Dear readers,
Firstly, my heartfelt apologies for the irregular updates in the past. Life sometimes throws unexpected challenges, but I'm determined to be more consistent from now on.
Your support is the driving force behind this story, and I'm immensely grateful for each one of you. Your votes and comments are like sparks that ignite my creativity. Your engagement makes this story, that's very special to me, come alive!
So, please take a moment to vote and share your thoughts through comments.
Happy reading ♡
✿
✿
Parth's POV
✿
As I turned to Keerti, her enigmatic expression left me curious.
With a sly gesture, she pointed to the left side of my chest. Following her cue, my eyes landed on the intricate mehandi design from Sharvi’s hand, forming the unmistakable shape of the letter S, right where my heart beat.
The letter S!
"I am so sorry," I heard Sharvi speak, her voice laced with regret. "Your kurta got spoiled. I didn't mean for this to happen.”
My eyes moved to her hand, the once intricate mehandi pattern now marred.
Regret washed over me instantly.
Damn! I should have been careful.
I responded, "No, why are you apologising? It's my fault. Even your mehndi got spoiled."
I remembered her expressing her love for applying mehandi just moments ago in a conversation with someone.
And my regret deepened!
I saw the mehandi artist beside Sharvi and asked her for a solution. She advised Sharvi to wash it off swiftly, promising to reapply the same design in the same spot. It wouldn't be flawless, but it would suffice.
As Sharvi followed the instructions, Keerti leaned in and whispered, "People get that letter written by mehandi on their hands; you directly got it on your heart. Not bad!”
I glanced at her smirking face and muttered, "Foolish," before making my exit.
Once in my room, I took off the kurta and examined it.
The S was perfect in shape.
To someone unaware of the incident, it might seem like someone deliberately wrote an S there.
Putting the kurta aside, I changed and returned downstairs. Sharvi sat in a corner, her both hands adorned with mehandi.
As I approached her, a passing waiter caught my attention with a tray of assorted food. Picking up a plate of chaat, I continued toward Sharvi.
"Get lost," she muttered upon seeing me.
I was taken aback, "What's wrong?"
"Parth, you are coming with food in front of me when I cannot eat," she said through gritted teeth.
I chuckled and took a seat beside her, saying, "Ohh, that's the problem. I thought you were angry because I ruined your mehandi."
Her eyes remained fixed on the plate in my hand.
God! This girl loves food more than anything in the world!
Taking a spoonful, I offered, "Hmm, here, have it." She responded with a million-dollar smile, eagerly opening her mouth.
I fed her two or three more spoons.
That's when my phone suddenly pinged with a message. Retrieving it, I checked the message while simultaneously lifting a spoon of chaat. Lost in multitasking, instead of directing the next spoonful into her mouth, I ended up putting it in mine.
A sudden realisation struck me.
Damn! We just ate with the same spoon!
I glanced up to see her looking at me and the shared spoon. Awkwardness settled between us as she broke the silence, saying, "I will just wash the mehandi and come.”
As she left, I looked at the plate and noticed just a spoon of chaat left. Without second thoughts, I scooped up the remaining contents on the same spoon and disposed of it into my mouth.
✿
Later that evening, I was heading towards my room when I heard someone crying.
I paused for a second, when the sound seemed to vanish.
As I resumed my steps, the muted sobbing echoed once more, compelling me to halt in my tracks. It was as if someone struggled to stifle their cries, creating an unsettling atmosphere.
Curiosity tugged at me, and despite my initial hesitation, I pressed on to investigate.
The figure leaned beneath a tree, obscured from full view, with only the outline of her dress visible.
The dress immediately struck a chord of familiarity; after all, I had spent the entire afternoon staring at the person who wore it.
Sharvi.
The initial curiosity dissipated, replaced by a mix of surprise and sadness. Questions swirled in my mind – why was she crying?
Why were the eyes I admired the most filled with tears?
As I stood there, watching her cry, something deep within me shattered. Despite the countless years of knowing her, I had never glimpsed her in such a state.
The sight of her vulnerability unleashed a turmoil within, causing my chest to tighten and my breath to constrict. It wasn't just witnessing her tears; it was feeling the resonance of her pain in my blood, coursing through my veins like an agonising symphony. My spine seemed to echo the ache, as if it bore the weight of her sorrow.
In that moment, an overwhelming desire surged – to envelop her in my arms, whispering that I am with her. Simultaneously, a fierce determination ignited within me, fueled by the desire to ruthlessly ruin every source of her pain from this world, every source that had dared to inflict such deep wounds upon her.
Before I could react, I watched Sharvi wiping away her tears as she walked away from the spot.
A sense of helplessness lingered, leaving me torn between the desire to understand her pain and respecting her need for solitude.
My reverie was abruptly broken by the ringing of my phone, signalling an incoming call. Answering it, I discovered an emergency at work that demanded my immediate attention.
Subsequently, I found myself immersed in an hour-long meeting, my focus continually drifting every few minutes as I pondered the mystery behind Sharvi's tears.
✿
An hour later, I went downstairs and saw her playing with a child. She had changed into casual attire—tee and jeans.
Approaching her, I noticed the lingering signs of swollen eyes. Although she smiled while interacting with the kid, there was a depth to her expression that left me unsatisfied and concerned.
I yearned to witness her genuine smile once more, an earnest desire to alleviate whatever burden weighed on her, even if only temporarily.
A sudden thought sparked in my mind, prompting me to dash upstairs to my room. I rifled through the clothes I wore yesterday, finding the jeans and, in its pocket, the visiting card from the store we had visited yesterday.
Luckily, I hadn't thrown it away.
Calling the number on the card, I inquired about the alteration process for my kurta. To my relief, they confirmed it was done and scheduled for evening delivery to the hotel.
I requested them to hold off and informed them that I'll pick it up personally.
Finding the perfect excuse, I hurried downstairs and approached Sharvi. "Sharvi, let's go out," I suggested.
"Out?" she questioned, seeking clarification.
I responded, "I need to get my kurta," feeling a pang of guilt as I swiftly concocted a lie to justify our outing.
"But won't they deliver it?" she inquired.
Feeling guilty again, I concocted another swift lie, "No, they said I need to pick it up myself." Before she could ask another question, I said, "Come on, let's go. I don't want to go alone, so just accompany me, please."
She agreed, and a sigh of relief escaped me, grateful for not having to craft another lie.
As we ventured out, an awkward silence enveloped us. Unsure of what to do, we reached the store and retrieved my kurta.
Now what?
The idea struck me immediately—food! It was the perfect way to lift her spirits. Food had a magical effect on her mood.
"Sharvi, let's try the local food," I suggested, hoping to bring a hint of joy back into her day.
She looked at me with a questioning gaze and remarked, "What's up, Parth? This is the first time I've seen you so excited about the idea of eating. Remember in the past, I had to move mountains to make you agree to accompany me somewhere to eat.”
Shifting my weight, I acknowledged her observation.
She wasn't lying; I often made her request my company.
The truth was, I was always ready to accompany her anywhere, but I couldn't resist the adorable way she tried to convince me.
Every time she insisted on trying yet another restaurant or cafe, her eyes sparkled with excitement. Her pleas, accompanied by a hint of pouting and a delicate dance of her hands, with the promise that that was the last restaurant or cafe she'd ever try, were nothing short of adorable.
In those moments, I found myself willingly ennobled by the endearing spell she cast, making me deliberately let her make those requests again and again.
Breaking my trance, she exclaimed, "Whatever! Now that you've mentioned food, I suddenly feel hungry. Let's go eat. I've got a list of places and food we have to try."
In that moment, glimpses of the Sharvi from our college days emerged in her, and a smile couldn't help but tug at my lips.
There was a certain joy in rediscovering the familiar among the changes that had come in us.
We ventured into a small store and she ordered a traditional Himachali dish called Siddu.
As the waiter placed a round, steamed bread with a slightly golden hue before us, I witnessed Sharvi, the food blogger, resurfacing after ten years. She began, "This is called Siddu. It's a stuffed bread, made with wheat flour and filled with a mixture of local ingredients like jaggery, ghee, and dry fruits. The dough is typically fermented before steaming or baking. It's a very popular delicacy."
I listened with rapt attention, a smile involuntarily creeping across my face.
Excitedly, she urged, "Let's try. Come on, I am excited. I hope it's good enough."
I stopped and observed as she took the first bite, and I followed suit.
The dish proved to be delightful, with a burst of flavours that danced on our taste buds. The slightly sweet and nutty stuffing seamlessly blended with the soft wheat dough, and the warmth of ghee lingered, creating a comforting sensation. Enchanted by the unique taste, she exclaimed, "Wow! This is so good!" Her eyes filled with ecstasy as she eagerly took another bite.
"Isn't it, Parth?" she asked.
I smiled and replied, "Yeah!"
She expressed, "It's like a warm hug from the mountains."
Before we could settle the bill and leave, she suggested, "This was a bit sweet. Let's try something spicy now."
We ventured to another place, and she ordered another dish called Babru.
I smiled and asked, "Okay, tell me something about this."
She spoke with excitement in every word, "Babru is a deep-fried bread made with black gram paste, mixed with spices and herbs. The result is a crispy exterior and a soft, flavorful interior. Babru is often enjoyed with tamarind chutney or yoghurt, making it savoury and satisfying."
As the dish was served, I noticed her looking at me. Curious, I asked, "What?"
“You take the first bite and check the spiciness," she said, and I smiled.
This was our old ritual. Every time we ordered a spicy dish, I would take the first bite, checking for its spiciness. If I gave a green signal, then only she would eat. Nonchalantly, she would say, "This is the only reason I ask you to accompany me. To check the spiciness."
I gave the green signal for the dish, and she dove in.
"It's like a savoury surprise with every crunch," she exclaimed, taking another bite of the dish with the tangy chutney.
I added, "Yeah! The blend of textures and the burst of spices make this a delight. It’s both comforting and exciting.”
We finished our meal, and I thought we were done. I began to rise from my seat, ready to leave.
But, she added, “Let's try one more thing.”
"What? Aren't you afraid of your stomach?" I teased.
She smiled and said, “It's just one more, Parth. Chalo na, please.”
(Let's go)
Not surprisingly, I agreed.
She ordered another dish called Mittha, a delectable dessert featuring sweetened rice or wheat flour dough infused with aromatic cardamom or saffron, garnished with nuts.
With cautious curiosity, we took our first bite simultaneously. Her eyes widened, and she exclaimed, “Wow! It's like my tongue attended a carnival – unexpected, colourful, and leaving me wanting more.”
“Yeah, it’s indeed fantastic,” I responded with a chuckle.
We finished the dish and headed out, our impromptu food adventure proving to be a delightful diversion.
Suddenly, she said, “Parth, let's wait for a while. See, the sunset is looking so beautiful from here. Let's see it.”
I noticed a crowd gathered on the other side of the road, all standing to witness the sunset.
Though I never quite understood the concept of watching sunsets, unsure of what made them special, yet, compelled by her enthusiasm, I agreed to indulge in the moment.
We found a quiet corner, away from the bustling crowd, and stood there, the ambient sounds of Shimla blending with the serene spectacle unfolding in the sky.
I was looking here and there, my disinterest was evident, when her voice broke through, "What's wrong?”
"I've never quite understood the allure of watching sunsets," I said, shrugging my shoulders.
A playful smile curved her lips as she spoke, “Sometimes, it's not about understanding; it's about feeling.”
“Alright, tell me, what do you feel when you look at a sunset?”, I asked her.
As the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow around, she spoke with a soft smile on her face mirroring the tranquillity of the scene, "Sunsets are like life, Parth. They teach us that no matter how challenging the day has been, there's beauty in letting go and embracing the calm of the night.”
"But sometimes, it's not easy to let go," she whispered, her voice carrying a vulnerability that tugged at my heart.
"I understand," I replied softly, silently acknowledging the vulnerability she revealed, "letting go can be one of the hardest things to do."
She turned towards me, her eyes searching for mine for understanding, as I continued, "Yet, it's in that release, that we find space for new beginnings. Like the sun bidding farewell to the day, making way for the stars to shine."
A gentle breeze swept through, rustling the leaves around us as we continued to stand in quiet contemplation. The sounds dimmed, leaving only the whispering wind and the distant murmur of people. We stood there, enveloped in the tranquil moment, as if time had slowed down to let us absorb the profound simplicity of the evening.
"But what if the night is too long, and the stars seem too distant?", she asked, voicing the unspoken uncertainties that lingered in her mind.
I looked at her reassuringly as I spoke, "That's when we lean on the patience of the night. Just as the stars patiently await their turn to shine, our moments of darkness pave the way for the brilliance that lies ahead."
A shared smile passed between us, a wordless understanding in the simple exchange.
At that moment, a foreign couple interrupted our shared reverie. The gentleman, a touch older, spoke with a refined English accent, asking if I could capture a photograph of him and his wife. Without hesitation, I agreed, and they graciously assumed poses against the backdrop of the enchanting Shimla sunset.
As I finished taking the photo, he extended his gratitude, and seizing the opportunity, I inquired, “Where are you from?” With a hint of a smile, he replied, “France.”
I replied, accentuating my French tone, "Je vous en prie!" with a nod and a friendly smile.
("You're welcome!")
He eagerly inquired, "Parles-tu français?"
("Do you speak French?")
Intrigued, his wife joined in, expressing her interest as well. I revealed that I knew a little, sparking a shared enthusiasm for language and connection in that unexpected Shimla encounter.
In that moment of conversation, he unveiled the purpose behind their tour—they were exploring Shimla and other Indian cities because his wife had become an ardent fan of the country. This newfound admiration had blossomed after a meaningful encounter and conversation with an Indian native they had met in France.
He then said with the warmest smile, "Mais c'est pour cette personne que vous aimez que cela ne vous dérange pas de gravir même le plus haut sommet de la montagne et de traverser sept mers."
("But it is for that person you love that you don't mind climbing even the highest mountain peak and crossing seven seas.")
His wife blushed at his heartfelt words, a rosy hue painting her cheeks in response to the evident affection in his sentiment.
His gaze gently shifted towards Sharvi, a twinkle in his eyes as he posed a question filled with romantic sentiment, "Est-elle celle dans votre vie pour qui vous graviriez la plus haute montagne et traverseriez les sept mers?"
I smiled. And he nodded, giving me a thumbs up. Both of them left.
Later, Sharvi's curiosity led her to inquire about the nuances of our interaction with the foreign couple. While I willingly unveiled the tale of their Indian journey, a mischievous smile played on my lips as I chose to keep the latter part of our conversation a secret.
As the crisp mountain air embraced us, we strolled along Shimla's enchanting Mall Road. The shops lining the cobbled street were adorned with vibrant displays, drawing people like magnets.
With a twinkle in her eye, Sharvi scanned her surroundings before finally pointing towards a quaint jewelry store. "Let's go in and see it once," she suggested, a sense of curiosity lacing her words.
I saw her eyes lit up as she admired the intricate pieces.
I noticed a delicate bracelet with traditional Himachali motifs. “How about this one?” I proposed, a smile playing on my lips.
She hesitated, and then said, "No, no bracelets.”
She then wandered towards a display of earrings, her fingers gently caressing the shimmering designs.
I observed her, gracefully holding an intricately designed earring against her left ear, the mirror reflecting the love-struck sparkle in her eyes. A genuine smile played on my lips as I couldn't help but revel in the sight of her admiring herself with such delight.
"Perfect," I declared, affirming the evident harmony between her and the exquisite piece.
In response, she nodded, her happiness radiating through every feature. With an exclamation of joy, she shared, “Isn't it? I too think so.”
The earring was indeed beautiful, even though the person trying it held a beauty that surpassed every accessory.
She requested the shopkeeper to pack the earrings, but a sudden realization struck – she had arrived with only her phone. Pulling it out to make an online payment, she was met with a polite refusal from the elderly shopkeeper, who explained that they didn't accept online transactions.
Seeing her predicament, I stepped in, offering to cover the purchase. She hesitated for a moment, a grateful look in her eyes, and then agreed after making a promise, “I'll pay you back when we get back.”
I ignored her as I paid for the earrings.
Handing her the earrings, with a warm smile, I remarked, "May these earrings bring you as much joy as the mountains bring to Shimla."
We stepped outside, and she turned to me, curiosity evident in her expression. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Nothing! Can't I wish you joy?" I responded with a playful smirk.
Her smile grew, and she retorted, “If that's the case, then I too wish you a lot of joy, and a wife who's always late.”
I shot her an irritated glance, and she burst into laughter.
Her laughter echoed through the quaint streets of Shimla, a melody that seemed to harmonize with the charm of the surroundings. In that moment, I found myself captivated by the sheer joy emanating from her, and I couldn't help but wish for the perpetual presence of that melodic laughter on her face.
Approaching the hotel, a hopeful anticipation filled me, wishing that the shadows of her earlier sadness had dissipated, even if just a little, and that my efforts had succeeded in weaving threads of joy into the tapestry of her day.
✿
"𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐲."
✿
Another update!
Thoughts on the chapter?
How's the story going? Are you liking Parth and Sharvi?
Hope you liked the chapter.
Please, don't forget to drop your votes and comments.
Also, follow me on Instagram and Pinterest for more insights on the story. My ID is shewhowriteslove.
Good night.
See you in the next chapter.