Titli
The staggering weight of what I was going to do made me hesitate outside his door. Because I knew how the smallest wish could cause the wildest hurricane.
On that fateful day, I’d forced my parents to attend a school play, which led to the accident that stole them.
Maybe if I hadn’t guilt-tripped them, they’d have stayed home. Safe. Alive.
Maybe, that chirpy girl wouldn’t have vanished, replaced by an introverted illustrator, who built her life on not asking anyone for anything, convinced that her every action held potential disaster.
But today, trusting the map that brought me here, I intended to break that belief.
************
It all started three months back on my parents’ death anniversary. The grief felt like slipping into a coat two sizes too small. Stifling. Suffocating. As if the Universe was summoned to worsen my day, the coffee machine got jammed, spitting out angry noises. I was fighting that monstrous excuse of a watery-brew-dispenser, when a soft voice cut in.
“Jiggle the lid,” Veer said, leaning against the counter—the suave designer from the 7th floor, whom I’d never spoken to. “The pressure sensor sticks on Tuesdays.” He then tapped the machine, and sure enough, it whirred to life.
That’s how it started. Him fixing things that were failing me, unknowingly fixing me too.
“Saw your latest illustration,” he said one day. “Brilliant charcoal work. But why the melancholic themes?”
I looked down. “Safer than putting the colours out there, I guess. Less chance of getting smudged.”
He smiled genuinely. “But why create light if you plan on hiding it behind the clouds?” And that cracked the careful lacquer of my shell. Too much said in too little words.
Turns out, we’re two Bengali cuisine aficionados and Ghazal zealots, with mutual love for Rafi and caffeinism. His kindness became an antidote to a lifetime of guilt.
It felt like my parents sent him to tell me that chaos could create something good too.
**********
‘I’ll let him know my feelings today.’ I took a determined step forward, ringing his doorbell. The door opened, and Veer stood there, his eyes warm and welcoming, as if he’s been waiting for me his entire life.
***********************************************
Veer
I open the door, and there she stands, her eyes revealing her love, trust, and surrender.
She believes we’ve some cosmic kismet connection! If only she knew…How I choose them carefully—introverts like Titli, whose unapproachable exteriors hide insecure interiors.
I remember how I wedged a paper under the coffee machine’s sensor, and waited for her. My first manufactured act.
That line about clouds? Lifted from a blog.
It didn’t take much to crack the caffeine-addicted, Shaayari-spouting old soul.
Every moment she considered random was canvas-crafted by me.
I triggered the breeze and watched in fascination, as the system tore itself apart, re-forming itself for my acquisition.
As Titli gets ready to release her fluttering heart, I step forward, pushing the door shut with a soft thud.
My latest victim is home.
