Chapter 23

Sharini’s POV:

There was something about the sun hiding behind the grey clouds, like a shy lover awaiting the arrival of her beloved. Peeking but not really. 

Hot and flustered, its warmth trying to filter through the veil of the sky – quiet and impossibly tender. 

I knew she was awake. Sheetal’s movements beside me were soft. Careful. Too careful. Almost like she was trying to not meddle the tranquility of the morning. Like she was trying not to disturb me.

Or avoid me. 

My stomach did a small, stupid flip, remembering last night, the half-step she took toward me, the silence that stretched just a little too long, the way both of us became suddenly… shy? It wasn’t awkward-awkward. Maybe just… new. I stayed still for a moment, pretending to sleep, listening to her move. 

When it felt like she was at a safe distance, she was humming softly. Something she always did when she was nervous and trying to act normal. 

Then the sky tore open with a loud rumble.  

Ah. Right. Rain.

Rain around this time in the morning meant a chance for the best thing in the universe: unexpected holidays.

I sat up, scratched my tummy and rubbed the sleep off of my eyes, trying to peer through the balcony doors. 

Heavy drops of water slammed against those plastic roofing sheets, that instead of the usual pitter-patter, it sounded like a bunch of rocks being hurled onto the sunroofs.

Perfect. 

I grabbed the TV remote and flopped onto the couch, flipping through news channels, waiting for that one line.

I kept checking the clock but had zero intention of moving my derriere and getting ready for school. “Come on, guys,” I muttered. “Say the magic words.”

We miss you, Raman sir!

Thunder rolled again, louder. Sheetal emerged from the bathroom with her hair tied up in a towel.  She glanced at me, then the TV, then me again. 

Her eyebrows lifted half an inch, as if asking me “You have started again?”

I ignored it. 

I was on a mission.

“Why is it so hard for them,” I complained at the screen, “to just say ‘Holiday’? It’s literally one word. ONE. WORD.”

Sheetal hid a smile behind her cup. 

“It’s like they deliberately want to wait till the clock strikes 8:20 or 8.30, waiting for the majority to waddle through…… Nothing, nevermind. There it is, my sweet, sweet meteorological department, I love you people! Yaayy!!!”, I cheered, while Sheetal just shook her head and walked past me, like she was distancing herself from my species.

I followed. Obviously.

“Hey enaku leave eh! Veh veh veh! Enaku leave eh! Veh veh veh!”, I sang, fully geared up to tease her, “What about you, madam? Iniku ethana maniku show?” (At what time is your show today?) I elbowed her gently. 

Then all of a sudden, her whole face shifted. 

“Adhu vandhu.. Sharini..” She set her cup down, fingers tightening for a second. “Actually, I don’t have any slots today. I forgot to tell you yesterday.”

“Okay?” I said, but it came out like a question. Because I knew an and or but was coming. “And?”

“Can you sit down? I need to tell you something.” she spoke, tone hesitant. 

I saw the look on her face and took a seat. “What is it? Why are you so serious all of a sudden?”

She exhaled. “Well, don’t get mad at me for telling you this late, okay? I also got to know this only yesterday. Before I could tell you…yesterday… we…”, she averted her eyes for a second, before quickly moving on.  

“This whole OB thing… it’s actually at Pondicherry. For the whole week till Deepavali. But since Sushmi wants to be with her family, I’ll be replacing her for four days. Meaning…” Sheetal dragged.

“…. you’ll have to leave tomorrow morning.”, I finished the sentence before she could. Even before the concept could actually sink in for myself. 

My fingers had twisted together on their own, and I stared at them for a few seconds as the words settled inside me. I could hear Sheetal grind her teeth in worry.

“That’s….. great!”, I said, meaning it fully.

“Really? You’re not mad? I know I should have discussed these with you before. I know you don’t like sudden plans like these…” 

Of course she’d think that. 

Of course she’d worry about how I would take it, even when she was the one stepping into something huge. 

“I’m not mad. Not at all. This is a great opportunity, Sheetal. I understand.”

Her shoulders eased the tiniest bit. “I know right?”, she laughed, pushing back a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s silly but it’s kind of…”, she looked down, her fingers circling the rim of her tumbler. “Kind of like what I wanted to do once upon a time. Before Appa said a girl standing in front of a camera was too much attention.”

There she was. The girl who always suppressed what she wanted, just for the sake of the ones she loved. 

A flicker of something passed her face. Maybe regret. Or just a small shadow of an old bruise. 

I didn’t interrupt. I know this territory. 

But then, she brightened again quickly. “This won’t even be on a proper channel, anyway. Maybe some local cable networks. Mostly just in-store displays. Nothing big.” She shook her head, as if dismissing her own momentary fear. “And even if it does come on TV, who’s going to be watching Pondy cable at noon in Cuddalore?”

I watched her for a quiet minute.

“You’re doing it again,” I said quietly. 

She blinked. “What?”

“Shrinking.”

She looked at me, stared, half confused, half thrown aback. I softened my tone. “Just because something scares you a little, doesn’t mean you have to make it smaller.”

There was a heartbeat of pause. Her lips parted. 

And then… a tiny smile. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Making me feel like everything is possible.”

I didn’t say anything to that. I didn’t know how to. So instead, I nudged her shoulder slightly. “Come on. What time are they picking you up tomorrow?”

“Six-thirty.” She grinned like the sweat grinning emoji. “Morning.”

“Perfect,” I said, even though I felt my stomach drop just a little. “You can torture me by waking me up early.”

She chuckled. A soft, relieved sound. The kind that made my chest feel too full. 

****

The rain finally softened by late morning, turning into that lazy drizzle that made everything outside look washed and half-asleep. Inside though, Sheetal was already a flurry of motion.

Denim and nylon lay carelessly thrown around on the mattress, a bunch of toiletries, script documents and a wide open trolley lying all over the floor.

Sheetal paced in and out of the room, going to fetch the charger and returning with a handful of plastic bags, dumping her toothbrush and paste right next to a pack of buscuits. She went to grab towels and somehow came back with just the charger cable looped around her neck, crunching nervously on a carrot, as if she’d forgotton why she’d left in the first place. 

Which I was sure she had. 

“It’s just four days”, I said from the corner, leaning against the wall. “Four days, right?”

She stopped mid-bite and looked at me with wide eyes. “Four days means minimum four outfits. I have to look professional! What if I spill something? What if I trip and tear the saree? What if –“, 

I crossed the room and picked up a pair of jeans, folding them before placing them into the trolley, while she continued listing all possible imaginary disasters. 

 “I am afraid, Sharu,” she said finally. “I haven’t told anyone at home. I don’t think I will.” She slumped, crumpling the chudidar in her hand. “Should I even do this?”

I gently relieved her of the burden of the fabric in her hand, smoothing it out. “Do you want this?”

She didn’t answer immediately. She gaze drifted past me, towards the window, where rain traced thin, uneven lines down the glass. 

“I  do”, she said finally, quieter. “I really do. That’s the problem.”

I slid the chudidar into the trolley and zipped the compartment halfway shut. “Then you already have your answer, Sheetal. Being afraid doesn’t change that.”

“And if I mess up?” she asked. 

“Then you’ll mess it up.” I said. “And you’ll come back. Slightly bruised, probably very dramatic about it. But back.” 

She snorted, though her hands still trembled a little.

“And if my parents find out?”

I held her hand and interlocked her fingers into mine, and covered our hands with my other palm. Her hand was cool in mine. 

I wanted to say something that would make her feel, I’ve got you. We’ve got this together. But I also want to get her out of this sense of self doubt. 

“Indha maari nerathula veerargal adikadi solra vaarthai  enna theriyuma? **tha paathukalaam”.

She cackled at my terrible Kamal Hassan imitation, the tension in her shoulder loosening a little. 

Then she looked at me, straight in the eye, her gaze heavy. “I wish wanting something didn’t feel like this.” 

I stood rooted to where I was, unable to look away from the emotions her eyes held. “I wish it didn’t either. But I’ve never seen it feel any other way.” 

The room fell quiet, other than the faint rustle of the fan, and the tick of the clock. Then she tugged at the charger from around her neck, and dropped it into the bag. 

****

Later, as evening fell, the suitcases were packed, the itinerary was finalized, and the adrenaline had faded. We sat on the floor, sharing a simple dinner. 

“I’ll be back on Deepavali day evening,” she said quietly, “I’ll have to report at Chennai office right after the last broadcast on 19th.”

“I will be going to Cuddalore on the 18th.” I replied, looking at the calendar on the wall across the hall. “The day before Deepavali, and I won’t be back till the 21st. Amma called.”

She nodded, letting the words settle. The logistics, the timing, the suddenness. Neither of us spoke for some time. A distant drilling sound filled the air, the constant whirring trying to dig through the whirlwind of thoughts clogging up our minds.

“So…”, she finally spoke, picking at a grain of rice with her fingers. “We’ll… miss each other.”

I hummed. “Yeah.” 

She smiled, small and quick. “It’s okay.. I mean, it’s just a week.”

I nodded. It was the most sensible thing to do. Counting days was easier than naming feelings. And it’s not like we’ve never been separated before. So, there’s nothing new to feel different now, right?

She took another bite, chewed slowly, then set her plate aside even though there was food left. I noticed, but didn’t comment. I wasn’t very hungry either.

“We’ll call,” she said. “Obviously. Video call. I’ll bore you with every detail. You’ll regret encouraging me.”

A corner of my mouth lifted. “You better.”

It was quiet again. I saw her face change a little. It didn’t take a genius to see that she was overthinking things and doubting herself again. 

“You’ll be amazing,” I said simply.

And it didn’t matter that my heart felt heavy; the truth was louder than anything else. 

She blinked slowly, like she had to confirm I wasn’t just saying it for her sake. Not as a roommate. Not as a best friend. But like she was trying to see what exactly I saw in her. 

When she finally believed me, something softened in her entirety.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She reached for her water bottle, took a sip, then washed her hands into the plate.

The conversation thinned after that. We cleaned up quietly. The evening stretched, gentle but strange, like a room after guests have left and the echoes don’t know where to go. 

Later when the lights were dimmed, we lay down facing opposite sides of the bed.

****

The obnoxious alarm did its job perfectly. 

Both of us were up and moving around in practiced silence, toothbrushes, water and towels were passed without a word. Sheetal pulled on a pair of jeans and a kurta, still half-asleep, her movements slower than usual. 

We shared tea on the couch. When we were done with it, I placed the tumblers by the sink and returned to the living room. 

“Polamaa?” she asked while checking her bags for the third time.  

I hummed. She bent to pull on her shoes and fumbled with the laces. She laughed under her breath, embarrassed at nothing.  

I slung my own bag over my shoulder and stepped outside, locking the door behind us. When I turned, she was standing a feet away from me, staring, like she didn’t know what to do next. 

That’s when I felt it. The tightening in my chest, the pressure that had been building up since last night. I took a deep breath and stepped forward before I knew. 

She looked up, surprised, as I held her by her neck, another hand against her cheek, steady and sure, and leaned in. It felt like this was needed. I didn’t think. Just moved. I closed the remaining few inches and pressed my lips to her forehead. Slow. Deliberate. Like a promise.  

Sheetal froze, eyes wide, speechless.

When I stepped back, she was staring at me, mouth parted, words forgotten. I tried to act nonchalant, grabbed my keys and quickly walked towards the scooter. The drive to the radio station passed like a blur.  When we reached, the van was waiting. Her crew greeted us cheerfully, and Sheetal politely introduced me to the bunch. 

When they had all the equipments loaded and ready, the engine came to life.  Sheetal passed a quick, awkward wave, and climbed aboard. “I’ll call,” she said finally, facing me.

“I know,” I replied. 

That was all. I watched the van pull away, the promise of the kiss and the impending week of silence hanging heavy in the cool morning air. 

I held it all together until the vehicle disappeared from my view. 

Only then did I exhale.