He had returned home unplanned after a year. It was abrupt — He woke up in the morning and didn’t want to be there after what had happened the night before. But it also meant that he was working against everything he had planned meticulously over the last month so he wouldn’t have to go home. And that stormy night made him want to be anywhere but home. So he booked a flight, didn’t bother about checking the refund policy, checked out, got into a taxi and left for the airport. On the way, and for the next several weeks, the hotel reception kept calling him to check what had happened, since he had booked the entire month with them. But he didn’t answer. He was being himself, again, as soon as he got to the airport in time. He hadn’t been himself the past few days. Now he was free, even before he got home. Usually he didn’t like eating in the restaurants at the airport but there was a lot of time to kill and he was hungry, so he ate a big, overpriced sandwich.
The house was full of dust, and the lobby, of bird poop. He went out to the balcony and took a photo from his 15th-floor apartment. He was tired but keen to go out. He lay down, thinking about the next morning and the days ahead. None of this was in the frame twenty-four hours ago. He asked himself whether freedom was what he had until a day ago or what he has now? And if he was bound, to be, to act, to do what he had planned to, then why does he feel freer having made a mockery of everything? Was he chained? And now that he is lost — lost at home, why does he feel alive? He woke up the next morning and ran, faster than he had before. It wasn’t so much the speed but the manner in which he moved, holding nothing back, saving nothing in the tank; he just went until he ran out of breath. He kept moving weirdly too, headstanding in the middle of the brick roads and on upper pavements, and handstanding right in the middle of the road the next moment — from sitting and watching the trees quietly a moment ago.
Most of the faces he saw in the morning were new, while he hung out again with his friends who complained that he had left to roam around the country alone. It was during one of those mornings he first saw her. As she came closer, he gazed at her. She seemed surprised, she kept looking at him too. It looked like an ordinary exchange, and it was, but not for her. The next few days were going to be revealing to him. They kept seeing and crossing each other’s path every day. And the first exchange, which seemed quite ordinary, quickly became convoluted. She didn’t look at him directly anymore, became guarded and seemed a little tense, or self-conscious, when she saw him. Or perhaps she didn’t enjoy her first encounter with him and wanted to avoid any interaction with him, in case he initiated. He saw her and gave her space, not looking at her directly, letting her be, holding the pleasantness within him. He wasn’t the kind who became grumpy when not met with the same energy, with kindness, with smile. As time went on, he did begin to see that she was not indifferent towards him. She tried to, but she wasn’t. And since he did nothing to cause what was going on with her, he couldn’t do anything to make things easier.
She was cautious it seemed, very very cautious, given what was at stake from her perspective. She had no idea where she was heading. A month had passed. And her confusion lay in the lack of action from him. She was relieved at it but also anxious, as time went on. Why is he, if interested, not making a move? she thought. And if he’s not, why does he keep meeting me in my eyes? Even when I don’t match him consistently? Time was playing a big role, it had been over two months and he remained that way, respecting her space when she withdrew eye contact and looked away, which is what she did most of the time. However, every so often, she looked him in the eyes for a few seconds and looked away before her eyes betray her and spill something. Why is he pleasant? Is this how he is as a person or just with me? Does he like me? Why is he not talking to me? Did I dismiss him early by not being more warm? Does he hate me? Why is my heart on fire? Oh God what do I do. I’m going to talk to him today. Oh shit! He’s actually coming. Maybe tomorrow. I’m too nervous right now. He will see right through me. I can’t let that happen. I’m going to be cool.
In the meantime, he has no idea, absolutely none of it. He sees her, recognises her, and looks at her, hoping that she becomes a part of everything he enjoys looking at and interacting with. He won’t make a serious face simply because his natural ease is not welcomed when he makes eye contact with her. He hoped that they’d be comfortable already; not necessarily by talking to each other, or even by exchanging a smile. A mere acknowledgement is enough, something that implies — we see each other, we recognise each other and we co-exist in this environment. He hasn’t thought of talking to her yet, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable, or more nervous than she already might be. He is willing to be whichever way she would prefer. Even if it meant not smiling briefly, and curbing his natural instincts of absorbing everything that exists in the environment, including a gentle nod, smile, or a momentary eye contact with her. And so, he keeps giving her space, smiles lightly every time, but looks down when she looks away after having a glance at him.
A couple of outsiders — acquaintances of his — had been watching her too. Ogling. Both married, and a few years older than him. They used to spend time together chatting, playing, and exercising, almost every other day. All of them lived inside the same complex. One of the men was much closer to him, knew a lot about him, and had often been expressive with him, asking random, weird and personal questions. One time — about a year ago — the man had asked him how many girls he had slept with. In another instance, he had asked to help him make friends with women as easily as he does. And seeing this girl around recently, he asked him, again — How do I approach her? Can you help me talk to her? Aren’t you married? — the guy asked. I just want to talk to her, maybe become friends, that’s all. Then don’t think much, there’s no right way, no tricks, don’t use a trick, just go say hello. But he didn’t. And instead, the man asked him to talk to her, stating — You should talk to her. You could easily do it, look at her, wow she’s so fucking hot! Don’t tell me you think she’s someone you’re going to say no to.
One morning, she was working out while the guy relaxed nearby with the same man who sheepishly pointed to the girl’s chubby thighs and her tiny shorts that barely fit. The man then asked the guy — Why don’t you talk to her? She will easily become your friend, she was even looking at you. And to shut him off — he quietly whispered that he didn’t want to. The man didn’t give up and instead threw a loaded scenario at him, asking — Are you saying you will refuse if she said she wanted to sleep with you? And he still didn’t move, nonchalantly saying — It’s not something a girl who doesn’t know you usually asks. The man looked frustrated and gave up. He turned back and ogled the girl again. He was not aware of the dynamic between the two, or if something was going on. And even if there was something, it was invisible, an undercurrent, a hum, unspoken to everyone, including the duo.
The girl saw him for the first time in the month of August. And now — She was running, he was running too, on a cold morning. They were in December. And the infamous North India winter was in full swing. It was close to dawn, and the fog carried the faint smell of dampness and fires burning somewhere beyond sight. Not many people were out. Apart from the two, a couple of elderly men and women were doing yoga, and a few early risers were out exercising. The girl jogged a few hundred meters, slowed down, and continued walking until she was ready to speed up again — that was her usual way. The guy was a little more intense. He ran differently too, sometimes moving in ways that some people said looked like mimicking a duck or a chicken and other times, a penguin. And out of nowhere, at some point, he would sprint aggressively for several minutes, causing intrigue and confusion among onlookers. He was slow jogging and the girl came from the opposite direction, almost at the same pace. They only saw each other at the very last moment, right after a turn, and almost but didn’t collide. She didn’t have much space by her side but he swerved away in time to prevent the accident. He immediately turned back to apologise — she kept running without looking back. A few minutes later — they were about to cross each other again, this time both walking. The guy had stopped running after the near collision. As she came near, he thought he should apologise and make sure she is fine. Once they were within talking distance, he raised his hand and uttered something. She didn’t hear him. She spoke over him and for a second, he was confused. Two separate conversations had started in the same moment, both speaking at the same time, the girl — a second later than him. While he raised his hand and said — Sorry; she had asked him — “Can we play badminton?”