A Love Story? – Chapter Three

Read Chapter One and Two Here.

**

“Life doesn’t follow the pattern of any creative writing, life is unpredictable. You cannot write your life as the chapters of a novel. If you start looking for it, then you’ll find only one truth, there is no point to life. It holds on its own, it is a strong story. It’s a tale as old as time. I can count the number of people I care about on one hand, what does that tell about me?” That’s me, in a nutshell, for you. How did I ever ended up marrying someone so gentle

Me and Radhika, we juggled for a while, until one day when the dynamics of it all changed, just like that. It was raining that day too. I’ve always struggled with this one observation, whenever something significant happens in my life, it’s always raining. The water drops dancing in the sky, the earthy smell of wet dirt, the shrill sound of rain shaking the tin roof, the faint mist that you can almost taste in your mouth, rain drops creeping down your skin sending chills alongside it, they all tell one tale, I love rain.

It was raining the day I fell in love with Radhika. My wife.

Her hairs were wet, gone dark with the falling water, eyes equally dark in the gloom. I had the vague feeling something profound was happening in that moment. It was affection for her innocence, lust would have been too crude of a word for something so profound.

The complexity of human mind is unfathomable. I keep a lot of shit to myself because, in reality, nobody gives a fuck. Talking to her was the last thing I wanted to do in my life. No, it’s not as if I’m some kind of Anti-feminist or something, it’s just fathers have more in common with sons than daughters and vice versa for mothers. It’s simple psychology 101.

You don’t tell your deepest secrets, your weaknesses to strangers but to your friends, now as a son, I feel we feel more comfortable with our fathers to speak about things like that. It’s a bit complicated in my case because let’s be honest I’m not normal, but I guess you get my point, being comfortable with same sex when it comes to talking about embarrassing things doesn’t make us cheap, it just makes us human.

“What are the qualities that make you Atul? What is unique about you?” Those were the last words I was expecting to hear from her. “What’s your problem, duckface? Why do you hate us so much? Do you think you are better than us?” Those questions, I might’ve understood. What makes me Atul? What defines my identity? I would never have dreamed Radhika would ask me that.

I took my time, weighing every word, every syllable that was to leave my mouths. But when I started speaking, all of it amalgamated in one big pile of shit (What, you were expecting some poetic word?).

“Well, the things which make me Atul are the same qualities which make me an asshole in the eyes of other people. I don’t care what is your opinion about me, I’m brutally honest, and if you can’t understand from these two points that I am sarcastic, then you’re the kind of person I hate most and I don’t care whether you are older than me or not, if you are stupid, I literally won’t give a fuck about you. Maybe the fact that I’m a misanthrope could be beneficial for me,”

Suddenly I felt so terribly vulnerable, so uncertain and uneasy with showing her this ugliness of mine. She should have run away after that. Thank god she didn’t. Radhika. My wife.

“Good at least we are being honest. That’s a good first step, even if it’s long overdue,” Those were the words, few crude words that changed everything. In few words she made me understand she wasn’t afraid of my ugliness. She would understand me for me, not a respectable façade that I would have been forced to maintain.

She continued, “Don’t listen to what people say we are but instead what we think we are. We all are imperfectly perfect or perfectly imperfect, but both mean the same, we are human.” And she just stared at me after that. A satisfied smile on her lips, her eyes dreamy and brown.

For several moments, I did not move or speak. Sometimes being speechless is a good thing, and I would have to say that was one of those times.

There are things you do in life you’ll never forget no matter how long you live. Being honest with Radhika was the best thing I ever did in my life. Maybe, I need to honest with her once more. Maybe everything just might end up being OK once more. Maybe.

After all, clichés, they do happen. Believe it or not, some people, they just fit in your life, a perfect piece of the puzzle that makes everything clear.

**

via Daily Prompt: Lust

**

Read Chapter Four Here.

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