Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.
- Buddha
Aanya
We all have a vivid picture inside our heads of what we want, but sometimes it's difficult to put into words, so we seek references. However, when those references fall short of our imagination, it's incredibly frustrating.
I pushed away a ridiculously written foreign author's book, utterly disappointed by its failure to meet my expectations. Leaning back in my chair, I let out a heavy sigh.
How on earth was I supposed to complete my project within a month if I couldn't even find the necessary data to support my ideas?
I glanced around at my fellow students in the library, their heads buried in books or their eyes fixed on laptop screens. The entire library was wrapped in silence, except for the soft murmurs emanating from the corners.
Everyone else appeared so focused and immersed in their studies, and here I was, drowning in stress and frustration.
This library was a four-story building with ample space for nearly all university students to study. But what good was it if they didn't have a single book to assist me with my project?
My creative passion and curiosity had driven me to this point, but now, as things didn't go as planned, I found myself growing increasingly angry and exasperated.
With a defeated expression, I closed my laptop and stuffed my papers back into my bag. I had to escape this suffocating atmosphere. Leaving the library, I pulled out my phone to call Nidhi, but then I noticed several missed calls from Professor.
We had just met yesterday, so why was he calling me again? Was it about the file he gave me? If that was the case, he'd be disappointed, as I hadn't had the chance to read it yet due to my exhaustion from the previous day.
Interrupting my chain of thoughts, I dialed his number. After three rings, he answered with a cheerful tone. "Hey there, Kiddo. Good morning," he greeted.
"Good morning, Professor. What's the reason for today's call?" I inquired.
"Abhinav is attending his session today, and I need to discuss something with both of you. Can you come over today?" he requested.
I had a lecture scheduled for 12:30 PM, and skipping it would affect my attendance and final grades. But... I found myself hesitating. "I'll be there in one hour. Is that okay?"
"Yes, that will be great," he said appreciatively.
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.
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As I arrived at Professor's house, sweat was dripping down my forehead, and my stomach was growling with hunger since I hadn't managed to grab breakfast in the morning, as usual. But Abhinav's situation was far more pressing, and I knew I could eat later.
For some reason, I felt an overwhelming sense of importance attached to his case. I had even skipped my lecture for him.
Ravi Ji, the caretaker, opened the door and welcomed me inside. In the living room, I found Satyam. I had last seen him two days ago when he dropped me back home.
That night had left a lasting impression on me, with Mr. Rude's puzzling behavior and his subsequent avoidance of me.
Satyam's expression turned into a frown as he noticed me. "What are you doing here?" His tone was not welcoming; instead, he seemed worried about my presence.
"Professor invited me," I replied, reaching for a glass of water from Ravi Ji.
"That old man!" Satyam muttered under his breath.
After gulping down a full glass of water and thanking Ravi Ji, I turned my attention back to Satyam. "What's wrong?"
He let out a heavy sigh. "Everything! Let's start with the fact that you are here, and you shouldn't be here..." He trailed off when a loud crash echoed from Professor's office.
Something was definitely amiss, given Satyam's unusually serious demeanor.
"Is something wrong with Mr. Vyas?" I asked, concerned.
Satyam watched me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You need to leave." Before I could even protest, he firmly grabbed my wrist and began to drag me towards the front door.
We hadn't gone far when I spotted Professor and Abhinav emerging from the hallway, engaged in a tense conversation. Professor seemed to be trying to reason with Abhinav, who appeared agitated and frustrated as he ran his fingers through his messy hair.
It was strange to see him dressed so casually in a white t-shirt and blue denim, a departure from his usual formal attire.
His hazel eyes looked weary as if he hadn't slept in days. When he noticed me, he froze. "What is she doing here?" his initial question was directed to Satyam, though his eyes remained fixed on his hand that had held my wrist. Satyam immediately let go of me.
"I called her here," Professor explained, taking a step forward.
Abhinav's glare intensified. "Don't overstep your boundaries."
Undeterred, Professor took another step towards him. "She has the right to know the truth."
Abhinav's expression turned cold. "My decisions have nothing to do with her."
Professor held his gaze firmly, a challenging glint in his eyes. "Are you sure? Because I think it has everything to do with her."
I was feeling like an outsider in my own presence. What was happening, and why were they discussing me as if I were invisible?
Abhinav's patience seemed to be wearing thin as he shot Professor a warning look. "Don't test my patience, Professor!"
My head tilted to the side as I looked at Satyam standing beside me. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes held a flicker of concern as he observed Abhinav.
"What's happening here?" I whispered, directing my question to Satyam. In the hushed silence of the hall, my words seemed to echo louder than intended.
But there was no immediate response from anyone.
From a distance, Abhinav's gaze locked onto me. "We're breaking our agreement. I don't need you anymore," he stated bluntly.
"What?" I was taken aback by his words, unsure of how to react.
Drawing closer, he held my stare with an air of detachment. "You heard me. I don't need your services anymore."
Services.
His choice of words made me flinch.
Though it was he who had spoken those words, they left a bitter taste in my mouth. While we may not have been friends, I still considered him my acquaintance, especially after sharing a vulnerable weekend together.
Yet now, he treated me as if I were some sort of servant.
"You don't need me anymore? You promised you would let me help you. Why are you backing down, Abhinav?" I asked, my mind still reeling from his unexpected statement.
"I never made any promise," he replied dismissively, refusing to face me. "Let's go, Satyam. We're done here," he added, striding towards the main door.
He never made a promise?
Pausing midway, he turned to Satyam, expecting him to follow. "Didn't you hear me?"
"Do you want to leave, boss?" Satyam shook his head in disbelief. "You haven't slept for two days. You haven't been to the office either. I thought coming here would help, but you seem even more troubled than before. And you're not telling us what's wrong." Satyam's frustration was evident in his voice as he voiced his concerns over Abhinav's behavior.
Hadn't slept for two days? Why?
Both men held each other's gaze, their silent communication speaking volumes. Eventually, Abhinav looked away and rubbed his face with his palm. I anticipated Abhinav would lash out at Satyam for not following his orders, but to my surprise, he did the opposite.
With a quick glance in my direction, he pleaded to him, "Let's go, please." There was a vulnerability in his voice, a plea that suggested he was grappling with an internal battle.
To me, it felt like he was fighting against himself.
I knew Abhinav well enough by now to understand that he would never directly ask for help; his ego was too immense or... perhaps he hadn't even realized he needed help.
Satyam, whether unwilling to argue or having grasped the underlying meaning behind Abhinav's words, complied without protest and started following him.
"You're running away, Abhinav," my voice reverberated through the silent hall, causing him to pause.
His behavior had changed after that dinner, and I knew something significant had occurred that night, something that made him avoid me thereafter.
Like I caught him off guard, his guarded façade monumentality slipping—a moment witnessed by the three of us. But just as quickly, he regained his cold demeanor. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Ms. Sharma."
I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because even if I don't fully understand what's happening here, it seems to me like you're running away from something, like a coward."
In response, he took a threatening step toward me. "Ms. Sharma, let me make this clear. I have no patience for those who make assumptions and speak without knowing the full situation."
Damn, he was right. But regardless, I couldn't back down now. "So, why don't you explain the whole situation to me, Mr. Vyas?"
His jaw clenched, his eyes briefly darting toward Professor. "You just need to know one thing: I'm terminating our contract."
"Why?"
He remained silent for several moments before finally uttering, "Because I'm tired of you." I stared at him in utter disbelief.
Tired of me? Was he serious? The urge to grab something and slam it into his infuriating face was almost overwhelming.
That was it. I had run out of patience dealing with his absurdity. Turning around, I looked at Satyam. "Did he eat something wrong this morning, or has he always been this obnoxious?"
I knew it was the latter.
Satyam didn't answer my question, but a small smile played at the corners of his lips. A snort even came from behind, probably from Professor.
Mr. Rude raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing.
Professor intervened, clearing his throat loudly. "Don't worry, kiddo. It's nothing. I know you want to help, and we really need you. My patient is just acting out right now. He'll realize his mistake once he's cooled down a bit."
If Professor's words were meant to reassure me... they did the exact opposite. The expression on his face told me there was more to the story.
"She wants to help?" Abhinav directed the question at Professor.
Then he turned his head in my direction, and I couldn't move under the intensity of his icy gaze.
"You want to help me? Why? What does it matter to you anyway?" My throat tightened as he closed the distance between us. "We're not friends, we don't even like each other... so tell me why? Is this just because of the money I'm paying you?"
"Abhinav-" Two voices warned him from behind.
Gazing at the table lamp, barely an arm's length away, my fists clenched tightly. Oh, how I longed to lash out at him, to strike him for his incessant blabbering!
I chose the wrong person to help.
"What on earth was I thinking? People truly never change..." I mumbled under my breath, shooting a glance in the direction of the Professor. "I apologize, Professor, but I cannot handle this situation right now."
The urge to shout at that ungrateful human consumed me, yet I struggled to suppress my anger, realizing it wasn't entirely his fault. His condition was to blame, after all.
Deciding that leaving was the wisest course of action, I couldn't bear the thought of uttering words I'd later regret.
As I walked away from the room, a booming voice echoed through the silent hall, taunting me, "Now, who's running away?"
I kept my steps measured, refusing to turn back. "Who's the coward now?" he pushed further.
Whipping my head in his direction, I confronted him, "Have you ever considered me your friend?"
His lashes lowered as he coldly replied, "No."
"Do you believe I'm here because of your money?" I raised my voice, trying to keep my composure.
"This is the truth, Aanya. You're helping me because I'm paying you. There's no need to be ashamed of it... really," he suggested, his words cutting deeper than any insult.
Once, whenever he mentioned my name, it sounded like a prayer, but now, it was bitter and venomous.
I was about to retort with a biting response when he did something unexpected. A mocking smile appeared on his face as he pulled out his mobile from his jeans pocket.
We all furrowed our brows in confusion.
He pointed at my phone, which I held in my hand, and a few seconds later, it vibrated with a message. He had just transferred fifty thousand rupees to my bank account, a sum even more than my promised weekly income.
At that moment, I couldn't care less about how he knew my banking details.
His arrogance ignited a fire of rage within me.
A tumultuous blend of anger, frustration, and disappointment swirled within me, an explosive concoction threatening to burst forth.
My anger seethed as he demeaned me with his wealth, my frustration peaked at the realization that I had abandoned everything important to be here, only to find it was all in vain, and my disappointment crushed my spirit as he revealed he didn't even regard me as a friend.
With a steely gaze, I concealed the true extent of the hurt inflicted by his words and actions. "I'm a materialistic person, Abhinav," I retorted, my tone dripping with bitterness. "Yes, money holds great importance for me. It eases life's burdens. But I prefer to earn it through my efforts rather than receiving it as charity from a narcissistic billionaire like you.
Though I tried to mask my pain, his searching gaze delved into mine, and for an ephemeral moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—perhaps regret.
He hesitated, seemingly reconsidering what he had intended to say.
"Both of you, please stop!" Satyam's voice interjected from behind.
I locked eyes with the Professor, who silently observed our exchange with the wisdom of a seasoned psychiatrist. "You see, no improvement," I commented, urging him to confront the harsh reality.
"Aanya..." I anticipated he would offer some intricate psychiatric analysis, so I cut him off.
"I understand," I asserted, the intensity in my stare matching his.
Abhinav's gaze lingered on me. As I prepared to depart, an urge to deliver a resounding blow to his face surfaced, but I resisted, choosing instead to unleash the torrent of words that awaited release.
I turned to face him fully.
"If you keep pushing everyone away just because you are disappointed with them or maybe it is because of your insecurities that you didn't even know exist inside you, trust me if you keep on doing this nobody will gonna stay by your side."
.
.
.
.
I should have unleashed my anger on him
This thought lingered in my mind as I drifted into sleep, and it was the very first thought that greeted me in the morning.
How could one person be so infuriating, so insufferable?
A rich psychopath, that's what he was, always eager to portray me as a greedy human with ulterior motives.
As if the sole purpose of my life was to seize his property!!!
Sure, he might have been grappling with his own problems, but that gave him no right to lash out at everyone around him.
Enough was enough.
I had always tried to empathize with him, to offer my assistance, but there comes a point when you can no longer tolerate someone's toxicity. I had reached my limit; I could no longer endure his crap.
Yet, amid this tumultuous storm of emotions, I found myself perplexed by the conversation between Professor and Abhinav that had seemingly sparked even more rage within him.
What could they have discussed, and how did it involve me?
"Are you certain that plant will thrive inside your terrarium?" Dr. Singh's voice startled me from behind.
My eyes darted to the large fern I held in my hand and then to the tiny jar. Now, even my work was being affected by that rude human. With a heavy sigh, I gingerly placed the fern back on the table.
Using forceps, I attempted to put the moss inside the glass jar, but my hand trembled throughout the entire process, leading me to place it in the wrong way.
"You never make mistakes with plants," Professor Singh commented, his gaze piercing through me. The weight of his words bore down upon me.
Professor Sanjay Singh, a distinguished faculty member and head of our department, had devoted his life to the study of plants. He had little tolerance for those who disrespected these living beings.
"I'm sorry. I'll redo it," I replied, trying to regain my composure.
Creating terrariums had always been a therapeutic activity for me—a way to encase small plants within glass containers, transforming them into miniature gardens or forests.
In my mind, they seemed encapsulated in their own world, a safe haven insulated from the harsh realities of ours. I picked up a delicate fern, ideal for the tiny jar, but my clumsiness betrayed me, and it slipped from my grasp, tumbling to the floor.
As I bent to retrieve it, I inadvertently nudged the glass jar on the table's edge. A deafening crash resounded through the silent lab as the jar shattered into countless pieces. Pebbles, coal, and soil once encased within the jar were now scattered across the floor in a chaotic mess.
The mess I had created lay before me, a disarray of shattered glass, scattered pebbles, and upturned soil. I could feel the weight of my classmates' and Professor's gazes upon me, their silent judgment piercing through my being.
Terrarium-making had always been a source of joy for me, so why was today different? What had gone wrong within me?
Determined to rectify my mistake, I prepared to clean up the debris, only to be halted by the stern voice of Professor Singh. "Don't," he uttered curtly, the words cutting through the air like a knife.
It stung, for he had never scolded me before. Around us, the five students who had been scattered about cast furtive glances in our direction.
I cast my gaze downward, fixated on the floor, feeling a mixture of shame and confusion. It seemed he was banishing me from the lab, casting me out.
"I'm not banishing you from the lab," he stated, his voice firm.
I blinked, my bewilderment growing. "Really?"
His eyes narrowed, focusing intensely on me. "I am assigning you a different task. Azma is heading to the nursery to select new plants for the upcoming project. Knowing her track record, I don't trust her with this responsibility alone. I want you to accompany her, overseeing everything, ensuring our plants are in optimal health."
A surge of dejection washed over me. "But this feels like a punishment," I mumbled, my voice tinged with disappointment.
A soft, warm laughter escaped Professor's lips as he walked away. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it is," he chuckled, his departure leaving behind a faint echo of mirth in the air.
.
.
.
Looking back, I couldn't help but feel grateful that Professor Singh had ejected me from the lab. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have found myself in the midst of these magnificent creatures.
In a world where nature seemed to be fading, being surrounded by these little marvels uplifted my spirits and made me feel at ease.
The variety of flowers displayed before me was mesmerizing; each one calling out to be taken home and cherished. The soft floral scent carried by the fresh breeze filled my senses, eliciting a contented hum from within.
"Transport everything on the list to the university," Azma's voice pierced through my trance-like state as she handed the list to the dealer.
But my enthusiasm and reverence for these plants compelled me to speak up. "We need to inspect the quality of the saplings first. We can't simply hand over the list and be done with it," I whispered from behind.
She shot me a disdainful look. "I don't have time for such in-depth inspections," she retorted, glancing at her watch. "I have to pick up my son from school."
Azma, the lab attendant in our department, was in her late thirties. To be honest, her knowledge about plants seemed close to nonexistent, which left me puzzled as to how she secured the job in our department in the first place.
"But Professor entrusted us with this responsibility," I argued.
She brushed off my concerns dismissively. "You can stay here and fulfill your duty, but I'm out of here." The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floor grated on my nerves.
I wasn't one for violence, but at that moment, I couldn't help but wish to drag her back by her hair in frustration.
The dealer's expectant gaze rested upon me as I requested him to show me around. The architect and the floriculture department of our university were collaborating to create a landscape at the barren land behind our departmental building, to provide practical knowledge to students and also to beautify the land. We were going to plant these flowers there. So, I had to choose the flowers and other plant carefully.
"You are going to deliver all this, right." I inquired again.
His response offered a glimmer of relief. "Considering the size of your order, we will deliver it to the specified address." I shared the university's address and contact number to settle the bill.
While they processed the order, I wandered around, my eyes drawn to a delightful sight on the verandah. Plants reached up past the cedar railings, basking in the sun's embrace. In one corner stood a pot adorned with Petunias, its captivating colors and graceful form catching my eye.
"I'd like to purchase that one," I informed the dealer as he approached.
"I'll instruct the workers to pack it for you," he obliged.
"Actually, I want it to be delivered to someone," I requested.
His gaze flickered with curiosity as it rested on the pot. "Do you understand the language of flowers?"
"Yes," I replied confidently.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Do you know the significance behind gifting this flower?"
"Yes."
"And you still want—"
"Yes," I interjected firmly. "Now, tell me, will you deliver it or not?"
He hesitated, wrestling with his policy. "Ma'am, as you know, we only deliver with large orders."
"If I place a substantial order, will you deliver this along with it?" I inquired.
He regarded me with an incredulous expression. "Sure."
Having settled on suitable plants and installation equipment, I furnished the delivery address for the goods. He handed me the receipt, his expression uncertain. "Your bill, ma'am. It might be more than you anticipate. Are you prepared to pay?"
I glanced at the receipt.
Fifty thousand rupees.
"No, the numbers are just right," I smirked, undeterred.
Still trying to fathom my actions, he thanked me after our transaction was complete.
Then, it dawned on me—I had forgotten something crucial. "Could you give me a card? I need to write a special message."
Though curious, the dealer didn't pry. I penned down the message and placed it alongside the Petunia.
I couldn't wait to witness Mr. Rude's reaction when he receives this remarkable package.
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21 Nov, 2021 (Revised)
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