JHEEL

Prithviraj, who joins Manyata today—the man who makes me fear and shiver from the core of my existence—stands across the room, one hand in his pocket and the other around his wife. My working hand holds his phone.

The doctor says they can discharge me today, and Manyata and Prithviraj are here, not Jivan. Yesterday, after shouting those brutal words at me, Jivan stepped back and left.

Manyata urges me to come to her house. Prithviraj isn’t supportive of the idea, which is why I request them to at least try calling my parents once.
Manyata refuses to give me the phone, and only after a long plea does he hand me the cell.

I dial my mother’s number first. It rings for a long time, but she doesn’t answer.

I’m not sure who to call next—Dad? Even his number is busy twice, and the third time he cuts the call.

Neither of them answers.
I don’t have any friends left, and we don’t have relatives in Rajasthan.

My tears stream down, falling like beads on the wrist with the cast, the material quietly soaking them in.

Prithviraj’s shadow passes outside the room, and Manyata wraps her arms around me.

“Listen to me, Jheel! You’re mistaking everything. This might be for something better. And we’re all here—not to make you feel sad or guilty about the past. Honestly, I’m thankful for you. If you hadn’t been there, would the life I have now? I don’t think it would have ever been possible. Do you know how happy I am with Prithviraj? I never realised how suffocated I was until I felt the clouds with him. I was running from one cage to another. But you saved a part of me. I endured a lot, yes, but I have many more beautiful things to look forward to. Stop blaming yourself for the misery that happened in the past, and for people who are stupid enough to drag it till now. You made mistakes, you paid your dues.”

“My paren— I didn’t want to live through this, Manyata.”

She pulls back, her fingers straddling my hair and guiding it to my ear. “I always believed you were smart,” she says with soft sarcasm before her hand rubs my head. My face sinks into her warmth. I feel… better.
“Listen, your parents don’t realise what has happened, or what could have happened. Give them some time, and they’ll come around eventually. Trust me.”

She’s still being kind.
“Manyata—I swear, I never wanted to—”

“Shush. Let’s go home now?”

~~~~~~~~

Words from Manyata surely ease some part of the guilt I am bearing.
The room she gifts me in her eyes-achingly gorgeous house resembles the exact aesthetic of her combination home.

I come downstairs, one hand still in the cast.
She has called me for dinner. I reach the dining table, and my eyes find Jivan sitting with Prithviraj. Manyata goes to the kitchen from her workroom, and he follows her, helping her bring the heavy pots despite them having maids.

He sees me descending the stairs, and something in his eyes liberates the tightness in my chest. I gulp and finish my journey of one above and one below land piece.

Prithviraj doesn’t feel the need to address me—only a half smile—and he returns to his call.
Manyata sits, insisting that I sit too. Jivan stops beside her and pulls a chair out for me.

I don’t expect courtesy from him. But I thank him and sit.

They are like a family. Occasionally, Manyata says something satirical to Jivan, and Prithviraj enjoys it the most. Then she comments on Prithviraj, but instead of laughing at him, Jivan defends him. She ends up alone in her teasing until she says something even funnier, and both men are with speechless.
Manyata is always great with words.

I enjoy the dinner, try to help Manyata, but Jivan catches me halfway each time.
Even when she passes something, Jivan or Prithviraj takes it from her to help.

When the servants continue cleaning,
Prithviraj and Manyata start talking on the phone.
The names Dheer and Shanidha are the ones I catch mid-conversation.
Both of them—hand in hand—walk through the living room toward the patio with the fountain.

Jivan stands across from me, hands resting on the back of a chair. “I am sorry about being so insensitive last time.”
He sounds mature. Always. “How’s your hand now? When are they taking the cast off?”

“Next week.” He nods. His gaze drifts to the couple—Manyata still on the call, Prithviraj’s hand around her shoulders as he pulls her inside. A big smile pulls on my lips. She deserves this happiness and more.
She is such a kind soul.

“They had to go through a lot to have this,” Jivan comments. “Daiwar… she was a tough woman. And brother, an even tougher man. Prithviraj went through hell.”

“They look good together,” I respond for the first time. He agrees with a series of nods.
My gaze drops to the ground again, the guilt flooding back, the internal urge to destroy myself for willingly hurting so many people.

“Can I show you something?” he asks. My remorseful thoughts break, and he stands there with his arm extended. My last experience with him was nice, so I reluctantly joined him.

He helps me to my feet and starts dragging me outside the main door of the haveli, then through the gate. “Why are we going out?” I ask. He shushes me.

We walk down the roadway toward the underdeveloped, poor village where there are still no toilets in the houses, and people use the hand pump for water.

But instead of being sad and disliking their situation, the people there have gathered around a bonfire. They were happy with themselves.
They are singing folk songs while the women dance ghoomar and cartwheels.
We stand at a distance and observe, but Jivan seems to have different plans.

Instead of staying on the sidelines, he drags me into their circle of four and asks them to allow me. Before I can open my mouth to deny, they cross their hands with mine and pull me into the circle. We begin to twirl together, slowly at first, then faster. The air gushes louder, and I am halfway between this dreadful ground and the sky—lost in the air, feeling lighter.

I laugh. I laugh so loudly, terrified of falling from spinning so fast, but even more terrified of stopping.

We twirl until one of us stops, and then we all stumble and fall on each other. Even bigger laughter fills the entire mohalla. I stop, breathless, and Jivan helps me stand again.

He finds a way to make me smile every time I am sad before him.

He brings me back half an hour later. We sit, listening to songs, enjoying everything.

“Yes. Well. Then, see you around. I visit this house more often than you’d like to witness.”
His words tear a memory open in my mind, and I shake my head.

“I don’t hate you, Jivan. But there is nothing to like either.”
It comes out wrong. I hear it.

“Right.” He backsteps again. He sees the couple still busy on the call.
“Tell them I left. Bye, Jheel.”

~~~~~~~~

“Did you say there is nothing to like in Jivan?” I hear Manyata say while I help her sort her stationery in the box. My hands are healing slowly still; it has been two weeks since they took off the cast.

The question sparks curiosity. I face her. Did I? The last conversation reminisces in my head.
“Yes, I might have. But I meant that there is nothing between him and me to make us camaraderie.”

I place the brush in the square compartment and look at her.
“He said he visits this house a lot, but in three weeks, he hasn’t come even once. Is it because of me?”
My assumption hangs in the air. Manyata doesn’t reply; she keeps the auction painting to one side and her practice sketches on the other.

“He is genuinely a nice person. I think it won’t hurt you to try to understand him. He has so much to like… maybe more than just enough to be a friend.”
She smirks at the last part, and my brow furrows in question. But she didn’t address my inquiry.

This evening, he is here—sitting across from us, laughing, joking, and talking with Manyata. He occasionally passes glances my way before he quiets to take a bite from his plate.

The conversatiin they shared were irrelevant to me. They were reminiscing memories from Gujrat together, Manyata tried to avoid the topic because Gujrat is not the dreamy place for me, unlike everyone around me on the table.

A relevant name mention, Jivan talked, “Shanidha Bhabhi won’t stop; she keeps insisting that I should meet her friend and get married. You have to take my side, bhabhi, when she tries to bait you in trying to make me agree!” He requested Manyata.

Prithviraj laughs behind his glass of water. Suddenly, my throat dries, and I reach for mine.

“Even if you do meet the girl, why are you worried? You have nothing to like,” Prithviraj teases, laughing into his drink.

My glass slips and falls onto my lap. I jerk my head their way, and both of them stare at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, picking up the glass. A helper rushes for a napkin, but Jivan hands me his handkerchief instead.

I take it and wipe the water pooled on my lap.

~~~~~~~

“You told him and Manyata?” I ask as the couple goes outside for their routine call to his kin.
I jump on Jivan, who is putting on his shoes by the chair.

He looks at me, eyebrows together, and shrugs.
“I just told Prithviraj, Bhabhi… it reached involuntarily.”

“But I never meant it to demean! I meant—there is no connection between us to like or dislike you visiting this house!” I clarify, advancing, rolling around the plush chair and sitting on it, facing him at eye level.

“Oh…”

“Yes,” I nod sharply.
 “Why did you tell them? It’s awkward now. I already feel like a third wheel! And on top of that, being this person who hates and hurts their closest friend? I’m not on a spiral just to cause mishaps!”

“I have a defence, the way you spoke… I thought it was about me!”

“Why would I say you have nothing to like? You were always decent! I was half-naked, vulnerable before you so many times. And you could clearly have taken advantage of me because the others had you to fear. You had nobody to fear… You never did? And then you saved me. You let me run away. You made me happy. You were nice to me. You visited me and waited for me at the hospital—worse or best, I don’t know which scale to weigh. I have only known wrong men. But you definitely have a lot of things to like!”

His posture straightens.
“You think?” he asks me.

I nod.
“You should definitely see that girl! She will be extremely lucky if you like her!”

His face grows slightly smaller. He returns to his boots and starts tying the laces aggressively. I don’t understand his reaction.
When he’s done, he pauses for a few moments before facing me.
“Can you be that lucky girl?”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OHHH i want her to say yessssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

What do you want??