why he left.
Though he certainly hadn't expected to find himself this bruised and battered.
His mother was in the kitchen when he freshened up and walked into the dining room. It was past nine so Kopili had already left for school.
"Tea?"
Dikhou nodded. His throat was burning and he felt weak and heavy and so, so tired.
His mother brought him a cup of tea and sat at the table in front of him. "So?"
He avoided her eyes and drank the tea.
"Dikhou. What happened?"
He felt raw and exposed. "N-Nothing. Just..."
"An argument?"
Dikhou looked up. His mother's jaw was clenched and her hands were fisted atop the table.
"History does repeat itself, you know?" she said. "When Jiri called, saying you had a fight with her and walked out, I thought I'd never see you again."
The floor slipped from underneath him. "Ma..."
"I've been here before, remember? I know how it plays out." The disappointment was stark clear in her eyes. "Fifteen years ago, I told your father – don't lease our land, it's all we've got, especially after you leaving your job to chase your friend's whimsical dreams. And a month ago, I stood right here in this room and asked you to stay away from... him." She leaned back on the chair. "At least one of you made it back home to listen to me say I told you so."
Dikhou was trembling, his tongue turning to lead in his mouth. "It's – it's not... like that. You... you don't understand."
"Funny. I'm sure that's exactly what your father would've said."
The crushing weight of his guilt made Dikhou wish he hadn't returned home. And then he felt even more miserable and selfish for thinking that.
"Is it a thing that men do – not listen to the women in their family? Or is it just a father-son thing, I wonder."
His mother was not raising her voice, neither was she sneering. But the sheer truth of what she was saying was far too painful for Dikhou to bear.
He wanted her to stop. Stop. Stop talking. He understood her point. Please stop now.
But another part of him wanted her to continue. Because he deserved it. He had been incredibly selfish. He had hurt her. Hurt his sister. He deserved to be in pain. To be punished.
So he kept his head down and blinked back tears.
His mother sighed. "It just hurts, you know? To be sidelined and discarded for an outsider. A friend."
"I wasn't," Dikhou choked out a murmur, "I wasn't discarding you."
"You stormed out of Jiri's house, Dikhou."
He had nothing to say to that. A part of him knew he had overreacted, simply because he needed an excuse to be with Junak.
God, what was wrong with him?
"You're allowed to fight with your siblings." His mother's voice was low but firm. "But you don't walk out on family." She paused, as if waiting for a reply. When she did not get one, she said, "I thought you knew that."
Every word was twisting the knife clogged into his chest.
"Who else have you got huh?" Her voice cracked then, for the first time, her façade crumbling. Dikhou's head snapped up just in time to see a tear trickling down his mother's cheek.
He had never hated himself more.
"We're all that you've left, Dikhou. Your sisters are all you've got. Don't you know how much they love you?"
Dikhou was crying before he knew it. His throat burned from all his efforts to gulp down sobs. "I do, Ma. I do." He was out of his chair and on his knees in front of his mother. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
His mother was wiping her cheeks with a frail hand – was she always this small? – but fresh tears continued to spill out. "And you're all we've got. Me, your sisters, we can't lose you. I can't lose you."
"I know." He sobbed. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't–" Cry. Please. I can't bear to see you like this.
The only time he had seen her like this was when his father died. The sight of it had broken something in him then and it was breaking something in him now.
"You won't lose me, Ma, I swear. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not–"
"BOR-MA!! BOR-MA!!" a high-pitched voice cut through Dikhou's plea. It was a girl's, crying with an urgency that chilled Dikhou's bones.
His mother was on her feet, wiping her face on her sador. She was out of the door before Dikhou could even begin to process what was going on.
"BOR-MA! Are you here?"
Dikhou followed his mother outside to see Asha running down their yard. She looked panicked. "It's koka," she huffed. "He's... he's..." She stretched out a hand towards Baruah koka's house. "He's having a stroke."
Dikhou's body reacted instantly and instinctively. He ran to his right, vaulted over the short bamboo fence and rushed into his neighbour's house.
Baruah koka was sitting on the floor in the dining room, clutching his chest. His wife, Jatin and Priti were gathered around him but moved away immediately when Dikhou arrived.
"Dikhou!" The relief in Grandma's voice was loud enough for all to hear but he had no time to dwell on it. He knelt next to the old man who was gasping like a fish out of water. "Jatin, go grab his medicines!" he ordered. "We need to take him to the hospital."
"We called an ambulance," Priti said.
"No. It will never make it in time. Go ask Robin-da if we can borrow his car. Hurry."
Priti nodded and ran out.
Jatin rushed into the room with a box of medicine. Dikhou's hands were shaking as he went through the packets and found the one he was looking for. He popped one out and held it to Grandpa's lips. "Here, koka, take this. You're fine. You'll be fine."
As the man took the medicine, his face twisted in pain, Dikhou's eyes involuntarily fell on a woman standing near the wall, her eyes wide and a hand clutched over her mouth.
Niribili did not say a single word but when their eyes met, they thought the same thing: Dikhou was here, her friend Junak was not. And as absurd as it was, Dikhou knew she knew. And despite everything caving in around him, he almost cowered under the accusation lacing her gaze.
~~~
A/n
Not particularly proud of my work in this chapter *sigh* Writing emotions (especially angst) is hard *sigh*