This is not how to be responsible. This is not how you take care of your rose. Not by abandoning her.
“Um…Mayuri,” Raag says, and after a minute when I don’t care to look at him, he speaks. “Try to understand—”
“I do,” I snap again, brazen. “I understand that we should go ahead with your well-thought-out plan,” I say, rubbing my hands. Dry mehndi falls off of my hands on the white tablecloth. I wonder if the restaurant staff would mind and ask me to stop. Do I care? I have to remove it, for it has lost its significance. Now, it irritates me.
Apparently stepping out of the house before the big day has brought bad luck upon my happy. This whole episode of my real-life drama is hurting me. The fact that Raag let me in on the biggest and the most painful secret of his life, only to ask me to get out of it, is wounding. This restaurant—the fact that it is revolving, the fact that it is too high like a princess chamber, and the fact that it is witnessing the demise of my beautiful dream—is all too painful.
“Mayu…Mayuri,” Raag says abruptly.
“You have to do one thing for me before we go through this whole exercise,” I demand, manically rubbing my hands.
“Anything!” He holds my hands, as if he grabs the opportunity to stop my maniac attempt of removing the mehndi. I gaze at his sad eyes.
How come our matching stars failed to predict this fall out? Was there an anomaly in the calculation?
“You have to look me in the eyes, and say you do not love me,” I say without any emotions.
Raag gazes at me, and for a moment or more, the monument stops moving, or so I feel. He looks away, makes his grip on my hands a little tighter, and mumbles, “You know I can’t do that.”
In a brittle voice, I reply, “And you think I would willingly let the whole world think that the man I love more than my existence has mental issues? Do you actually think so shallow of me?” I fight hard with the lump that rises in my throat.
“Mayu…you are taking it the wrong way.” Raag tilts his head.
“I don’t think so. You think your love is all noble and sacrificing while mine is cheap.”
Raag opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t give him a chance. Rather, I speak. “You have zero trust in me and zero respect for my feelings for you. You did not consider the slightest possibility that you might actually be hurting me, while you were thoroughly preparing the plan—rescue Mayuri, the poor peahen!”
“No…Mayu—”
“Mayuri!” I correct him.
“Damn it! Mayuri…I don’t think that way for you. Not even the slightest. You have your whole life ahead of you, and you deserve the best.” Raag tries to control his voice. I can see that I have hurt him by rebelling, but I don’t regret my actions.
“The best, but you!”
“Mayuri, it is just that you are very young.”
“Young and naïve!” I scoff, looking out at the city through the window now that the chamber has moved to a different side. “That is what you think of me. Don’t you?” I continue and get my hands out of his grip. “You think I am some silly girl, getting my feelings mixed up with some sort of adrenaline rush, confusing it with love. You think it’s just a phase that I will get over, eventually.”
“Mayuri, you are not getting it!”
“Yes, I am!” I get up out of irritation and accidentally my hand pushes the soup bowl, which gloriously spills over the white tablecloth. None of us care, at the moment, that the soup is dripping on the floor. Most of the staff and the people are staring at us.
“Can you please sit? Let’s talk!” Raag gets up and tries to reach for my hand, leaning over the table, and I refuse as I move the chair back.
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Just think about it!”
“You have thought about it. Already.” I pause. “For both of us!” I add, and habitually, my hands reach for my hair.
I make a bun hastily, not caring for mehndi getting into my locks. The excitement of design, color, and Raag’s name hidden in it is all crushed. The only feeling left is a strong urge to cry. I control as much as I can while my eyes glare at the shiny blue diamond smirking at me, and I know just the thing I need to do. So much for keeping it on and designing around it, so I don’t have to remove it. That was childish.
Though the ring is set right in place, I forcefully pull it out. I dare not to look at Raag, as I know I will cry. I pull his hand closer and put the ring in it. “Here. You want me out. I am out.” I pull my hands back and rest them on the table. Looking into his sad, dark eyes, I say, “I know one thing for sure, and it is that you love me. For the sake of that love, please don’t tell anyone that you have mental problems. For God’s sake, it was a damn panic attack.” Halfheartedly I start for the elevator door, but Raag holds my hand.
“Mayuri, what are you doing?”
“Did you not ask me to do this? I am doing just that.” My voice is brittle. Raag sighs and is about to say something, but I do not wish to hear any more. The most romantic restaurant in the city is suddenly all too suffocating for me.
I have to get out of here.
I yank my hand from Raag’s and start for the elevator. Lucky for me, a waiter has already called the lift, and he is standing inside, holding a tray of dirty dishes. I grab the opportunity and hop in right before the guard closes the door. Through the closed door’s tiny oval glass window, I see Raag as the elevator starts descending.
“What happened, madam? Break up?” The waiter asks with curious eyes. I look at him aghast with watery eyes as I hug myself with crossed arms. I am going to ignore the fact that he just asked me that! Closing my eyes, I sigh and let the tears loose over my already wet cheeks.
I clench my fists and cross my arms while I wait for the stupid elevator to stop and end this saga of my rather painful adventure.
Read on for an excerpt of
Matching Stars: A Story of Him and I.
CHAPTER 1
The Bridge
As soon as the elevator stops, and the guard opens the door, we are welcomed by a bunch of happy folks eagerly standing with balloons and cake. Joyous smiles on their faces start to fade as they look at us, at me—broken into tears.
I make my way through them, pushing a few people aside. Avoiding the gawking eyes of restaurant staff in the dimly lit lobby, I make a run for the outdoors.
After a much dramatic exit from the princess’ chamber, as I step out of the monumental restaurant, drizzling rain and the damp fresh air of Ahmedabad takes me in its sweet embrace. I take a deep, calming breath, bracing myself for support, and let out a sob, sniffling and weeping.
In the dark of my solitary sadness I look up in the sky to find saptarishi, my companions, but sadly receive droplets of cold water. In the absence of my sages, the dark cloudy sky appears empty, reciprocating the emptiness of my heart. I have to get away from this monument. I need some time alone with my ravaged soul.
I’m not ready to go back home yet to the circus that is waiting for me to dance. In a desperate attempt of consoling my soul, I head toward the Nehru Bridge under the slow drizzle, and soft orange street lights.