waking, walking nightmare

so. there might be something wrong with him. not like—no, not the way someone who put a whole spoon of marmite on their toast has something wrong with them, but more like...he’s actually going insane. it might have something to do with the mild concussion he got last week from playing cricket. he did get a ball to the helmet pretty badly—fucking bumrah, that bastard—but came out of it relatively unscathed.

right. the point. he’s...hearing things now. distant murmurs. sounds like voices, or maybe one voice, but he can’t make out any words. maybe he’s been cursed.

maybe he’s really going mad. jesus, is he hallucinating? is he psychotic now? what the fuck’ll happen if he tells anybody about it? his coach would bench him right then and there without question. he’d be sent to an insane asylum and never see the light of day again. he’d never play another game of cricket in his life—

okay, he can’t breathe. his chest hurts.

okay, this is the panic attack thing that happened last year.

“oi, mate, you all right in there? you sound like you’re wheezing—”

he forces the door of the bathroom stall open and nearly falls into the arms of the person who knocked.

“fuck, patty?”

his knees hit the floor and he presses himself against the wall. a commotion follows but it’s all muted in his ears. vaguely, he hears someone yell for marsh but he’s clawing at his throat as if his collar is choking him. his glasses are fogging up.

“mate, come on, breathe, alright? breathe, breathe!”

he shakes his hands wildly, trying to convey that he couldn’t. “i—”

“move, dammit, let me see him—!” he relaxes marginally at the sound of a familiar voice, familiar hands on his own. “pat, listen to me. can you focus on my voice? can you do that for me?” his hands press against a sturdy chest. he can feel the zipper of the open jacket poking his wrists. “i want you to focus on my voice, nothing else, okay? i’m going to take a deep breath and i want you to try and copy it. here we go: in…” the chest under his palm heaves, expands full of air. “out…” it deflates. “in…” he attempts to take a shuddering breath, ragged noise reaching his own ears. “out...you’re doing great. in…”

it takes about four cycles for his eyes to focus. his heart’s still hammering away in his chest, but he’s breathing. he’s fine.

mitch reaches out to feel his pulse and pat realizes his hands are still on his chest. “mate. you alright now?” pat nods, slowly letting his hands fall into his lap. mitch stares at him a while longer, then scoots into the space right next to him, back against the wall and arse in water. “we’re gonna sit here until you feel like getting up, yeah?” he gestures to malcolm, one of their juniors who had been there to call him, who nods and leaves to give them privacy.

they sit in silence, mitch’s finger tapping steadily against pat’s thigh.

“’m sorry,” pat mumbles.

“shut up,” comes the reply. and then, “’m not gonna ask, but you know you can talk to me, yeah?”

“yeah.”

he’s drowsy, exhausted by the time they make it back to their dorms and changes out of his clothes. he doesn’t see mitch exchange a worried look with josh and starcy as he climbs into his bed. as he drifts off to sleep, he hears a soft voice in his head that he doesn’t quite recognize, that tells him four words.

it’s one sentence, in one voice, that rishabh hears when he’s dying.

i’m not your soulmate, rish, i’m not yours.

-

this isn’t something that rahul just tells people, but he will say it now. come close, keep your mouth shut: rahul hates the concept of soulmates. now—before you erupt in outrage—he doesn’t show it. he doesn’t go around commenting rude remarks on facebook posts, or attend anti-soulmate protests, or encourage people to cover up their marks or even quit talking about their partner so much.

it's a world that emphasizes heavily on having a significant other, and rahul knows this. knows he has to set his jaw and get through it, because this world isn’t kind to people like him. people who don’t have a soulmate. the fact that he doesn’t have one isn’t branded on his forehead, so that’s a relief. people judge him even otherwise, so he can’t imagine they would look kindly upon his loneliness, either. it doesn’t matter if it’s scorn or pity; he doesn’t want to hear either.

but he has his friends, fellow lonely friends. he has hardik. he has athiya. he has virat and krunal—even if they do have soulmates, they’re still vocal about not discriminating against people who don’t.

rahul doesn’t normally think about this that deeply. but rishabh came into his life, and for the first time in a long, long time, he remembers.

when shubman hears the news, he laughs for ten minutes straight.

because ishan is getting married. arranged married. like. parents picked out a girl for him arranged married. as in ‘he’s going to have to live with a woman who is his parents’ type’ kind of arranged married. he forwards the invitation that ishan sent in the general ict group chat, right back to their friends group, with several keysmashes and crying-laughing emojis. and a few skull emojis.

ishan sends an eyeroll back, and that’s that.

only it isn’t, because isn’t this the same guy who romanticized everything in his damn life? isn’t this the same guy who’s watched dilwale dulhania le jayenge seven hundred times and knows the dialogues word for word, who daydreams of that kind of love finding him one day? isn’t this the same guy who taught himself to play that song on the piano, so he could serenade his future partner? who loves watching rom-coms and cries halfway through them? who makes a bigger deal about valentine’s day than necessary? who is very invested in his friends’ relationships and gives advice as if he’s in one himself?

and now he’s getting arranged married out of the blue?

dewald’s heart is in his throat as he pushes through the heavy hospital doors. he's been restless all morning, unable to relax until he's seen for himself that tilak is alright. rohit uncle texted him a few hours ago telling him the room number, so that's where he's headed.

he knocks twice on the door to tilak’s room, cracks it open. rohit is leaning forward in his chair to see who it is, and waves him inside when he recognises him.

dewald lets the door fall shut but doesn't move, afraid. “he's…how is he?”

“he's okay. i promise.” rohit’s flippant tone should calm him down, but he can't shake his nerves. “hey. come here.” the man stands up and opens his arms and dewald breaks, rushing into them. they're familiar, comforting, safe. “aw, kid. you were scared, huh?” he nods against rohit’s shoulder. “he’s fine.”

he feels another hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles, and pulls away from rohit to see ritika aunty there, trying to comfort him. he tries to smile, but finally catches sight of tilak.

his best friend is asleep, head turned away from them, towards the sunlight from the windows. his foot is plastered up, and there are bandages around his head and his arms. dewald wants to sink to his knees and thank god for saving him. when he heard that tilak was in a car accident, he wanted to drop everything and run. it's just lucky they were in india anyway. what if this happened when he was back home?

"we're going to settle some bills," ritika says quietly, nudging him towards the empty chair. "we'll be back soon. stay with him, okay?"

"okay."

dewald sinks into the chair once they've left, trying not to make noise. the room is quiet apart from the faint murmuring of the news channel playing on the television. he takes this time to just look. the little spots of blood on the bandage around his head. gauze around his arms and he just knows tilak's going to be upset about his tattoos getting ruined. something's broken in his foot, perhaps his ankle's twisted, too, and god knows what else.

it's uncomfortable for everyone in the locker room. with a last glare at rohan, and abhi, too, for good measure, the coach huffs and stomps out. the other players jump aside to let him leave, and the silence that fell doesn't break until only he and rohan are left inside. vivaan, the last one out, raises a hand to abhi, who nods at him.

a deep sigh. "ro—"

"aaoge mere saath?"

abhi's caught off guard. "kahaan?"

"kahin bhi."

so they drive. well, rohan drives, in his fancy car, and abhimanyu spends most of it staring at his friend. friend. how things have changed since they met nearly five years ago. rohan drives aimlessly around uphill and down, or so it seems, until he pulls over at a bend in the road overlooking the city. he slams out of the car and throws his legs over the short wall bordering the road. abhi's scared he's going to jump for a fleeting moment, but he just hitches a leg up, knee under his chin and rests. abhi sits beside him and waits.

"i'm so tired." he glances over at rohan, not surprised to see his face still twisting in anger. "i can't do fucking anything right."

"that's not true."

"name one thing!" he snaps, eyes fierce when he turns to look. "i can't keep a job, my dad doesn't respect me, shanaya doesn't want anything to do with me, i can't get anybody to love me—" his voice cracks, embarrassingly so, and he quickly hides his face under the pretense of rubbing his temples.

abhi debates for a moment whether he should say it. it's not usually him initiating, but perhaps rohan needs this tonight. "i can show you something you do really well. but we'd get arrested if we stayed here."

an amused huff escapes him. "horny fucker."

"learned it from the best."

it's during one metro ride, between arumbakkam and vadapalani, that adithya's entire life changes.

a phone call. just one phone call, and he suddenly can't breathe. he feels his heart sink into his stomach, ribcage splintered and lungs bleeding. there's an enormous weight on his chest that he can hardly bear. he's lucky he managed to find a seat today, because he loses feeling in his legs; he would have fallen had he been standing. he wants to scream. it's right there, lodged in his throat, bitter on the back of his tongue, but there are still a few stops to go. he's on the metro and he can't make a scene. so he swallows it down, hand shaking as he lowers his phone from his ear.

his body moves on autopilot the entire way back. he doesn't know how he gets down at his stop. doesn't remember walking through the station or scanning his ticket to get out. doesn't remember crossing the street to get to his own, and certainly doesn't know how he made it to his apartment door. every fibre of his being shouts i can't! i can't do this! i can't do this! no, no, no, no—

a bell rings somewhere. he doesn't realize he pushed the button. he hears a muffled it's open! and he turns the handle. steps inside. lets the door fall shut behind him.

"hey!" devan comes out of his room, pulling an old t-shirt on, the case for his glasses in hand. "i was wondering—" he stops, seeing the look of pure devastation on his face. devan has seen that look only once before, to a much milder degree, and it was when adithya ran away from home. this looks much. much. worse. his heart starts hammering. "adi?"

"they're dead."

"...what?"

"they're dead." adithya's bag slips off his shoulder and falls to the ground with a thud. his voice wobbles when he repeats, "my parents…they're dead."

devan's glasses case hits the floor with a crack. dread fills him, every crevice of him, heart ripping apart at the anguish his best friend is going through right now. and there's nothing he can do to fix it. "adi…" there's the tiniest noise from the back of adithya's throat, not quite a sob but more of a gasp, like he can't breathe, and devan's instantly moving to him, throws his arms around him, holds him tight. adithya doesn't cry, but he shudders in his embrace like he's ill. face burning like a fever. devan squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ignore the sickening beat in his chest.

adithya says something that he doesn't quite catch, but he definitely feels the man go rigid. he draws away, looking at him in concern. his friend is starting to panic.

"the kids," he breathes, terrified. "the kids, they're—i don't know if—fuck, what if they—" and then he can't continue, just frantically searches for his phone with trembling hands and ragged inhales, jerky exhales. he's tipping over into a point of no return, and devan realizes he needs to get this situation under control right now. adithya, usually the more assertive and aggressive of the two, is—for lack of a better word—incapacitated, so he doesn't have a choice.

"adi. stop." adithya snaps to a halt at devan's voice. "give me your phone." when the man doesn't move, devan reaches over to take it from him, hushing his protests. "you're going to go to your room and pack a bag. we're leaving in half an hour."

speechless, adithya nods.

in the time it takes for his friend to gather up some clothes and essentials, devan calls the last number that appears on his phone. aditya's maternal grandfather. devan's only met the man a couple of times, but he's a good man. willing to answer devan's questions even though his own heart must be breaking, too.

adithya's parents got into a horrible road accident on their way back from a meeting in pudukkottai. they were rushed to a hospital near thanjavur but they were too badly injured to be saved. the kids—adithya's younger siblings—are alive. they didn't go with their parents to the meeting, but stayed with him instead.

thank the gods for that.

he tells adithya's grandfather that they're getting the next bus to thanjavur. that they'll be there as soon as they can. that he's truly sorry for their loss. when he hangs up, there's an emptiness in him. an emptiness that starts to fill as memories well up inside him, but he shoves them firmly down, into the depths of his unconscious. there's no time for all that.

another trip to the town, another trip wasted.

bheem hops down from the cart with the rest of the group, and hesitates. lacchu stops when he realizes bheem hasn't moved. jangu comes over and claps him on the shoulder.

"it's okay, bheem," he says. "we will try again." he nods mutely and trudges after them.

a lot of their tribe work in town, and every day they leave in the morning and return just after sunset. bheem and a few of the others accompanied them today, in the hopes of being able to speak to the panchayat about the deforestation happening in and around where they live. they've been hearing rumours of a company taking over the land and building apartments or a shopping complex or something. but what they were met with were looks of contempt and disdain. the leaders spoke to them like they were dirt. so many others in town sympathized with them and offered to house them if they needed to leave the forests, but bheem wanted to scream at them, if you want to help, then help us fight!

peddayya could tell he was close to losing his temper, so he ushered the younger men out while he spoke to the leaders alone. bheem fumed outside while lacchu and jangu tried to calm him down. when peddayya returned, he looked rather upset, but refused to tell them what was said, only that their request was turned down.

he's exhausted from all the self-control he had to exert that day. bheem won't admit it to anyone, but each day, his resolve is getting beaten down more. he's worried that one day he'll wake up and not care about this place anymore.

there's a flurry of activity when they approach the little village. at first, bheem is alarmed—is someone sick? but then he notices the excitement.

a little hand catches his. bheem glances down to see malli pulling him along. he tugs her back and lifts her into the air, then settles her in his arms.

"annayya," she whines, pushing at his shoulder. "come on, savithri amma is calling for you!"

"what's going on, malli?" he asks, looking around. "what's with all the commotion?"

"there's a strange man here," malli tells him. "he came to see us all, i think. but annayya!"

"what?"

she lowers her voice, cupping her hand around her mouth and leaning in. "he's very beautiful." she then covers her face with her hands, burying her head in his neck, shy. he feels much of his anger and frustration melt away at this, and he laughs out loud, throwing his head back.

"really?" he bounces her in his arms a couple times to tease her. "shall i ask him to come see your mother to arrange your marriage?" she only continues whining, still hiding her face. he chuckles to himself and continues down the path. if savithri amma has asked for him, he must go.

the others in the village really are thrumming with energy—the children run around, mostly into and around savithri amma's house; the younger men and women gather in groups giggling and gossiping amongst themselves; the elders are in deep, grave-looking discussions that bheem knows probably aren't all that serious. who is this strange man come to see them? and why? how is someone making such waves in a matter of hours? is he that beautiful?

even though he was laughing about it with malli, he can't deny he's apprehensive about this sudden appearance. considering the whole issue with that company encroaching on their land, there's the real possibility this man was sent by them. perhaps to convince them to move. this thought makes him frown, and by the time he's at savithri amma's place, he's fully convinced he can't trust him.

once they enter, he's distracted by malli wriggling out of his arms and hiding behind him, her small hands clutching his dhothi tightly. as he glances down at her, she peers around him across the room. bheem looks up, and then sees him.

sathyam wakes with the crowing of the rooster.

his bad leg doesn't hurt him as much this morning. it'll get worse with the cold, he knows. the house is quiet, apart from the few vehicles shuddering down the road outside. he thinks he can hear bose's motorbike approaching the garage. sathyam lies there contemplating life, in those few moments of peace before his alarm goes off.

like clockwork, he hears his bedroom door open, and in bustles a young man—he's finally trimmed his hair and beard like sathyam was telling him to for weeks, and today's choice of clothes are his yellow button up over his red vest, and the dark green lungi they bought him for his birthday. he looks like a walking traffic signal.

"sathyam garu! good morning!" he calls, setting his tray down on the bedside table a little too loudly, making sathyam wince.

"good morning, chitti." he heaves himself into a sitting position and takes the glass of water that chitti holds out to him, his head subconsiously tilting. he raises his voice to ask, "did you sleep well?" chitti presses the plastic cap of tablets into sathyam's hand.

"did i sleep well, he says," chitti grumbles, yanking sathyam's blanket off his legs to fold it. "i wake up at four-thirty in the morning, sweep the yard, feed chicken, get your medicines and your breakfast ready, all by myself because no one else in this house does any work, and you're asking me if i slept well. no!" he tosses the folded blanket onto the mattress. sathyam notices, not for the first time, how chitti's accent gets stronger when he's rambling. it reminds him that the boy hasn't always been around. "i can't sleep thinking ayyo, is it too cold for sathyam garu? and will he get up in the morning when i call him for his walk? and did he eat enough for dinner? what if he gets hungry?" he steps back, tapping his foot impatiently. sathyam must make a face, because he raises his eyebrows. "you won't get up? you won't go for a walk? see?" he asks his non-existent audience. "how can you get better if you won't cooperate? and how will i sleep if you don't get better? eh?"