-Ashwathy- 

Was it the day mother mentioned that she was the little girl in our photos? Or was it when my mother told me about what she had to go through. Was it pity, sympathy, admiration or love? I was just treading water dealing with my feelings but it didn't matter because I knew she was someone I could only dream of; out of my reach. But that day, when I saw her walk through the gate, from the window; I stood amazed for a while. But I ran to my room, my breath hitched and my hands trembling. I didn't prepare for this. I was never ready to ever meet you. It was difficult but my curiosity got the better of me. 

I looked at her as she stood in front of the mirror, her back to me. When she turned, all I could focus on was her dishevelled hair, her glowing bare face and a gleaming smile which calmed my mind. I wanted to touch her but also not. What would she think of me? Maybe just this once, maybe just once I could use up my courage. I could feel her eyes on my face as I ran the towel through her hair. She was probably uncomfortable; I had deduced as she looked away. 

That day when I saw her hastily put away the cigarette, I had frowned at the sight. It wasn't something I had expected a person like her to do. But nevertheless, I offered a place she could do it uninterrupted. In return, she taught me a few things about her camera. I handled it with extra care until my feet slipped. She held out her hand, but for some reason, I didn't want to take it. 

I hadn't done anything out of the blue. I focused on the chillis in front of me to distract myself from her. Through the corner of my eyes, I saw her struggle to bite around the middle of the jambakka. The corner of my lips lifted in a smile. Two friends of mine arrived at the right time. I needed to be away from here if I didn't want her to get a grasp of my feelings. It was tiring although. When old acquaintances meet me, it's mostly about my career and jobs. They had offered to set me up with one but I refused. I knew that the world works on networking and people; yet even in the direst of circumstances; never have I asked for help. It is weird, I'm aware but the more I take help, the more I feel vulnerable and weak. Like I'm not enough for this world and that society would eventually make me give up. Hah, as if I haven't already.

Despite hearing the constant bits of advice, I stuck with them through the day, at the end of which, they introduced me to a photographer friend looking for freelance models. For the sake of not rejecting them, I had agreed. But as days went by I found it interesting. My logistics degree was a waste of time, I hadn't excelled at anything I tried either, be it classical dance, yoga or teaching. The first time I saw Anjali's interview in a magazine, I'd cut it out and kept it in my diary. She was so passionate about it. She also succeeded in her chosen field after her studies. Compared to someone like her, I was a mere nobody. To someone like her, I wondered what I looked like. Stupid? Unskilled? Poor? 

I could never get the thought out of my head. Whenever I saw her, more than my admiration, I sensed a feeling of helplessness. Like a stark contrast of my life was put in front of me; to ridicule me or to make me realize I had to be better. I was happy although. She looked happy doing what she did. One after the other, I collected many pictures of hers, it had now grown into a bundle but I still kept them. I loved her. I loved her so much. But I couldn't ever be a part of your life. A person like me would only drown you; in my own insecurities and misery. 

It didn't last long though. When I saw her crying, I lost my own balance. When she told me that it was a girl she sought comfort in, my mind was blank. I could have been happy at that but when she yelled that she was not her accomplishments and that she was just like everyone else; I felt like I had sinned. More than the joy of finding that I might have had a chance to be beside her, I felt guilty. Like I had thought, a person like me was only meant to make her cry. So when she held out her hand, when I should rather have pulled her into a warm hug; I ended up turning away. 

The next evening when I came back from the shoot to check on her, she was gone. She had told my mother that she had work outside of the city. At first, I sighed in relief; not having to face her would mean I could go back to getting my thoughts straight. As days went by, it only got worse. Not watching her sleeping on her bed while I left her tea on the table, not being able to pull the blanket over her as she shuffled in bed, not being able to see her smile; I missed her. I missed her a lot. 

But when she came back with a girl called Sanjana, dressed weirdly for the summer. I couldn't help but let my mind wander in thoughts of what went on. I wanted to apologize, I wanted to take her hand until I stood with the tray with glasses of juice outside the room. I watched as she was comforted by her, I watched as the woman applied bandages on the sides of her neck, scarred with bruises that looked bad. I watched as she leaned on her and held hands, telling her it was okay. Wasn't that what I wanted to do; where I wanted to be. She doesn't trust me enough to tell me? But if she told me, would I be able to take her hand without my thoughts stopping me? 

I sneaked out of my room at 10 with the courage I had gathered but was shocked when I saw her open the door. Behind her, when I saw the bottle of alcohol, I was angry. She would lean on her friend, even take the help of alcohol but still wouldn't tell me what was going on. As I came back and saw her simply stand there, I grew even more furious. When she offered a drink, probably out of courtesy, I downed it and finally told her I hated it. But that was not enough. I wanted to make sure she knew what I implied. So when she started apologising; I kissed her. I thought it was-; no. I knew it was wrong of me but I couldn't stop myself. I was more embarrassed than ever. She wasn't angry. She didn't yell at me. Does she feel the same? But why didn't she say anything?

I gathered my thoughts as she came and sat beside me, on the floor, leaning her back on the bedside. She spoke about a side of hers I had never known. Things I couldn't have imagined. Her life which I thought was perfect; wasn't the case. Growing up in Oman, she returned to Mumbai for a fashion technology degree. That was when her parents passed away in an accident. Sanya was someone who apparently saved her. Saved her from what, I wasn't sure, she didn't talk much about it. She told me it was hell with her but I was somewhat thankful, that she was there with Anjali during her toughest times. Anjali didn't seem to agree but told me only kind people would think that way. Was I kind? What was I to Anjali, in her eyes? Does she see me as a friend? Someone young and stupid who kissed her out of a whim. Someone whom she would keep closer but not close enough. I wanted to rectify it but ended up stopping myself. I was embarrassed when she told me it was terrible, but I couldn't elaborate on why I had watched videos of girls kissing either. 

I regretted instantly when I agreed that Anjali would help Tony with the photo shoot. I could sense the disappointment on her face, but she went along with it. That night, since we missed the reservation she had made, I put together a small cabana with the help of my friend. He didn't ask many questions and got it ready by the time we arrived. She was carefree the entire time, she was also very hungry. Since I had seen her drink earlier, I thought she could handle her liquor but that wasn't the case. I had decided to stop at one glass since one of us had to be wide awake. She was cute when drunk. She was cute. She would cling to me every two minutes and it made me happy. I hesitated when she asked if she could kiss me. My heart raced, for most of it, the reason was her but a certain fear wouldn't stop lingering in my mind. The fear that this was all going to end. The fear that she would return to her world and me, my own. 

I watched as she slept humming and murmuring in her sleep. I let her hold my hand as she slept. The thoughts kept me up, almost all night. The thoughts that had me feeling guilty about pulling her into whatever this was. I was starting to regret every bit of it but I don't know how to stop it. I wanted to hold her like this forever if I could but do I have the courage to? Should I enjoy the time I have before this fantasy subsides? 

As I leaned in closer, her face in my hands, the only thought in my mind was to forget everything else and focus on the moment. Was I making an irreversible mistake? Was this love?