#samita

“Hello.”

It’s no longer a question, it is now a sigh. Tell me what you want, it demands. Get it over with.

“Hey.”

It has taken her a good part of the day to convince herself that this time, this time finally, she is angry with me. She forgets it in a second.

“Hm?”

Maybe not entirely. It’s easier to remember the headlines when her eyes remain closed. She wants to open them badly but she doesn’t want to suddenly realise the nightmare is still not over.

“Can we…?”

The swirl of hesitancy lingers in the space between them. She takes her time here, a part of her still considering to cut the call. The excuses prepare to tumble out; I have court tomorrow, I’m not feeling very well, Can we do this some other time?

“What is it?” is what slips out instead and it is too late to retract the words because the static once again crackles with a relieved sigh. She doesn’t want to give him relief. She wants to be angry.

It’s hard to feel anything when the clock announces that dawn is 2 hours away.

“It wasn’t anything. You know that right?”

Her eyes finally open because the darkness of the room might feel less claustrophobic than the doubts in her mind. She shifts to the side, away from his, and keeps the phone on speaker. More distance. As much as possible.

“She was drunk, Niki, and I couldn’t leave her there—“

“I believe you.”

Without her glasses, the fairy lights snaking around the window seem like a halo. Maybe it’s all really a dream.

“No, you don’t.”

A suffocated laugh escapes her, an instinctive reaction to the suspicion she hears. He should be the last person suspecting her. She tells him so.

“Nothing went on, Niki. How else will you believe me?”

“I said I believe you.”

The words tumble without defeat. She’s still unsure if she’s truly awake – the soft pink lights have now blurred to a purple. Maybe this is better. Maybe their fights wouldn’t escalate if she’s too tired to fight. Maybe her hands won’t itch for pain. Maybe his eyes wouldn’t burn with triumph.

Maybe they can be normal.  

“Nikita. How long will you hold on to this?”

Forever, is the answer dancing on her lips. “I don’t feel well”, is the answer she gives him. The subdued crackle tells her he has given up. She doesn’t know why he even tried.

“Goodnight, Sameer.”

She knows it’s close to midday where he is but she wants to remind him where she is. She wants to remind him she is here, in his house, in this half-empty bed. She wants to tell him to come back before the cold in the room creeps into her heart, before the leaves all fall away, before the pink permanently blurs to a distant grey.

But the static has gone dead and she swallows down the words back into the growing silence of her heart.

   They say age helps you mature but she thinks otherwise. Age wears your defences down, until your cracks start to show and you’re a tapestry of flaws. A decade. That is how long she has spent with this man. That is how long she has shared a bed with him. One third of her life. All of their flaws.

No. She should be more specific. She hasn’t properly shared a bed with him for the past two years, has she?

The sun encroaches into the darkness, chasing away the shadows around her bed. She does have to head to court but there’s still a few hours left and she already knows they will be left spending in this bed. The sheets pool around her feet and she curls her body in to push them up – a last attempt at inviting sleep. But she knew it was an impossible task, when sleep has decided to forsake her.

That makes her smile. Another twist of her lips with no trace of mirth. She’s not sure when she became as dramatic as her other half but somehow his theatrics have bled into her. Her hand searches for her phone before dialling a number. She could almost make out the sharp shrill of her landline accompanying the dull dial tone before it suddenly quietens—and her phone finally crackles to life.

Hi there, this is Sameer & Nikita—

Raichand!

…Yes, Raichand. And well we don’t seem to be in right now.

Or maybe we don’t want to talk to you.

Or maybe we’re busy with something else.

Or each other.

The message dissolves into a cascade of laughs before ending with an abrupt bleep and the room is deathly silent once more. The hardest part about missing him is the memories. She’s living in a museum and the ghosts of her past taunt her with all of her hidden desires.

Three more missed calls on her landline is what it takes for sleep to return to her.

   She doesn’t notice anything wrong for a while. It’s still the same house she left in the morning, still the same emptiness lounging around the space. Her eyes flit over the overused brown oxfords, the half opened curtains, the carpet slightly tilted. It’s the scent that alerts her. She thinks she’s hallucinating again – the first time he left, all she could smell was him.

But it clings to the air, the mix of gum and leather and La Nuit de L’homme. She stands in the middle of the hall for a while, wondering if the ghosts are feeling more vicious than usual. There’s a shuffle from the direction of the bedroom and her eyes flit back to the oxfords and the scent makes sense to her now.

“Sameer?”

For a second, she doesn’t breathe. For a second, she makes herself believe no one will answer. For a second, she convinces herself the ghosts of her past have won over her sanity.

“Here.”

The second feels far too long.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”

She tries not to hurry, tries to temper her steps. You’re rushing into this, her friends warned her when she told them they were getting married. You’re always in a rush, he said when she used to leave at the break of dawn for office. This is going too fast, she said when she held the small stick with the positive sign.

“You hung up on me.” His reminder is valid, and her steps finally slow to a stop. He’s there, just like she remembers, just like her heart wants. Except he’s not looking at her. He never looks at her anymore. He only looks at reflections of her, trapped in an illusion of happiness, framed up on the walls. He doesn’t see her anymore.

Maybe you’re also a ghost.

She doesn’t let her mind taunt her and cover up the monologue with a small smile.

“How long are you staying?”

He’s there on the bed, his shoes lying on the carpet exactly the way she hates. But he doesn’t stay long enough these days for the shoes to annoy her. They’ll be gone anyway, she tells herself.

“Are you kicking me out already, Niks?”

She doesn’t try to figure out whether it was sarcasm or a light-hearted joke. “You’re don’t stay enough for me to.”

The conversation ends there and the words that could have bubbled now die down back in the void of her heart. The house shouldn’t feel emptier, not with him here.

But it does.

It feels emptier because she’s now sharing her bed with a stranger. They draw their battle lines with the sheets, each one facing a different side. She wants him back, she prefers him gone. The shoes still lie there, another ghost of her past.

   When she wakes up to an empty bed, relief sinks into her, heavy with the weight of guilt. She hears him in the kitchen and already feels the light dusting of flour that’ll stick to her soles but for a while at least, she is by herself in this bed.

The ghosts are oddly quiet in the day. Sunlight has always scared them. She strangely misses them – it’s easier to make conversation with them than with Sameer. The silence hasn’t always lingered though. Sameer & Nikita; they were a power couple, with smouldering gazes and volcanic quarrels. They were the tabloids’ golden couple and page 3 royalty and then—

The headlines still flash in her dreams at times; neon nightmare in Arial bold. Nikita Raichand ABORTED Sameer Raichand’s CHILD?!

It surprises her when people claim to know her other half better than her. Why did no one ask her? Why did Nikita Malhotra keep this a secret?

Everyone has a version of their story.

I heard they’re divorced, they’re only staying together for the publicity. Of course he’d cheat - she kept such a huge secret from him. That’s why you should never marry women more successful than you, ego issues you know? Maybe it wasn’t her child, why else would she abort it so secretively?

Everyone knows their story better than they do. Everyone knows except them. She sits up on the bed and takes in their slowly emptying bedroom. No one knows the story. A rare surge of anger rushes through her and her fingers press into the softness of her thighs, wishing it away. Save it for the courtroom. Isn’t that what he used to say?

When he isn’t around, she feels saner.

He’s there at the dining table, eating the burnt bread he calls breakfast. He’s always had the knack for making a mess out of the kitchen and her hands itch to remake a new set. She sits down opposite him instead. Her hands slowly make work of the burnt crust, dipping it into the tea before taking small bites.

“You don’t like burnt bread.”

It surprises her to hear this and it shows – her hands pause mid-crust and her eyes finally, finally, meet his. She knows exactly how long it has been. Four months and seventeen days. A whole lifetime could have fit into the space of one third her calendar.

“Hm.”

It’s her favourite word these days, this hm. All her words condensed into one non-committal word. Hm. The conversation ends there and her guilt-ridden relief once again weighs down the air.

“There’s a—there’s a party. At Akash’s place. Do you…?”

The ripples in the tea reflect her face and she stares at her own self for some form of reaction. It’s been a while since he has brought her out. It’s his guilt. She believes the ghost. She looks up once again, all ready to deliver her favourite dialogue.

“Come. I want you to.”

Her mouth is still open with the refusal which she slowly swallows down. He wants her. When did that happen? She nods once. Her eyes turn back to the game of crust she is playing, her hands now picking apart the pieces slower.

   What went wrong exactly?

The question lingers in her mind and the streetlights flash past in a mocking dance. Reason after reason rolls along and none makes sense to her. It’s true that she kept the news of her pregnancy and the abortion. It’s true that he had to find out through the papers. It’s true that their lives were made public mockery.

But they had survived through it. She had thought so.

It was only when she walked into his trailer – a woman wrapped around him, his lips tearing down her clothes – that she realised they had not survived.

The fights raged on, the suspicions piled on and the tabloids speculated endlessly. Time became a space she had to fill and love was lie she had to live. The respite that came from another pregnancy dissolved along with the miscarriage. A slip of tongue made him question her loyalty and a rash hand caused wound on his head and suddenly, no one had the will to fight.

Blame slowly dulls into acceptance and love fades into pain. Nikita might have accepted Sameer’s apology and Sameer might have accepted Nikita’s excuses - but they were now simply shadows of the two. She doesn’t want to accuse him – the fame etched into his destiny is also her misfortune.

In their attempt to forget each other’s mistakes, they forgot each other.

His warmth melts her back into reality. Her fingers slip in between his and for a moment, the ghosts disappear. She tries a smile and it feels foreign, but she wears it anyway.

She knows why she’s here – the word divorce seems to have become permanently joined with their names and she’s the magic charm to repel the questions. It’s not her saying it. Everyone thinks so. The ghosts say so.

Yet she leans in a little into his side, his fingers curl in around her waist, their smiles mirror each other. The ghosts go quiet once more.

   Not for long.

Her eyes take in the scene in front of her before closing. It’s not really happening, she convinces herself. She can hear them. Her own senses her mocking her. Two figures dance behind her lids and they fuse into one. Their laugher form a sinister background. The ghosts taunt relentlessly – he’s putting up a show of your failed marriage, and with the same woman too.

Her eyes open along with the surge of anger but it is the very anger which grounds her. The wine glass in her hand shakes, echoing her silent scream. The wine. It’s gone in a split second and the empty glass pulls her to the bar. A glass of Sauvignon Blanc, please and a room for my husband and his mistress. The flashes surrounding them give an ethereal feel and she is but human.

The wine makes for good company.

It loosens her tongue and fades her sight and the senses that were mocking her now become a blur of red. The realisation that she’s had a glass too many swirls into her as she leans into a stranger and she’s passed on until she becomes acquainted once more with La Nuit de L’homme.

“You still wear this,” she mumbles into the blazer, eyes still shut blissfully. The tell-tale slide along her waist reaffirms her words. “Shouldn’t be drinking when you can’t handle it,” he reminds her. Her response is a deep frown hidden by the dark blue of his blazer and it takes a while for the words to fall into formation. “You left me alone,” she accuses him, a churlish tone accompanied by a jab to his chest and silence greets her words.

“Don’t leave.” The words escape quickly, her head lifting up before her chin resigns onto his shoulder. “Please?” He’s lovely in this light, she thinks. He’s always been lovely but she loves seeing him in this soft pale half-light of the street lamp. His lips are parted in a half answer and she swallows it with her lips before he could voice anything. She’ll forget her own name but she’ll never forget kissing him. She stays, they stay. She tastes relief on his tongue and she presses her love back onto his lips.

“Come on, you.” His whisper is a secret shared between them and she nods to give him the approval to lead her back.

   The scent still clings on to him, even when his skin is meeting hers. It’s her third anniversary gift to him and many things change in seven years, but not this scent. Time does not change the way they make love either. It’s the quiet harmony between their bodies, the slow hum of two souls who know each other so well. His fingers twist a stray strand behind her ear, she pulls them back to press a kiss. She loves him entirely in this moment, for he is hers.

Warmth coils at the base of her navel when he pulls her in and the quiet is disturbed for a second by the rustle of the sheets. Her lips seek his and the air hums along with them for a long while. The alcohol in her veins dance with the subdued thrill of her love; it’s been a while since she loved this man. His eyes swim with questions she has no reply to.

“Can’t we be happy again?”

The question etches itself onto his lips and the light in his eyes shift. His hands pull her in more, his eyes close. She’s not drunk enough to take it as a yes.

“We can try.”

Her heart picks up before settling into an almost forgotten rhythm. Sameer, it sings and it sings her to sleep.

   The relief does not come when she finds the bed empty. The weight in her heart parallels the heaviness plaguing her head and it takes two pushes off the bed to finally sit up. His shirt hangs on the edge of the bed, evidence that her night is not a dream. But maybe the momentary peace – maybe that’s a lie her heart has conjured. Her toes curl in to pull the shirt towards her and the relief only comes when the cotton shirt rests on her skin.

The door opens—Her eyes immediately shut. It’s not real, she convinces herself. He’s not here.

“You’re awake.”

She’s been living a lie if she thought the sunlight could chase the shadows away. He does a much better job.

“You’re here.” Her reply brings up the questions in his eyes again and her hand stretches out to him. She doesn’t admit she wants to confirm he’s really here.

“How’s your head?” He pushes himself up the bed before pulling her by her knees towards him. Her legs bend into his lap and her head comes to rest on his shoulder. “Better.” Now that you’re here. They both hear the second half. She feels his smile in the kiss he places on her shoulder. She lets him put on the shirt for her and only looks up when his fingers glide along the buttons.

The conversation still remains elusive but the exchange between their skins calm her heart. His fingers eventually tilt up her chin and she tries once more to read the question reflecting in his eyes. “I thought you left me,” she says instead, her hand ghosting along his ear. The sad smile he gives her is one she hasn’t seen and she leans in to brush her nose with his. She doesn’t like him wearing that emotion.

“I thought you forgot how to love me.”

His words confuse her and it shows in the slight tilt of her head. Something tells her she knows the answer to her own confusion and she closes her eyes, sorting through the ghosts and the memories. “Burnt crust?” she finally asks, her eyes meeting his.

His nod affirms her theory. “And the stories about Natasha. And the shoes, the mess, the kitchen, the party—“

Her finger on his lips quietens him and she replaces it with her lips, taking her time to weave the tale of her love. She no longer sees the questions in his eyes when they part.

“I screwed up, didn’t I?”

Her attempt at a laugh is rusty but it conveys her answer. “I did too. I was stubborn. And hurt.”

“You should be, I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“I should have trusted you more.”

She tries a smile and finds it comes to her without pretense. When he mirrors it, she falls in love all over.

“Can we be us again?”

She knows the answer to him question but first answers it with a kiss. A long one. One that invites his fingers to undo the buttons he had just done up.

“We already are.”

But she had never expected that his presence in her life would have caused it to turn upside down and roll down a cliff. It was the day of her father’s trial. She had only been 16 then and to be put up on trial to be cross-examined by the most terrifying person she had ever met wasn’t something an adolescent Nikita could handle. When she broke down at the witness stand, it was him who stood up and told the lawyer to back off, despite his side needing her testimony badly to win the case.

But the story didn’t just begin that way. The story began from when Sameer Raichand was just five.

Sameer Ayush Raichand was five when he saw a puppy being tortured by a few older boys in his neighbourhood and had valiantly (foolishly) tried to argue against him. He earned two things from that experience: a socked jaw and an undying passion to stop human cruelty. In other words, Sameer Raichand became an extraordinarily self-righteous man that day, at the mere age of five. He found his cause for living in helping other people and how everyone deserved to live an equal life.

He had been born with a heart of gold that somehow his family had failed to recognise. After all, his two older brothers were accomplished and extraordinarily smart. His community involvement always paled against his brother’s medals and accolades and distinctions. His parents had wanted to be a doctor because that would have completed the engineer and businessman trio of brothers. Such distinguished sons, people would say. And the black sheep of the family ruined his father’s dreams, when he signed on to intern at Greenpeace.

Sameer left home at 17. He realised his family would never understand his motivations. His pursuit for justice gave him life, became the air that he needed to breathe. And this undying passion coupled with the boyish charm pushed him up the ranks faster than he himself could believe. But everyone around him saw his potential – a boy willing to risk his life at five for a stray was capable of the greatest things. By the time he was 20, the higher ups began to entrust him with important missions. One of them was busting the Malhotra poaching ring.

And Nikita?

Nikita Kavya Malhotra was the only daughter of Raj Malhotra, who had amassed a staggering amount of wealth from his poaching activities. Well, Nikita was the only daughter left. Her sister had ran away with a boy and her father had sent his men after her, doing away with his own daughter without a blink of the eye. Their family business, for the lack of a better term, was based primarily around valuable exotic items. Ivory from elephant tusks, white tiger skins, rhino horns, crocodile leather. Nikita had lived in a state of constant fear – from her father, from her father’s workers, from the range of guns he stored in the cabinet in the living room, from the taxidermy aligning the entire house and from the smell of death that lingered in every crevice of the house. At times she dreamt of the animals stampeding her to death, making her pay for her father’s sins.

Sameer Raichand practically entered her life with a bang. She didn’t know back then, but he had planned every single move, down to the exact moment at which he rushed into the class, a minute after her bodyguards had dropped her to school and left. They didn’t like to linger around while she was in school – they had much more important things to do than babysit a 15 year old. He slammed the door open, rushing in with his tie half done and slipped into the seat next to her with all the self-assuredness of a cocky transfer student. Nikita hated him the moment she saw him.

But even she knew that was a lie. She didn’t hate him. She wanted to be him. She wanted the way he exuded confidence, the way his smile had everyone clamouring to be friends with him, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. But she wasn’t an idiot. She didn’t want to end up in a ditch like her sister. So she remained silent to his dogged questions, ignoring him unless she absolutely needed to. It wasn’t that she thought she was better than him – she just didn’t want her life to be more difficult. Her father had been particularly careful of her ever since her sister. He slowly slipped her notes once he realised that she kept her words on a lockdown, having noticed in his own way her shifting gaze and the perpetual way she kept those eyes of her downcast.

It took four months, four long whole months where he sent her several notes every school day before Nikita agreed to meet Sameer at the stairwell that led to the water tank on the rooftop. And that went for two whole months. All they did was talk. Talk about their lives, talk about their passions. She didn’t know it then that Sameer wasn’t a transfer student, wasn’t a 17 year old high school repeat as he had introduced himself. There was a quality in his voice, in the way his eyes shimmered with sincerity that made her believe him blindly. She told him in hushed tones that she wanted to be a lawyer, to defend innocent people from being used against their will. He had supported that so overwhelmingly that she felt scared. Was he a dream? Her fairy godfather? God himself?

He was her worst nightmare.

He had managed to weasel out the details of her father’s work and had been recording them astutely with his phone, unknown to her. When her father was sent a court notice, he laughed it off as usual because no one in their right mind would dare testify against Raj Malhotra. How wrong he was. While they played her recording in court and arrested Raj, all unbeknownst to Nikita, the Greenpeace workers raided their home and had taken Nikita under her charge.

That was how she found herself in the courtroom, breaking down because she was convinced that she was going to die. Her father would skin her alive, like those helpless tranquilized tigers and then leave her out to die a slow and miserable death. The lawyer from the prosecution had forced her to accept that it had been her recording, that whatever she said had been true but she couldn’t say anymore after that, becoming a blubbering mess on the stand.

There was no way they couldn’t put her under witness protection programme after that. Nikita still thought it was a miracle that she was still alive and knew now that it was Sameer who had made sure of that. He had taken personal blame for her troubles and agreed to be her guardian once she was taken off the programme, changing locations every two months for three years straight so that no one found her. In her naivety and childish anger, she had hated him, spewing hateful words every other night and blaming him for every trouble that had befallen her. On particularly bad days, she blamed him for her sister’s death as well, as though that would lessen her anger. He took every word without a word back.

He took more than her words. One of her father’s men had located her in law school and had been tagging her for a few weeks, to make sure that she didn’t disappear this time. Sameer had been tagging him for days and the moment he had confirmed the man’s intents, he had printed her transfer letters. She was pissed. This was the longest they had stayed in one place and she had fallen in love with their new house, with her new university, with her new friends. For once, she wanted to not have to make a fresh start. She tried to argue with him as he practically dragged her along the corridors, refusing to have no for an answer. She kicked him till he had to let go of her hand and stomped off. And when he saw the man heading straight for her, he didn’t hesitate for a second before shielding her, taking the bullet meant for her.

She didn’t fall in love with him then. She didn’t fall in love with the months following that, where she refused to head to school in order to tend to him and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She didn’t fall in love with him during the arguments after where he claimed there was a world to save and she claimed there was nothing to save if he couldn’t save himself. She didn’t fall in love with him when she followed him on his minor missions in the role of a caretaker, their jobs reversed at this point as she fussed over his health, and got to witness firsthand how much love he had for everyone.

You can’t fall in love with a person you were already in love with.

Some days, she woke up with a horrible fear in her heart that he would no longer be near her. That in his fight against everybody to save the world, she would end up the losing her entire universe. She had grown so used to his presence that he was the only thing she knew. She never told him these things, far too afraid that she would lose him if she did. Instead, she crawled into his bed, taking comfort from his warmth and he would lazily drape one arm around her, knowing about her nightmares.

Some days, she thought about how she used to hate him to the core. But those days grew lesser as time passed. Most days, she thought about how he had turned into the crux of his life. The reason she was still alive. And she would tell him that while he was sound asleep next to her because despite being a lawyer, she had never been able to tell him her feelings.

And then that thought would turn into complete and utter annoyance because Sameer would have already woken the entire goddamn neighbourhood by 7am on the days he was at home.

“Oye Patel ki bacche, stop wasting water! Tere baap ne bana ya tha kya?”

“Nahi. Ma ne. Ganga Ma ke baare mein kabhi nahi suna kya?”

“Teri Ma ki toh—“

“Sameer Raichand!”

Nikita had lost count of the number of times she would wake up to Sameer screaming at some unsuspecting neighbour or the other, usually due to them wasting water or smoking at the balcony or some other rubbish.

“Niks, he has been drowning his plants for the past—”

“I don’t really care, Sam, stop waking up the whole bloody neighbo—“

“He was wasting water—“

“Shut up!”

She stalked towards him and pushed him back, properly pissed by now. “This is not your Greenpeace mission. This is our home and I will not tolerate you treating my home like some sort of mission, do you understand?  So stop making a ruckus with the neighbours and behave like the rest of us do!”

That effectively shut him up. It could also have been due to their proximity – her nose was barely an inch away from his and she realised that a beat later than he did.

In her fantasy, they would have kissed at this point.

In reality, she turns away with a furious blush, muttering something about making breakfast.

The truth was that she was in love with him. So in love with him. Like a clichéd love song. Truly madly Deeply. Lovedrunk. Stupid cupid. Every single one of them. And the other truth was that he only treated her as a younger sister, his charge that he needed to take care of. He would probably think it was incestuous to him that she even fantasised about him. Or rather, that was what she thought.

She jumped when he heard his voice right next to her, the butter knife clattering down to the floor. “Home,” he said softly, his eyes having softened to a golden warmth that spread through her veins. “You said home.” And when he reached out for her hand to intertwine their fingers together, she thought her heart would stop right there and give up from the strain of beating so fast. “Our home,” he whispered, so soft that she had barely heard it over the rush of her blood in her ears.                

She remembered suddenly why it meant so much to him. She had always demanded him to take her home in the first two years, blaming him for having pulled her away from her family. She remembered telling him, out of childish anger, that he had conspired to rip her away from her family because he didn’t have one of his own. She had taken delight in the fact that she had managed to hurt him and had refused to reply when he insisted that this was their home, that she was much better off than she had been in that place.

The regret that filled her at that memory was crushing and Sameer immediately lifted her chin up when her eyes tried to hide from his again. “Hey,” he whispered softly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. He wouldn’t ask but she saw the question loud and clear in his eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered back and somehow, he knew. He knew every word she was trying to say and instead of acknowledging it with words, he acknowledged it with a kiss, pressing his lips to hers gently. She looked up at him in complete shock, not having expected that. At least not from him.

“I liked you since day one, you know,” he said casually, moving away from her as he resumed buttering the toast. “From the day you turned up your pretentious little nose at me and called me uncouth. I fell for you right there.”

After she got over the shock of that statement, she berated him for even calling her pretentious and then kissed him senseless. And then kissed him somemore. And a few hours later, their limbs tangled carelessly with each other and the sheets barely covering their intertwined bodies, she kissed him once more, confessing to him that she loved him.

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes twinkling brighter than all the stars in the sky combined, twinkling with the love for her. “I was never asleep when you told me, you know.”

Sameer had been expecting a lot of things, what he wasn't expecting however was after he finished a radio show for Disney to come out with an aggravated manager saying there was someone for him on the phone called Abhay. She had said it sounded urgent, it probably was urgent because when Sameer had left he had strictly cut off all ties with anyone who could reach him in the States. He didn't want anything that would remind him of Nikita. However when his best friend called, mentioning his engagement, he knew he couldn't refuse. This was his best friend after all, he would never forgive himself otherwise. It had taken sweet talking and a promised trip to Majorca after he got back to soothe his on/off girlfriend Ayesha to let him go and not follow afterwards. He'd started dating her for the publicity, she was a high profile model (even did shots for VS) and he was an up and coming star with a single on the Billboard charts - it had been his one of his only written songs on the EP - Drugs, Sex and Love. He was achieving everything that him and Nikita had dreamed of when they were starry eyed teenagers, laying in the bed of his father's pick up truck. He finally reaching it all: the Juilliard education, the recording studio contract, the gigs to sing back up, everything. And now here he was, one of the biggest stars of their generation. He wished to God, he could stop thinking about Nikita. Could stop wishing it was her instead of Ayesha he woke up to every morning. He never talked about it, just moved on with his life, pretended nothing irked him, nothing bothered him. Sure he missed her a lot, but it was the type of bone crushing sadness he didn’t want to delve into. The type of sadness that struck at the most random of moments. He could still feel everything he felt six years ago: everything was still the same to his washed up brain. Everything after Nikita was like pictures in the sand - easily washed away; there was this analogy if he was trying to aptly describe the way this short brunette had impacted his life. Sameer had always known Nikita, she was his familiar, his safety next and (quite literally too) his soulmate - well at least to him, she certainly didn’t believe so if the unreturned calls, and especially the no show at the airport was any indication. There he was again, the pity that refused to leave, the self-conscious pity that threatened to become his downfall; however it was this that also became his muse. Nikita. Nikita Malhotra had, is and would always be his muse. Which was one the reasons that drove him to go back to Mumbai, because he knew that if he didn't, he would miss his opportunity. He would miss the chance to make things right. He got off the plane, hiding his face under his hoodie as he easily slid into the car that they had hired for him, complete with the bulletproof windows and whatnot. The driver turned on the radio and Sameer let out a laugh at the song that was playing - it was one of his. The one he'd written for Nikita. I have loved you since we were 18, long before we both thought the same thing. To be loved and be in love; all I can do is say these arms were meant to be holding you. He let out a laugh, it was completely ironic that all of his best singles, the ones that broke all the records were about Nikita. Everything was about Nikita. He loved her too much but since he couldn't be with her, he would be with her in his music, through his songs. The only place he could let himself feel, let himself think about the time he had been happiest. He was too dependent on her, even though he would never admit it, but she was the reason that he’d gone to Juilliard: because he knew in fulfilling this dream, he would be fulfilling hers. She had always been his driving force, she had been the one to believe in him when he couldn’t even believe himself. Stood up to his father, when he didn’t have the strength to. She was his happiness. Sameer cracked a smile at Abhay. "Arre wah, ek dum sau crore lag raha hai tu," he teased his best friend. "C'mere you duffer," he said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest at all the emotion he was feeling at seeing his best friend, emotion that he was so damn sure he knew how to control. But being there wrapped in his best friend's arms, it felt like everything in the past five years had faded away and he was back to being 23, back to being the Sameer that everyone knew and loved. Eventually though he pulled away, he needed to pull away otherwise the dam in his eyes would break and he couldn't do that. His makeup artist would have a fit at the pictures that would resurface, first on TOI and then making its way to TMZ. "I should change shouldn't I?" he mentioned, pointing to his casual attire of jeans and black shirt, matched with biker boots - guess some things never really changed. He changed quickly into the sherwani that he had been hard pressed to buy, at least he looked good in it but then again he looked good in everything (and nothing). He listened to Abhay's chatter, inserting random stories and appropriate words where they were needed. He followed after his best friend, making his way downstairs, already prepared for the yelling, the crying and the cheek pinching that he would get. What he wouldn't be able to bear would be his mother's face. His mother's tearstained face - he'd never been able to see her cry anyways. "I'm sorry ma," he whispered when she wrapped him in a hug, resting his chin on her head. "I'm sorry," he repeated, a few tears slipping down his cheek despite his best efforts.

Nikita would have physically strangled Aaliya if not for the fact that her brother had came in, wondering what the hell was going on. "He's here," she spat out, glaring at Aaliya who did look pretty remorseful. Her excuses that they hadn't expected him to come, that Abhay had managed to get him to only the day after they had finally fixed the guest list did nothing to reduce her anger. Fear, to be exact. Fear of facing him, looking into those eyes and seeing that she had done no good to him at all. Fear of realising the truth that his mother had told her: she would only ruin his life. Aryan quickly caught on as to who the 'he' was and Nikita couldn't fault her brother for looking excited. Who wouldn't be? They hadn't seen him in five years. They had only heard his success stories, heard all his songs, watched all his interviews, freaked out when they had heard about his minor car accident-- No. It had just been her. Everyone was vaguely aware of his extent of his success and very aware of his songs but there she was, reading every story she could about him. She knew the routine - she would stumble on an article while searching for something completely irrelevant and then three hours later, she would have scoured the entire E news page for his face. Incognito, of course. She didn't need to hear anyone laughing at her about regretting what she had lost. She knew damn well. But there he was, living his dream, doing everything he had always talked about and as much as even the thought of him hurt, the sight of him doing what he loved made the pain bearable for a few hours. "Abhay, you lying bastard. You. You out of all people. I can't believe you--" He caught her hands when she wanted to hit him and he wouldn't let them go till she stopped struggling. "He's my best friend too," he said sadly and that was all it took for her to forgive him. Nobody needed her opinion today. It was Sameer Raichand’s welcoming party and she was the stain in the kodak moment that no one needed for today. "Stay," he ordered her, as if having figured out what was going through her head. She wanted to refuse but what kind of a friend missed her two closest (only) friends' engagement? "Fine," she whispered and only realised when Abhay dabbed at the corner of her eyes that she had tears. Nothing made her cry, not even the most gruesome cases, but hearing Sameer Raichand's voice had crippled her in a matter of seconds. "Get Tasha to be your ring bearer," she told Aaliya, not unkindly, but the girl knew it had been coming for her. She slipped off her heels for the moment and headed up to the roof, taking out the packet of cigarettes she had stuffed into her pouch. Bad habit. Reminded her of him in ways that didn't hurt. Kept her sane when everything got too much. She would head down when they were going to start, she promised herself. Maybe at the moment they exchanged rings, and then leave right after that. But for now, she wasn't an invited guest to Sameer Raichand's welcome party and she had gotten the memo loud and clear.

Sameer was sick of it. He was reminded of exactly why he had left; don't get him wrong, he loved his family and his extended family and his family friends but there was only so much a man could take after spending years at society parties and clubs and interviews. He could not handle this type of grilling that was tradition to only Indian families. He made some excuse about needing to use the bathroom before escaping up to the roof of Abhay's house, using all the shortcuts he'd always had ever since he was little. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, holding it between his slender figures as he took a long drag. It was only then he realized he wasn't alone, he turned and swallowed. Maybe he could pretend that he hadn't seen her at all because no matter how much he loved her, the way they had ended still acted as a knife to his heart, acted as a motivator to become even more successful, besides he had a girlfriend (temporary, his heart reminded him). His entire plan of sneaking away could have worked out, if it weren't for the sheer surprise he felt at seeing her that caused the smoke to catch in his airways and for him to descend into a long coughing fit. It wasn't a secret either of his little drug problem on the side, he'd been trying to quit (two weeks clean) but the withdrawal was showing with how shaky his movements were.

Nikita had been halfway in on her second stick when she heard his coughs. Hell, she even recognised his coughs. Knew every little habit, sound, action of his as though they were her own. She wanted to pretend that she hadn’t heard him, wanted to turn deaf for that moment but when his coughs turned into hackles, she couldn’t stop herself. Stubbing her cigarette, she flicked it off the roof and went over to him quickly, biting hard on the inside of her lip to make sure she didn’t look up at his face. Especially not his eyes. And she had managed, for a while at least, alternately rubbing and hitting on his back till the smoke got out of his system. It was only after he was breathing normally again, after she had pulled the stick out of his fingers as though she still had a stake on him, that she realised her mouth was filled with blood. He had a girlfriend, she remembered. Moved on from her as effortlessly as he had become a star. As he should have. And just like, she was gone again, staring at him wordlessly, trying to memorise his face again, her mind automatically filling in the new features that she had not seen. The shorter hair style, the light stubble, the more defined jaw, the stud in his ear. Swallowing the taste of iron, she found herself speechless because what did she say to him? I know I was your psychotic ex but hey how’s your life? Nice engagement, huh? So I made out with your brother the other month and you’re still the best I have ever had? She yelped when the ash from his cig fell on her foot, dragging her back to reality and breaking the trance that they were stuck in. She took a step back along with a shuddering breath, looking down at the ground. “You’re missing your party,” she said softly, keeping her gaze fixed anywhere but him. She didn’t need her heart to lurch painfully every time she saw him, her traitor heart that refused to listen to her instructions to stay still.

Sameer glanced down at her foot and without a second thought, forgetting who he was, where they were and how things had changed, got down on his knees and lifted her foot out of its contraption before placing it on his knee as he blew on it gently, rubbing the spot where the ash had hit. "We need to get you some ice on that," he mumbled to himself before looking up at her cough. "Right. Sorry," he apologized, chastising himself for being so stupid, for having forgotten that they were neither on speaking nor on amicable terms. "Don't want to go back, I swear it's worse than being interviewed by Perez," he lamented before laughing at his own joke. God, he needed a hit. Desperately so and wondered if his emergency stash of speed and coke had made its way to Mumbai with him. Usually it did but you could never trust Indian customs. "You look great," he finally said, awkwardly holding out the olive branch. He wouldn't fight with her here, wouldn't demand answers here because it was his best friend's engagement and he wasn't such an asshole that he would ruin it. Love was a beautiful thing and marriage? Marriage only complemented that love as he had tried to explain to Nikita multiple times, he remembered belatedly and then wished he hadn't. His eyes flitted down to her hand out of habit, just to see if the string was still on her ring finger. He wasn't expecting it to, she had thrown it at his feet after all. Five years ago. It had been that long since he could remember what real happiness felt like. What Nikita's exposed midriff and curves felt like against his palm.

Nikita had felt fucking sparks shoot through her foot and knew that if she backed up, she would only end up falling. But she had already fallen once, all over him, and she still had no idea how to recover from that fall. It had been like jumping off a cliff with him being her parachute, nose-diving into the unknown realms of love. Liberating, terrifying, exhilarating. Until she had hit rock bottom, with her parachute cut away and having flown off higher than she could even see. Leaving her where she deserved to be. “Thank you,” she said quietly and then frowned at herself. Wasn’t she supposed to be the bitch here? But it was Abhay’s engagement and they were both vested into this as much as each other. She could sense Abhay’s impending disappointment if she picked a fight with Sameer and also knew he would feel guilty if she upped and left. In between a cliff and a damn whirlpool. “We—Should go.” He had looked up at the plural as well and she wondered if he felt that stab to the heart like she did. She hoped to all gods he didn’t, because he needed to move on from her. Succeed in whatever he was doing. Strapping her heel on, she went first, knowing she would end up doing something really stupid if she stayed on any longer. Like tell him how good he looked, and how much she had liked his first album. (And ask him whether it had been her song – the one that he had been writing for her before their lives tumbled and crashed). She slipped into the crowd, short enough to blend in and walked around till she saw Ma, deciding to stick religiously to her side till they exchanged the rings. She would leave after that, she promised herself, even though her heart protested. A while more, it begged her. A few more words. A few more glances. Just a little more to pacify her demanding heart.

Sameer glared at Abhay with all his might when his best friend mentioned that Sameer would be giving a quick speech but he quickly relented at his best friend's puppy eyes gaze. He always did Abhay's English homework anyways, saying this speech wouldn't be much different, especially since he'd gotten just as many pointers as Abhay's final creative writing coursework: none. He cleared his throat, tapping the microphone as he scanned the entire banquet hall. "I was once told that love didn't exist. Only in poet's pens and dreadfully dull imaginations, I'd been told. That love made you spin out of control and you must always have control in a situation. Without that control you became stupid, reckless and destructive things left you waking up in bad places," his voice hitched as he realized he was vocalizing his internal monologue. "And when it was over - and it would /always/ be over, you would be in a worse place than where you started off." Sameer swallowed hard, took a second and then went on. "That all it did was open you to the whims of other people, to their desires and wants. Like cutting open your chest and offering to let them stab you in your still beating heart. Romantic ideals, I was told, were for idiots and children." He let out a slight chuckle. "They forgot to mention that the very same love sang to its own tune, made up its own lyrics and danced however it felt like. That this love, this beastly thing that they spoke of also filled you to the brim with joy, with such happiness you needed to share it or else you felt like you'd explode. That whoever you fell in love with would be your best friend, that one day you'd know them even better than you knew yourself and that's what love is. And i'm grateful to whatever's up there that my two closest friends found this love -- because trust me, it's going to make the story of a lifetime." He let out a soft laugh, holding back his emotions as he got off the podium and good naturedly accepted the claps, and the pats to his back but his eyes. His eyes only looked for Nikita. To see the recognition sparkle in them, to hope that she knew his feelings for her hadn't changed and wouldn't for as long as he would live. He shook his head, making his way to the open bar, ordering a shot of whiskey as he watched Abhay and Aaliya dance together, completely enamored with each other, completely in love and he missed his own. Missed the exact same memories he could recall with Nikita -- He couldn't down that drink fast enough, welcoming the burn that slid down his throat.

Nikita had left when the claps resounded around the hall, stumbling over everyone in her haste to get away. She had overestimated her ability to do this, to be able to hear him pulling out their memories and lying them out for everyone to see. She hadn't told anyone about them, about how happy he had made her, because she would sound like a fucking joke. And now? She was still the fucking joke in the room. The joke that had let him go only to be given a lesson at an engagement reception. That was what her life had turned into. Him publicly telling everyone how much she had ruined him. As if she needed that. She locked herself in the bathroom for a quarter of an hour, digging her nails into her palms until she could override her feelings with pain. Turn that pain into anger. She hated him, she reminded herself. Hated him to the core. If hate was a synonym for love then she hated him with every cell that she had in her body. And once she had convinced herself that she hated him, she went back down, heading straight for the open bar. "Give me the strongest you have," she muttered, knowing Abhay would have toned down on the alcohol level. She knocked down the drink immediately, coughing at how fast it went down her throat. "I didn't say you could stop," she shot at the bartender when he looked hesitant about giving her another shot and it was only after her third one (it wasn't even eight pm) that she realised who else but the great Sameer Raichand was next to her. "Nice speech," she said in a pleasant tone, raising the glass to him before downing that as well. "Been writing that for five years? Or is it a spontaneous thing? Lyrical genius Sameer Raichand extolling the virtues of love." She laughed at her own words, swivelling back to glare at her drink.

Sameer wasn't sure how many he'd had by now, but if anyone asked: the count would be two, it wasn't even eight pm after all. His head swivelled in the direction of the voice that he would recognize everywhere and a pathetic laugh escaped him when he saw the shot glasses next to her, mirroring his. They really had become one and the same to the point where even their choice of drink to down their sorrows in were the same. "Oh you know, Universal Records most talented star," he bragged, beaming at her innocently. "Must admit I was practicing that, especially since I'd heard the great Nikita Malhotra would be there," his voice oozed of sarcasm as he scoffed at her before turning away. His heart protested at why he was treating the only girl he ever loved this way but his mind felt it far too soon to forget everything that had culminate between them, this was merely diluted vengeance.

Nikita would have noticed the widening curb around them at the bar, everyone consciously giving way to the showdown that they had all been waiting for the past five years. The showdown that the whole society thought they would get to see at the airport but then she had been a no show, leaving all the fuckers disappointed. And she knew she deserved it completely, even if his words cut through her like he had sunk knives deep into her and then dragged them down. She let out a laugh to disguise the gasp that had escaped and clamoured for another drink, knocking it down and using the burn to talk to him. "Still can't get over me, can you?" she taunted him softly, aware of the ears that were listening now. She swivelled towards him and tilted her head, studying his side profile. Was it possible that he had gotten even more handsome? "Five years and rockstar Sameer Raichand hasn't stopped crying over the girl that broke his heart. The girl that he had fallen in love with, like all of his sappy songs claim." She scoffed softly, swirling her drink in hand. "Five years and you can't even get over me enough to give a proper fucking speech that didn't throw shade at me."

Sameer remained impassive, praising himself for his stoic expression. He wouldn't let her words affect him, even though his heart was working in overdrive. She really hated him, all his worst nightmares were coming true. He couldn't let this affect him, that had been a low blow. She was out to hurt him and he wasn't going to back down either. He barked out a sarcastic laugh, throwing back a shot. "Right. I haven't moved on, and that's why I have the world's most beautiful girl on my arm with whom I spent an entire month in Ibiza with. Last time I checked, her name wasn't Nikita." He leaned in closer, his heart protesting to say what he was going to even though they were for her ears only. "And she's way better in bed than you ever could be." He pulled away with a laugh at her shocked expression. "Oh poor little Malhotra brat. Thought everything revolves around you didn't you? News flash, it doesn't."

Nikita stared at him in disbelief, her heart refusing to believe the words that was coming out of his mouth. Her body shivered when his breath hit his ear but her brain didn't process it this time. It was as though his words had shut down her entire system and she blinked in confusion, unable to understand. Refusing to comprehend, was a more accurate term. She felt someone's hand on her shoulder as though to restrain her but she didn't need any restraint - she had been defeated. He had used every means left to make her feel irrelevant. "Congratulations, you won," she whispered, slipping down from her stool and pushing Abhay away, tottering towards the exit and snapped at whoever tried to help her when she stumbled. She didn't need anyone's help. She was Nikita Malhotra. The girl who had set her own life on fire. She didn't need anybody. Especially not Sameer Raichand. No one. She whispered that to herself, the alcohol taking its toll on her as she collapsed into her car. She wrapped her arms around her knees and kept whispering the words to herself, till the words had been overtaken by sobs, leaving her a blubbering mess. They were toxic to each other, Nandini had told her once. She saw that now, for herself.

Sameer regretted it the minute the words had left his mouth. He felt the guilt pour through his veins, into his lungs as they threatened to drown him. His hands were shaking again - for fuck's sake not right now - and his eyes remained downcast. He could see Abhay's worried expression out of the corner of his eye and shook his head, motioning that really he was fine. He just needed a club, a drink, a cigarette and coke. He'd be alright then. Instead he made his way outside to his car, completely ready to crash in his hotel room, snort a few lines, call Ayesha and then pass out. It was then he spotted Nikita in her car and despite his better judgement, he knocked on her car window.

Nikita flinched at the knocks on her window, having calmed down enough by this point to be only left with hiccups from her breakdown. She didn't trust herself to drive, not in this state, and quickly wiped the tear tracks with the base of her palms. It was probably Abhay or Liya checking on her, making sure she wasn't plotting her revenge because why the fuck would Nikita Malhotra be sobbing like a wreck over Sameer Raichand? She looked terrible and laughed at her own face before rolling down the window. "I'm fine, don't worry, not going to go a mass murder--" Her words were cut off by her stunned silence. Why the fuck was he here? Checking to make sure his words had the impact he wanted? She immediately rolled up the window but his name escaped her in a strangled scream when he tried to force the window, ending up getting squashed badly. She frantically rolled down the window again, flipping his hand over as she rubbed the blooming red, leaving her awkwardly useless when he tugged his hand away. "What do you want?" she sighed, except she sounded like she had given up on life instead of sounding someone who was on the upper hand. This had been a bad idea. This whole thing had been a massively dumb idea and she just wanted to get drunk enough to forget this ever happened.

Sameer watched her as she fussed over his hand, the crinkle in his eyes returning. His stylist hated the crinkles, said they made him look old, they'd always spend an extra twenty minutes in make up to cover them up. He reached his hand inside her car and unlocked it before sliding in next to her. He was completely aware that he was probably attacking her personal space but he didn't care. Personal space had never stopped them before but yes - if he kept this up, he was pretty sure he would end up kissing her. "I came to apologize. What I said was uncalled for and you were right. I'm the idiot who couldn't move on," he admitted honestly before sliding away from her because really he'd said what he wanted to and it would be wrong to impose on her further, especially when she hated him. His hands had started shaking again, the withdrawal symptoms kicking in and he cursed under his breath.

Nikita swallowed hard, not having expected that in a hundred years. Her heart ached badly because he wasn't an idiot. She was the idiot. Why didn't he see that? Why didn't he move on from her? She found herself leaning in almost naturally at his warmth and only realised it when he had pulled away. "I wasn't being exactly nice either," she breathed out after a while. That was it. A truce. Tie up all the loose ends so that it was easier to cut away. She had been about to ask him to leave but her eyes fell onto his shaking hands and her traitor heart couldn't help force her own hands to reach out for his. "What's wrong?" she asked, her hands stopping midway when she realised how stupid it was, trying in vain to keep the worry off her tone. If he didn't move on, she would just tie him back down, back to the city he hated. An anchor that would make him drown.

Sameer was hyper aware of Nikita's movements and tracked the path of her hands with a sigh of relief when she decided against holding them at the last moment. "We both said shit things, things I didn't mean. I'm sorry for that, proud of you, y'know? When I picked up Abhay's phone he'd gush about you and that one time you were on TOI, I was so happy for you."

Nikita listened to his words and mused about how his words somehow both brought her the most pain she had ever felt in her life and yet made her heart flutter in happiness. Sometimes both, as it was now. She wanted to tell him that she had been the happiest person when he had won the best breakout artist and how she was sure his album would be nominated for Grammys but psychotic exes did not say such things. And she was sure she fitted into his definition of one. "What's wrong?" she repeated again, getting increasingly troubled by the way his hands were shaking relentlessly. She bit down on her lip for a second before reaching out for his hand, holding it in both of hers to make it stop shaking. Make him stop hurting because of all the things that she had done.

Sameer flinched when Nikita held onto his hands, forcing his resolve not to crack but one glance at her and that resolve crumbled. "Drug withdrawals," he mumbled almost inaudibly, staring decidedly at their hands because he couldn't bear to see her disappointed expression. Some corner of his brain reminded him that he was supposed to call Ayesha but he pushed that thought away, he had Nikita in front of him - Ayesha could wait. He let out a heavy sigh. "I bet you could tell couldn't you? Which songs were about you, I mean."

Nikita knew it would probably hurt less if he had kicked her instead. She didn't know anymore whether he was doing it consciously or not but every word he said only caused her more pain. Made her think that maybe she had done no good to him after all, even after forcing him to leave. Maybe she had fallen in love with someone who wasn't hers in the first place. "Leave," she whispered, even though her hand was still around his. If he stayed any longer, they would end up in the same situation as at the bar, except she didn't know what would happen in the small space. And as much as every single part of her body was screaming her to, neither one of them would fare better if she kissed him. She let go of his hands but found them shaking again, this time even more violently. "Why do you get addicted when you know you can never quit?" A laugh escaped her at that sentence because that sounded exactly like their relationship. "Can I drop you somewhere?" she asked finally. She didn't want him driving anywhere in that state and by now she was sober enough from the combination of tears and cynicism.

Sameer laughed at her words even though the sound came out more harsh rather than humorous. He wasn't sure what he found so humourous about the situation, except the proximity: the fact that even after five long years they were still as bound to each other as they'd always been - just needing a reason to slip back into that persona. "The rush," he replied simply. He'd once told her that he was high on her, that she was better than the intoxication any drug or liquor could provide. It had disappeared when he had left her, the withdrawal from the actual drugs paled in comparison to the withdrawal he had felt after Nikita. He'd wake up some nights covered in cold sweat from a different world where he'd watched her die in his arms. That had been a true stab to his chest, the knife digging into his heart and twisting the dagger to cause as much pain as possible. He couldn't tell her any of this, they both needed to move on for their own benefit. But he wasn't done, he wasn't done falling for her yet, he could feel it in his bones because even now he was falling in love with this new incarnate of Nikita. He barely heard her question as his hand reached out to push the untucked strands of hair back behind her ear. Their eyes locked once more and he leaned in, his lips mere millimetres from hers. This would break them, he knew that but he needed to know that she wasn't a hallucination, not something that his drug induced brain had created to taunt him. It was then his phone rang, shattering the illusion and Sameer shuddered as he realized what he was about to do. He had a girlfriend, he had to bury these feelings for Nikita because technically he wasn't supposed to be feeling them anymore.

Sameer knew something was off the second he had called Nikita; the banter they shared was gone, her voice had been stilted, their conversation had been shrouded in something he couldn't recognize. He let it pass, assuming that it was probably the stress from college. He forgot sometimes that they weren't the same age, and she wasn't about to graduate like he was, that her academic career had merely just taken off. He was in awe of the amount of things that slipped his mind, he mused as he checked out of the hospital, swiping his card. That story everyone said about how the entire human population looked horrible in ID photos of any sort : total lie, at least when it came to Sameer. Running a hand through his hair, his bag slung on his shoulder, he slid into his car, tossing the bag into the passenger seat as he started the car up. These days there would be a smile on his face without him even realizing because he was always thinking of Nikita, she always made him smile, everything she did filled him to the brim with this sort of happiness he didn't know he could feel - the sort of happiness he thought only existed in films, or in those cliche songs that Nikita loved blasting at full volume just to annoy him. He made his way to his door, about to use his key before choosing to ring the doorbell. "Honey, I'm hoomee," he drawled out, his voice carrying through the wooden barrier of the door.

Nikita 's hand froze on the door knob and she had to lean against the door for a while, all her resolve breaking in a second. How the hell was she going to do this? How did anyone separate a part of themselves? "Aayi," she whispered when she heard him call out for her again and laughed to herself because when did they get so fucking domestic? When did she get used to this? She opened the door and quickly turned around but he pulled her back easily and she gave up then, giving in to his embrace. She was only human after all. Why couldn't she be selfish? Because that meant ruining his life. Damning her conscience to the lowest level of hell, she pulled away with a small smile, pushing him towards the bedroom. "Go change," she said softly, pulling away. "I'll get dinner ready." She was losing it. And that too, fast. She could feel it in her veins.

Sameer frowned at the immediate loss of warmth and tried not to let the disappointment show on his face, as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossing it on the floor right outside their bedroom, slipping out of his jeans, leaving a trail of his clothes to the doorstep of the bathroom. Taking a quick shower as he let the cold beads of sweat mingle with the heated vapor of the shower, running his hands through his wet hair. He felt this sink in his gut, tugging at his heart strings, telling him something was about to go awry, awfully wrong. He pushed the negativity away, passing it off as the lingering effects of working amongst cadavers. Wrapping the towel around his waist, letting it ride low, he bent down and scrimmaged through his wardrobe in an attempt to find something to wear. A pair of clean boxers and a plain white tee later, he stepped back outside. "Smells good," he murmured in assent, collapsing on the couch, not at all surprised to see his clothes having disappeared from the floor and a small smile made its way onto his face.

Nikita could never figure out why the idiot couldn't just pick up his damn clothing and put it inot the laundry basket, and really, it wasn't as though she was his maid or anything, she was his girlf-- There she went again. It was hard to resist that. Hard to resist the safety of his comfort. Nandini's words rang in her ear again and she shook her head, quickly rolling the clothes into the basket before quickly heading back out. "Dinner," she reminded him, having only set one plate for him. She had no appetite left, the unease churning in her stomach like the storm inside her heart. She headed towards with her laptop in hand but then quickly stopped, seeing Sameer there. His proximity made her want to give up but she knew she would only end up hating herself more and sunk to the floor in front of the couch instead, going through her assigned readings. She would just tell him she had too much work, she decided. She needed to avoid him, avoid letting him find out because he could always read her as though she was an open book.

Sameer pouted at her back. "You feeling okay?" He asked softly, concern painting his tone. When he received no reply, he decided that he'd let her focus on her work. Pressing a kiss to her hair, he made his way to the dining table to eat. He couldn't hide his surprise at the single plate on the table but still said nothing, only managing to stomach a few bites before pushing the plate away, the foreboding have eaten his appetite. It was ironic that the one time his fiance made the perfect tasting dish, everything felt like it was balanced on glass, or perhaps a house of cards. Maybe their relationship could be summed up in that analogy: a house of cards. Beautiful to look at, painstakingly beautiful, but any small movement could tear it apart.

Nikita had been reading the same line for what was probably the fourth time? The fifth time? Her attention was clearly taken up by Sameer because she knew even without looking that he had not finished his dinner. And he had barely eaten lunch either. But no, she stopped herself. She couldn't do that to him, to herself. He was addicted to her and she needed to weane him off his addiction. She got up to put the pot back into the fridge but then felt herself being tugged back by the very edges of her fingers. "Sorry... it's just... school." That was all she could manage with a shaky smile, not daring to look up at him. "You head to bed first. I need to wrap up work." Quickly glancing up to offer him what she could only hope was asincere smile, she let go of his hand, going back to cleaning the kitchen. She wanted it as clean as possible because Sameer was a slob and she knew he wouldn't clean up after she left.

Sameer seemed to accept her excuse readily enough and pulled her back for a last kiss. "Don't work too hard okay? I don't like sleeping in a cold bed," he teased before making his way back inside the bedroom. Although initially the foreboding and the worry and his intuition had prevented him from even closing his eyes, they started to droop out of their own accord as he curled under the quilt, letting himself fall asleep, his palm resting flat on Nikita's pillow.

Nikita took a deep breath, zipping up her duffel bag. She hadn't realised how many things she had brought over, even if they had only stayed together for a week or so. She already had clothes over at his place. Her clothes were everywhere, just like his were. She tried to lift up the bag but gave up immediately. Deciding to shove it along the path, she pushed it with her foot towards the door but then retreated back again, finding some other excuse to stay. Hoping foolishly that Sameer would wake up and confront her so that he would stop her. And then. And then what? Did she want to be labelled as someone reponsible for breaking up a family? Panic immediately rose in her at that thought and she shook her head quickly, even though she was in complete darkness. She switched on the kitchen light and quickly scribbled down the final version of the note she had constructed, not daring to leave it on his bedside for the fear that she would end up staying. Sam. This is not working out. I can't afford distractions right now and any distraction that affects my work has to go. Including you. Plus, Bhaiyya wants me to be home and I kinda miss my family. Don't you miss yours? Or do they not miss you, that's why? And anyway, you'll easily find another girl. You've always been great in that department. Good luck with that, yeah? She would have scoffed at impersonal letter if not for the fact that any sound she made would have led to her breaking down and weighed it down with the salt shaker. She opened the door one last time with her key and left it hanging on the hook before shoving all her things out, pulling the door shut quickly before she could change her mind. Only then. Only then did she let herrself sink down to the steps, sobs escaping her even as she tried to muffle them any way she could.

Sameer flinched, waking up to the sound of the door slamming shut and then tears. His blood ran cold, he'd told Nikita that it was a terrible idea to go see Ouija, especially in theatres. Of course she hadn't let him live it down when he screamed pathetically, covering his eyes in fear and now he was scared again. He turned over to hold Nikita when he hit empty space, her side of the bed was still made. He opened his eyes to see all the lights in the house were off. He stood up, making his way into the living room and then the kitchen. It was there his eyes fell on the note, scanning the words as his chest constricted painfully, making it hard to breath. He ran back inside the bedroom, ashamed that he hadn't seen how empty it looked without Nikita's stuff. He stormed back out, pulling the door open when he nearly tripped over the person he just so happened to be looking for. At first, his voice was caught in his throat ans he cleared it multiple times. The note was still crumpled in his hand and he raised it. "Iska matlab -- what is the -- what do you mean by this?" He inquired in growing disbelief

Nikita roughly wiped her tears away with the base of her palm, hoping it was dark enough to conceal that action while she physically shielded her face with her hair. Their floor light was dim as hell and she remembered how he had complained about it incessantly. She jumped when he called his name again, looking completely confused. She hadn't been expecting this. She had expected him to wake up in the morning to the note because he was usually such a deep sleeper that it took actual trumpets to wake him up. Not knowing what or how to respond, she simply froze, staring at the bags in front of her. What did she mean by that? What could anyone mean by leaving a note and taking all of their stuff away? Laughter bubbled forth from her lips and she shook her head quickly, trying to stop it but it simply escaped more. As though laughter had replaced her sobs. It was only when she physically stopped it by clamping down on her mouth with her hands that she managed to shut up, though by this point she was sure he could hear it echoing along the stairway. "Can't you read English?" she asked in a monotone, glancing up at him. Or rather, glancing up at the spot next to him. There was no way she could stare at him, stare at his absolutely dejected expression without breaking down. "Or do you need me to read it for you? You can't even do such a simple thing yourself now?" She marvelled inwardly at how easy it had been to spit those words out - she just channelled her own self-hatred towards him.

Sameer flinched at her jibe, his fist clenching around the note. He wouldn't lose his temper, couldn't lose his temper on the girl he loved so much, so much that he would be willing to disregard his family for her. He ignored her taunt and sat down next to her, it taking all of his restraint not to hokd her. She didn't understand that if she left him, not only would he be not hers, he wouldn't be anyone else's either. Every road he knee only led to her, it always had led to her he didn't possess the strength to make a new map. He still couldn't seem to grasp as to why she was breaking up with him, they had it all. They had everything,they had given each other everything. He ran a hand through his hair, realizing they had been sitting in complete silence for more than twenty minutes. He was still too busy with his internal monologue. Why didn't she grasp this was just as hard for him as it had been for her? He had never given anyone so much before, never given anyonr access to his heart, To the general public, Sameer Raichand didn't even have a heart to be broken. She had bled into his skin to the extent where she was his life. "Why?" he asked softly, his voice pained as he refused to look at her. Two could play this game and he was equally as stubborn as she. His heart however taunted, taunted him why Nikita was so impirtant to him, why her unfulfilled wishes amounted more than any of his, why he only knew her name. He didn't understand any of it - all he knew was that her tears were irking him because he had promised he would never make her cry. He'd promised to take her tears unto himself and make sure she did nothing but smile. He'd broken the one thing he'd promised. His heart beat anxiously in his chest with th anticipation of destruction. Trepidation at the fact that he would lose everything he'd ever had. He inhaled sharply, wishing there was a way to shut off his conscience like a light switch, but no such thing existed. "Niki please don't," he whispered sadly. He wanted so desperately to make her understand, to make her understand that they would never find a relationship like this. One where he was hers, she was his and they were each other. Not evrryone got a love like this in their lietime and here she was throwing it away. They were the forever type couple, the couple that everyone had put their bets on, the couple that were dupposed to get married if every cliche served them right. He could feel everything shattering around him, everything that he'd worked so hard to create was being destroyed. Their house of cards was falling over and he didn't know how to control it. His hands ithed for something, he wanted to hold her, to kiss her senseless, to run his fingers in her hair, to touch her because it felt as if he would never get another chance.

Nikita had a habit of getting panic attacks from childhood. No one knew how these attacks had started but everyone knew that if they didn't calm her down soon enough one way or the other, she would start hyperventilating and eventually her breaths will get shallow to the point where she would pass out. That marked the end of a particularly bad episode. And for other reasons she couldn't explain, there were only two people in the whole world who could calm her down without any medication involved. The first one was her brother. Her personal magician who made every trouble go away. The second person was sitting right next to her in utter silence, silence that was suffocating her and pushing her to the edge of an attack. It seemed ironic to her that the person who could calm her down could just as easily start one. Because she was his. In every sense of the word. She dug her nails into her palm at his soft plea, letting the pain override other senses for momentary flashes of clarity. "Don't what?" she asked, her voice higher than she would have liked. "You always thought I was going to leave you. I'm just proving your theory right." If he only knew how much hatred it took for her to say those words. How badly she wanted to stab something into herself so that the pain could take the hatred away. But Nikita Malhotra was a stubbornly practical person. That had always been her major flaw. "I don't want to be your maid. Picking up your clothes, cleaning your kitchen, feeding you. That's what your ma does. Or have you forgotten her as well?" She shifted away from him, because she could feel him flinching and god she didn't want to. She just wanted to stop feeling. "I can't entertain you for any longer, Sam. It's tiring. I'm tired. I'm bored." She wondered briefly whether it would be possible to puncture her skin with her nails, because she was going to need a lot more pain than that to fuel the conversation if it continued.

Sameer couldn't hear her words, he could, they were ringing in his ears but he could tell that Nikita was on the verge of a panic attack, possibly her worst one yet and all he could think about was that he needed to help. He needed to fix this mess he'd made. He pulled her into his arms, his hands pushing hers away, the ones that were digging into her skin. "Shh," he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair, whispering things that were now meanigless given the state of their relationship but he knew that it would go a long way in calming her down. He loved her, he just wished that she would try to understand.

Nikita clutched the front of his shirt to pull herself closer, letting his words wash over him. She knew this time it wouldn't help, because he was just making it worse. His touch only reminded her that she needed to leave, that she was a burden to him because he needed to take care of her. A liability Her breaths turned into gasps and she could hear Sameer's voice get louder to get through to her but all she could do was shake her head, pushing him away from her with as much force as she could muster - which only resulted in her slamming herself against the wall on her side. If she hadn't been in thr midst of a full out attack, she woyld have realised that trying to push him aeay eas only leading to hurt herself. That trying to cause him pain only inflicted pain to herself. "Leave," she managed between breaths, bringing her knees to her chest. "Please. Leave. Let me leave."

Sameer let go of her. "I'll let you go... just tell me why," he prodded softly. He spoke softly, not wanting her panic attack to full blow and erupt. He would never want anything like that, even though her words destroyed him. Even though the fact that she wanted to leave was slowly breaking him. He pulled away from her entirely, standing up to lean against the crevice where the two walls of the hallway met, running a hand through his hair. It really was ending, everything he'd built his life around was crumbling. He was crumbling.

Nikita took shallow breaths, composing herself begore she trusted herself to speak. What did he want to hear? What was thr worst thing sje could tell him? Something that would throw him off completely. Her lawyer side kicked in and she stared down at her hands, starting to take in deep breaths. "I'm tired of you," she said quietly, keeping her eyes on her hands. The stupid piece of string caught her eye and she pulled it off. That was it. She found the way. She chucked the string at him, letting it fall to his feet, ignoring every impulse to scramble to get it back. "I'm just a distraction, Sam. I'm a distraction supposed to solve your problems. I'm not fucking Doctor Phil. Do you understand how exhausted I am with everyone telling me you're a trainwreck and still staying on? You know why, Sam?" She lookrd up at him and narrowed her eyes, her fingers back to digging dents in her palms. "Because you're pathetic. Bordering on suicidal. I want someone whose on their own two feet, not dependent on me for anything. Someone who doesn"t run away at every chance." She collapsed back at that, exhausted by herself. Exhausted by how much pain it was causing her. She wanted it to stop. Everything.

Sameer swallowed at her words, the intensity threatening to crumble his walls. The walls he'd put up around himself, the walls he'd crafted so people wouldn't take advantage, would never know who the real him was. It had been a mistake to give Nikita the access, he froze then, realizing that she always had the power. She'd always had the power to build or destroy him and he'd never said a word, just let her walk all over him (unknowingly). That was what was happening again, he refused to look at her as he chewed on his lip, glaring definitively at the piece of string that lay between them, the thing that had once joined them - now destroyed, destroyed everything they'd created. He ran a hand through his hair, nodding to what she was saying because he agreed. He'd always known that he wasn't good enough for her, he'd told her on multiple occasions, shared those fears with Abhay and let them fester. He had been idiotic to think that it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass. He nodded once more, trying to make sense of the entire thing, trying to wrap his head around the fact that she wasn't his anymore; that she was backing out but what hurt the most was the way she felt. The one person he'd hoped wouldn't feel the way he felt about himself, did exactly that and he wasn't sure where he stood anymore. He finally looked up, meeting her gaze and praying to whatever existed "up there" that she couldn't see his crestfallen expression but most importantly, that he wouldn't cry in front of her. He cleared his throat, attempting to rid the lump that seemed to be stuck before speaking, "Do you want me to drop you home or something?"

Nikita could have just stabbed herself to death right there. Even after she had hurt him as much as she could, even after she had thrown every last cruel word at him and he still wanted to drop her off? How was he even real? She wanted to be selfish again, and beg him to come back because she was nothing without him. But no. She couldn't. She couldn't let him keep sacrificing everything important in his life just to make things work with her. "No," she said shortly, standing up. "I'll manage. Just leave." If he didn't, she might give up completely give up and crawl back to him again, chaining him back to her.