✧･ﾟ:*div patel*:･ﾟ✧

November had been finishing up a session when his phone went off for the tenth time in eight minutes, buzzing relentlessly in his back pocket. His eyebrows had furrowed in concentration right until he finished sanitising the tattoo and giving the client instructions for after care. It was only then that he allowed himself to look at his phone. There were three missed calls from his mother, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. What was were the seven calls from his flatmate. His nose wrinkled up in distaste before he swiped over the notification, bringing his phone to his ear as it began calling the male in question. When he heard the click of the phone being answered, he spoke immediately, “No, I don’t care if you’re fucking someone tonight. I’m not letting you have the flat to yourself. I’m cold and it’s tired,” He said with finality, figuring that was the reason for the calls. Despite living with each other, they never really spoke much, least of all on the phone.

There the crackle of static on the other end before his flatmate was interjecting, hurried and firm. “Shut the fuck up, okay? You’re at work, right?” The short male gave a nod even though nobody could see him and stepped in view of one of the mirrors in the studio, leaning closer to inspect the bags underneath his pale grey eyes. “I need you to go to Tesco and get a few things. I’ll send you a list of what I need and you get stuff for you, too, okay? Hurry up and don’t be late coming home.”

The dainty blond straightened his posture before responding, his frowning face reflected in the mirror. “It’s your turn to pay for groceries.”

“I know, I know,” He sounded annoyed in a way that made a knot of anxiety form in his stomach. “I’ll pay you back when you get home. You need anything from Boots? I’ll try and get a refill for your prescription just in case. Send me anything else you need. Be careful, okay?” Without further ado or elaboration, the phone goes dead and he was left blinking at himself in confusion for a long minute thinking about the fact the grocery was being dumped on him for the third time this month and he had just been hung up on. Cherry on top of a spectacular fucking day.

When he stepped out of the studio, he immediately wrapped up warm, closing his coat securely over the garish, large sweater that was hanging off his wiry frame and wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck. It was pissing down outside and he had been sick enough times. He stuffed his hands into his pocket and stepped into the pouring rain. The skies were were as dark as blackened lung, full of clouds that looked like the thickest smoke, and the wind blew so relentlessly it almost knocked him right off his feet. The February wind was merciless as it cupped his face in its icy hands, his cheeks heating up under the frozen caress. The walk to the nearest Tesco was about 8 minutes, but he managed it in five, slowing down only to stare at the packed store from outside. It was out of the ordinary to see a Tesco Express that was this full. Maybe there were more offers than usual. His phone buzzed twice in his pocket and he pulled it out, eyes narrowing when he saw it was the list from his flatmate and a vague message from his sister that said, ‘everything ok?’ Why was everyone being so fucking weird?

With a shrug, he replaced his phone into his pocket and stepped inside, moving to grab a cart only to find none available. His nose twitched with interest and he reached up to rub over it. OK. Not wanting to rely completely on his nonexistent arm-strength, he grabbed the last basket before stepping into the crazed fray. The next twenty-or-so minutes of panicky shopping felt like slow torture. Every time he moved to pick something off the shelves, a hand would come and grab it before he could almost as though they were afraid it was the last one. It was when he had finally managed to reach the pot noodles on the top shelf of aisle 4, his fingers finally brushing over it in a way that would allow him to grab it, only for someone else to intercept it, when he lost his shit. “Do you fucking mind? I had that first,” He huffed indignantly before turning to look at the offender in question, his hair messy from the exertion and the too-full basket by his feet. It was now too weighted for him to carry and he’d taken to kicking it around with his feet. He knew he was being petty and he could grab another one, and that technically he’d taken his hand off it in order to summon the energy to push back onto his toes and make that final grab, and that there were more pot noodles, but it had been a long day and this was too much.

Div had been getting severe weather alerts on her phone for the past couple of hours. She was used to the rain in India, and London was especially known for being a rainy city. It didn’t necessarily mean she liked it. She knew some people liked to romanticize the rain, but she wasn’t one of them. While Div didn’t mind the weather while indoors, going anywhere in harsh weather felt like a death trap, like any second, a tree would collapse on top of her. Or even the very unlikely scenario of being struck by lightning. She knew it was unlikely, but it didn’t stop her from thinking about it every time she stepped outside. 

She had been at work when the rain began. It started with thundering that only seemed to grow louder with each clap. Div silently hoped her manager would let her leave early since the shop hadn’t been that busy anyway, but nope, she ended up staying until the end of her shift. By then, it was rather abysmal outside like it was cyclone weather, not that she ever experienced cyclone weather. She had witnessed enough of it through the news in other parts of India, but it never dawned on her that cyclones could happen all around the world. At least she never let herself think about that. She supposed they did call them ‘hurricanes’ in the West and also the idea of any type of tropical storm wasn’t much of an issue when she moved to London. Though, she didn’t think Brighton was excluded from the possibility. Had Brighton ever had a hurricane? 

When Div finally left work, she had been absolutely ready to head back to the flat and snuggle up in her makeshift bed on Betta’s floor, but then her stomach rumbled much like it was ready to start its own storm. And she realized it had been a while since she bought groceries. While Div wasn’t too picky of an eater, she was pretty certain nothing in the fridge or pantry would suit to make a full meal. So with the hood of her jacket on and her hands in her pockets, Div rushed to the nearest store she knew of to pick up a few things. The store happened to be Tesco, a name she had become pretty familiar with since moving to the U.K. 

Busy was an understatement to describe the place. There were at least multiple people in each of the aisles as she walked through, picking up items she thought she could use. She definitely had a loaf of bread in her basket as well as a variety of canned soups. Against her better judgment, she even grabbed a couple packages of biscuits. She rarely had cravings for sweets, but she couldn’t deny them being comforting when stressed. And while she’d like to admit she was braver, the weather was starting to stress her out. In one of the aisles, she reached for a container of pot noodles that happened to be the same one someone else had reached for. Div didn’t think much of it since there were still plenty of containers and flavors left until the boy called her out on it. 

The boy was running on four hours of sleep and eight cups of coffee, holding his ninth of the day as he made his way to the station. He was so distracted turning the page of Extragalactic Astronomy and Cosmology that he winded up walking smack into someone else, sending coffee cup no.9 splashing all over the front of his own shirt, and his papers. Mouth falling open in horror, he stepped back. “Oh fuck me,” He said, watching the coffee run down his front and abruptly dropping his book and papers in order to pull the burning fabric of his shirt off his skin. Not bothering to look up at the other person’s face, he cast a glance towards their shirt to confirm it wasn’t soaked, too, before looking back down at himself. 

Horror prickled the nape of his neck, and he swallowed thickly. “Sorry,” He mumbled, not sounding very sorry after all as he crouched down to retrieve his things with a sour expression. Technically, it had been half his fault, but the lack of sleep made him feel vindicated. He couldn’t show up in a shirt that was now more coffee than cotton. Maybe he could buy one? He cringed at the thought. That was so not a viable option if his bank balance had anything to say about it. 

It didn’t take Div long to start to grow restless in Brighton. It was a rather strange feeling to not have exams to worry about this time of year. It was what she was used to, what she expected, and in some ways, made her feel normal. For the past eighteen or so years of her life, she identified as a student in one capacity or another, and now, here she was graduated with her Bachelor’s finally. She almost expected herself to be happier, but things were much different now. These days, her career was the last thing on her mind. Currently, the only thing on her mind was the nasty migraine that started to develop as soon as she was leaving her shift at work. She was prone to develop the occasional migraine, but lately, they seemed much more frequent and unexpected. Div was now just leaving one of the corner shops after a much needed purchase of Tylenol when someone ran into her. 

It had happened so suddenly Div could barely register what had happened. She only saw the aftermath of the coffee spilled all over the other’s shirt, the papers and book on the ground, and her heart still beating hard from the fright. “Are you okay?” she asked the other, her expression soon shifting from startled to concerned. “Here let me help you,” she offered instinctually before kneeling down herself to help gather his papers. 

@sincerelydiv

the little cafe on the corner always caught betta’s eye. the colorful flowers on the cafe’s patio would always whiz by her on her car ride home from work. on days when she decided to walk to work, she was able to get a closer look at them. it seemed as if she could smell them from a mile away. though, the flowers weren’t the only thing that caught her eye. all of the customers (and their stomachs) seemed to be filled with glee. the seemingly happy atmosphere drew elisabetta in even more. she knew that the cafe was worth a try and betta couldn’t think of anyone else she wanted to treat to brunch besides div.

elisabetta’s excitement for the brunch started days before. she made sure to make a reservation, find the right outfit, and she planned even further. for some reason, betta always made sure to dress nice around div. and now that the brunch has arrived, elisabetta can’t seem to tame her excitement. their menus were delivered just a few moments ago, and betta can’t help but feel overwhelmed by all of the choices. “goodness gracious! the french toast sounds delicious. what are you thinking of having?” elisabetta poses the question while looking up from the menu, displaying a bright smile on her face.

div found it funny that as someone who rarely ate breakfast, here she was being treated to a brunch. well, rather it was more like she never really ate typical breakfast foods, the most being toast with jam if any at all. it was perhaps the effect of growing up between two different cultures with their own cuisines. while she had grown used to cooking and trying out indian recipes at home with her mum around to give her tips and dice the onions that always made her tear up, div was yet to cook much of anything in the apartment now. and that was because div knew very well that the place didn’t feel like it was her own, rather she was intruding...which brought div back to the whole dilemma that had lately been troubling her thoughts. she tried not to think of it in that way, but it just wasn’t in her nature not to. 

regardless, betta had been quite excited about the whole occasion, which made div happy in return. it was just like betta to be the one treating her when div was the one living in the other’s bedroom for almost a month. she glanced shyly at betta from across the table as the blonde had been examining the menu before looking back at her own. div certainly felt underdressed, but it didn’t bother her. in a way, it was a blessing, meaning she wouldn’t have wanted to dress up even if she knew she might have to. she was perfectly comfortable in her favorite pair of jeans and the graphic band tee she currently had on. (seeing arctic monkeys live three years back at finsbury park had been beyond words). at this point, div wasn’t even reading the menu and instead staring at the first item listed. she had to mention the whole living situation some time. today, even. it was driving her crazy to take advantage of someone like this, let alone a friend (probably one of the very few close ones she still had). 

div looked up at betta after hearing the question. the bit about the french toast hadn’t quite registered, but the last part did. “oh, don’t really know yet. i quite like waffles. do you know if those are any good here?” she replied, the words coming out a little rush. she flipped the next page of the menu looking for something else or perhaps a mention of waffles. and then having remembered it was betta’s first time here as well, “you know, from the reviews online if you’ve seen any. sometimes i know they have recommendations. so, i think either the waffles or...the frittata?” she read, pulling the menu closer to read the description, “basically sounds like a glorified omelet with veggies.”

     honestly oliver should be enjoying how slow poppy’s has been today because in a few short weeks he isn’t going to be able to catch a break with valentines day coming up. even the thought of how busy they’re going to be is making his head being to throb. it’s his least favorite span of time in this profession, even though every at poppy’s works well together when they’re that busy and dealing with customers that are impatient everyone ends up in the firing zone. leaning against the counter, oliver rests his chin on the back of his hand the order book open in front of him just in case someone comes in. which he doubts, but he still has forty minutes left of his shift. 

       he’d begun to nod off, his eyes closed, still supporting himself on his arms as he stands waiting. there’s only got to be a short twenty minutes left now, right? the male wills himself to keep his eyes closed, nervous that if he opened his eyes he’d be deceived. the only reason that he opens his eyes is because he hears the door to the shop open — it’s either a customer or a co-worker and at this point he’d be content with either. “good afternoon.” oliver opens his eyes, but remains leaning over the counter; twenty minutes on the dot.

        div didn’t know how she could ever repay betta for letting her stay in the apartment for so long. despite contributing to the groceries in the kitchen and doing her best to cover any of the other costs of living, div knew that the support of her friend was almost overwhelming. she hoped she hadn’t over-stayed her welcome, but it was probably true. it hadn’t been the plan at first, but then it had simply become convenient, for lack of a better term. on top of that, sharing a room with betta reminded div of how much she missed the company of the blonde. the pros of the living situation definitely seemed to outweigh the cons, and div was thankful freya didn’t seem to mind the arrangement either. still, it wasn’t in div’s nature to take advantage of others’ kindness, and she’d want to bring up the idea of contributing to rent once she had a solid plan of what the hell she was still doing in brighton. 

         He checks the time over the date on his phone ; the first he’s touched it in three and a half weeks. Then, to give his hands something to do other than tousle his hair, taps a cigarette from his pack and lights up. Realization settles a little (one day short of exactly three weeks) too late, twitching up just the corner of a smile. An inhale through the teeth. An exhale through a nearly inaudible laugh, more vibration than sound. He had forgotten his own birthday. Nineteen.

        Brighton greets him with the still lingering darkness of morning and the warmer side of thirty degrees. Neil comes back to it the same way he fled from it nearly a month ago now: without a word and running (this time figuratively). Part of him, the same bit that waxes poetic and wishes to romanticize his mistakes, wishes it were raining. Maybe then it would feel as if he’s really washing his hands of old habits. Stood still on the side of a street, watching seven o’clock bleed the dawn across the horizon, Neil knows better. Nothing in his life has been easy. He hasn’t been very honest with himself. Maybe he hadn’t been very courageous up until recently either. He can hear the faint memory a familiar voice, cracking over a telephone line, braver than that. There are flowers to be delivered, after all.

        What was she doing even doing here? It was a thought that had crossed her mind more than once the past month or so she had been in Brighton. It sure as hell wasn’t to visit Betta, though that had been a pleasant bonus. And now, she wasn’t even sure if it was because of Morgan after all. It was rather a coincidence that one of her good friends lived in Brighton, the same place her sister lived, the same place Div was born. The connection to her birth place was lost, only vague memories before a time she could make solid memories of her childhood. Instead, Div missed the color and warmth that Delhi provided. It had been almost five years since she had moved to the U.K. in seek of a higher education but mostly to go back to where she lived the first six years of her life. Had it been a mistake? Would she had been better off in India? If she and her mother still lived in India, life might have been so much simpler. She wondered what it would be like to go back to a time when she didn’t know all of this and didn’t feel so disconnected from the woman who raised her.

betta: yes yes yes

betta: I actually haven't seen any bollywood films

betta: we'll for sure have to have another huge movie night where we watch bollywood movies and the best of the 80's

betta: what bollywood films are your favs?

div: any?? really? how have we even known each other for so long?

div: i'm a fan of the oldies mostly. some good ones from the 80's and 90's. the early 2000's was also the prime year for bollywood. only certain new-ish ones i like, 'three idiots' for example

betta: okay but here's the thing

betta: movies from the 1980's are the best movies EVER

betta: like the breakfast club? yes. stand by me? Heck yes. pretty in pink? my life.

betta: I would Whack myself over the head with my violin to have lived in the 1980's

div: suppose this is gonna result in another movie night now, is it?

div: you can't blame me too hard for not seeing your favorites. i grew up mostly on bollywood films

      div knew well in her heart there were other ways of going about doing this, and by this, she meant telling her half-sister about well, being related. perhaps a phone call or even an email. she didn’t think it’d be that hard to find the contact information somehow. but it wouldn’t be like her if she had chosen either of those methods. div has always been the type to want to speak in person vs over text, the type to want to do something herself instead of handing it off to someone else. headstrong as always as her mum would say (her mum who knew nothing about the non-existent internship and her plan to see her half-sister). what did her mum think anyway that telling her about morgan wouldn’t immediately end up in div trying to find her sibling. 

     and sure, she had let herself the week to give herself the time to process what she would tell morgan. morgan, that was her name. it felt strange to even think it in her head. never would she have imagined such a name to belong to someone related to her, though she shouldn’t be surprised with her father named martin. though that was also fairly recent news. she always knew she was half-white, yet she had grown used to feeling ‘full indian’ with all the years she spent in delhi. it certainly didn’t help having a noticeable indian accent on a campus of brits. div could never hide that part of herself, nor did she want to. she just...she was having a hard time opening the door to inkredible tattoos. 

     she wouldn’t let herself be coward, not today at least. she stopped hovering around the entrance of the tattoo parlor and pulled the door open. god, she’s never even been in a tattoo place before, and she’s not even getting a tattoo. not seeing a person at the front desk, div waited for a couple of seconds before losing patience and asking her question to anyone who may be present anyway. “hello, is...is anyone here? i was wondering if i could talk to someone named morgan? morgan brightman?” 

she asked, sounding more rehearsed than she would have liked and her tone coming close to shouting. she had to do this somehow before she lost her nerve. internally, she was a little panicked morgan might not even be working today. and she wasn’t sure on the tattoo parlor rules on etiquette for roaming the area uninvited to check. for someone who didn’t quite enjoy surprises, this would be a big one to drop.