Love Story

Nandini sits hunched over the wrought iron table. Her short brown hair is glowing softly under the late evening sun. You could get mesmerized by the rainbows in each strand if you stared too long. Its beginning to get chilly. But Nandini is oblivious. She is scribbling furiously, stopping only occasionally to wipe her sweaty hands on the hem of her denim shorts. Her smooth brown back is breaking out in goose bumps, barely covered by her spaghetti strap shirt.

Suddenly she pauses and reads through the paper with an intense scowl. By the time she reaches the end she is shaking her head in exasperation. With one swift move she tears up the paper and sits back with a groan.

“Love story. …. Love story……” she mutters, drumming her long fingers impatiently on the table top. “Where can I get one?”

Scraping back her chair, she saunters over to the edge of the balcony. Leaning over the iron rail she contemplates the world with a preoccupied air. The view from her townhouse is reasonably decent. She can see the gentle rolling hills of Palo Alto, covered with lush green grass, freckled with outcrops of strangely slanted trees growing out of hillsides. Snaking between them are the busy roads. Students….teachers…. lovers….. going to and fro from Stanford. Surely there must be a love story somewhere in there!

Absorbed as she is in her reverie, she doesn’t hear the click of keys at the front door as Ankit lets himself in. It’s been a long day at his start-up. He is glad to be home. She also misses the smile that breaks out in his eyes at the sight of her. Dropping his laptop bag at the door he tiptoes across the living room and then lithely crosses the balcony to plant a kiss on her tense neck.

“Aaaaeeeeeee!………Oh my God! Ankit!” gasps Nandini swiveling around. “You scared me! Don’t sneak up on me like that ever again” she reproaches him, even as she plants a swift answer back onto his cheek; blissfully unaware of the contradiction presented by her grinning lips.

Ankit grins back unrepentantly.

“So ….how was your day?” he asks walking back towards the table littered with pens and papers, his eyes ruefully taking in the littered floor.

“Not good. I need to write a love story for my writer’s club. Where the hell do I get one?”

Ankit shrugs laconically.

Irritated by his lack of response, Nandini resumes her scowl and sits back down again. She drops her head into her hands, trying to refocus her concentration. Ankit eyes her slim stooped figure.

If Nandini looked up now, her heart would skip a beat at the tenderness in his expression. But all Ankit asks is “Why don’t you get a laptop like the rest of the world?”

Nandini throws him a withering look. “I need to THINK. If you can’t help, can you at least go away?”

Chuckling loudly, Ankit makes to go back into the house. At the door he throws out another question “Hey Nan, what should I make for dinner?”

“Oh just toss up some salad and maybe pasta?” she returns absent mindedly.

“OK” he waves over the back of his head, disappearing into the house.
Soon the kitchen is alive with sounds of cooking. Running water, clanging pots, clinking lids, pasta poured into a vessel, pasta spilling on the floor, the local radio channel blaring through it all. Exasperated Nandini gives up her efforts and leans back in her chair. She can see glimpses of Ankit moving around in the kitchen. It does feel good to have him around, she admits. Ankit fills the house in a way she never can. After spending the whole day in almost complete silence, her senses are slowly awakening- enticed by roasted garlic, wooed by golden nubile spaghetti.

“I am sorry I didn’t have it ready” she suddenly calls out.

“Hey! After five years I think I know what to expect!” he calls back, laughter distorting his voice.

“Yea! Yea!” she mocks. Then sobers down.

“Ankit?”

He appears at once, sensing the change in her mood.

“Ankit I got an interview call this morning. They have a temporary vacancy at a private clinic. It’s a group practice. They are looking for a pediatrician who can come in three times a week to fill in for someone who is …….”Nandini takes a deep breath “ …on maternity leave.”

Ankit’s expression is dead pan. “And…” he encourages her softly. “What did you decide?”

“I don’t know…..I don’t know Ankit. How can I?” Nandini’s voice is an anguished whisper. Their eyes are drawn simultaneously to the dusty blue teddy bear sitting in the potted tomato plant near the balcony’s rail. With synchronized movements, they both look back at each other again. And then Nandini is moving towards him, her eyes welling with tears. And Ankit’s arms are ready for her. For the next few moments the only sounds are Nandini’s soft sobs and Ankit’s gentle caresses.
The teddy bear is silent. Laden with a year’s worth of grief – and guilt- and dust. He sits quietly in the exact spot where Akshay dropped him a year ago, riddled with a coughing fit.

“How could I Ankit. How could I? I thought it was just a cold….just a cold….”

“Hush….I know jaan. I know….it’s over now. Let it go” croons Ankit.

Yes, it’s been a year. A year since Akshay fell fatally ill with a rare case of bacterial meningitis. A year since Nandini failed to diagnose it immediately. A year since they rushed their baby to the ER, burning with sudden fever. A year since they returned home with an empty car seat, to stare in dull shock at the blue teddy bear.

With visible effort Nandini pulls herself together- and away from Ankit’s arms.

“I know” she sniffs “I’m trying. I am. …..But…And this god damn story! Why the hell did I join this club??!!???”

Ankit is prepared for this mood swing. They both know why Nandini needs the distraction of a writing club. But he plays along. “Yes god damn writing club” he exclaims in mock fury. “Taking my wife away from me.”

He pulls her back into his embrace. He is a full head taller than her and has to stoop to kiss her lips. Eyes closed, lips locked, they sway in gentle rhythm until suddenly something tightens between them. Their touch is harder, rougher. There is a rush to their breath. He swings her up completely into his arms.

“Ankit, you are totally ruining my muse. Stop distracting me like this," she complains; but her eyes are heavy with desire.

His breath is labored too but he throws her a wink, smiling wickedly.“To hell with your muse,” he growls.

Then he is striding into the living room, laying her gently on the couch. And then striding back to draw the blinds.
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I won’t follow them in. After all he just damned me to hell. But I can’t help smiling too. She will find me soon. I am not that far away……