Amishi

The three boys sat in the very messy living room amidst a clutter of socks, overflowing ash trays, empty beer bottles and many textbooks strewn around. A guitar collected dust in the corner. It belonged to the fourth in their gang.

“She said she liked and respected me.” The thinnest one began abruptly. He was the quietest of them all. Bespectacled, observant and dependable. He looked extremely tired and suddenly too old for his years. “The usual crap. *@!%*”

The other two immediately looked at him and then shot a glance at each other. While they were fluent in profanities, he always held his genial peace. ‘Speaks English like a man’, she used to say about him. She loved it. Oh well. They let him continue.  “*@!%* man..  She said she loved me and I ought not take words as the usual sugar coated refusal girls gave.”

He looked up. “And I believe her. She loves me truly, like a friend. Seems someone hurt her. No,” he corrected himself. “she ‘let herself get hurt by some impossible guy’… how typical is that? The girl, the naïve trusting girl falls for someone, he doesn’t catch her, then comes the hero – willing to waltz her to the moon… but she just sits there, bewildered. And shakes her head, continuing to nurse her wounds.”

Both the boys’ expressions changed. The redhead stared at him incredulously. “Dude, what the-"

“Amishi.” The other guy, jet black hair, fiddling with his phone, shoulders suddenly clumped, said shortly.

“Yeah.” The thin one nodded slightly. “Not my words. Her anology. Who else would phrase something like this?”

The redhead shrugged. “Should’ve figured. You’re quick, loser.” He gave his texting friend an appreciative grin and took a long drag of his cigarette. “Hmm. She had actually mentioned something along these lines to me once, while dispensing some advice. Chuck her man. Thank your stars. Think, you can now smoke and swear as much as you want the rest of your life.”

“That’s the point.” The thin guy got up from the sofa. “I don’t want to.” He said quietly and disappeared into his room.

“Affected, isn’t he?” The redhead remarked. There was a pause. “Hey you-" He flung his cigarette stub at his friend’s direction. “I don’t usually converse with empty space.” Silence. “It’s you I’m talking to. Whatever is the matter man? He goes off to sob over a broken heart and you here stare at your phone like as if God’s next 10 commandments shall be texted right now.”

His friend looked up, face drained of any emotion. 

Something was amiss, dangerously so. The redhead knew. “I smell a rat.”

“I… need to meet… I’ll be right back.” His friend grabbed his bag and dashed out.

--

“I hear you’re still in love with me?”

“What?!” Her hair was ruffled but eyes were bright. It was clear she hadn’t slept. The door had opened in two bells. But she stood there in her nightgown, hand at her hip as if determined to not let him in.

Why did she suddenly have to look so much prettier? He mentally shook himself.

“In love? Still in love?” She questioned, her voice steady. “It’s 3AM, I open my door to find you-“

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Anything new you’d like to tell me?” A note of resignation in her tone couldn’t be hidden.  She folded her arms across her chest.

“I know you don’t blame me, you never did...”

She tapped her feet, a show of impatience. He smiled and continued. “And I think… I think, I’m having the most immature, boyish crush on you.”

His words were chosen carefully. She remembered one of their last conversations, something about her naivety, utter girlishness… how she needed to mature, face reality and wasn’t ready yet.

Her face closed up. “That makes me laugh. Congratulations. Now go.”

“Is that an outright refusal?”

“Up to your interpretation.” She backed to shut the door.

He pushed the door back. “But I have a crush on you. I have had it for longer than I care to remember and I don’t know how to deal with it. Tell me how you forgot me as you obviously have and I shall take pointers.”

“You are very obstinate today, aren’t you? What do you want?”

“There’s a girl I know. Such a magnificent girl, I’d never know. And unintentionally, intentionally too… I hurt her. I was stupid, egoistic, fearful … and blind. She fell for me, hard. I didn’t catch her. And as the real hero came, willing to waltz her to the moon, the dear precious girl.. my dear, precious girl, just sat there bewildered, shaking her head and nursing her wounds…”

“Just go. Please. Just… I don’t want to talk about this.” She bit her lip and turned her face away, a rush of pain and embarrassment evident in it.

“I just want that girl to know… that when I heard the real hero arrived, to you know, whisk her away..? A part of me was killed. Just like that. Dead. Over. And when I heard her answer, another part was killed, knowing how much I hurt her, ruined her chances at happiness. I want her to know I’m sorry. I’m darned sorry and stupid… and can I nurse her wounds?”

But her expression had changed… in the darkness of the night, Amishi’s face was suddenly lighting up with what seemed like hope which she had buried and secreted away for too long. Months of sorrow, desperation and separation.

“Why did that part die?” She whispered. “The.. the first part?”

“Because I realized," he realized the time for talking was past. Her eyes were filling up. He stepped closer to her, “Then, I could never do this.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed the corner of her eye.  She made a sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Nothing madame like finding your way, when you realize others see the treasure too.”

The two black heads closed their eyes, laughing and enjoying the moment.

--

Blocks away, a thin guy turned in his bed, suddenly wishing he could hear some comforting music, maybe a guitar being played.

--

The redhead took another long drag of his cigarette contemplating on the unfairness of life. 

Cigarette prices were on the increase again. *@!%*.