Everyone Has a Story 2

by Savi Sharma

  I could see the denial was already forming on her lips when she started to break down, tears rising in her eyes. My loving, strong wife closed those beautiful lids, somehow pushed the tears away and when they lifted again, only a little dampness clung to her long lashes.

  ‘It will be fine,’ she declared firmly.

  I left it alone but repeated the questions when Vivaan came in, pretending to smuggle a serving of malai kofta from one of my favourite restaurants. Nisha was going home to shower and have dinner with Jianna, so I knew I had a couple hours with Vivaan. I would pry the truth out of him, one way or another.

  And my good friend told me everything. The café was destroyed, and nothing had been salvaged. Not even a coffee bean. The pictures I had so painstakingly selected to enhance the ambience, the bright red and white striped cushions on the sofas in the corner. Nothing left. All of it was gone.

  I didn’t react much when he told me the truth that day; in fact, I really knew. I just needed the words spoken to seal the envelope on my dreams.

  Now, though, with all my emotions on the surface, barely protected by this thin layer of new skin that both protected and marred my body, I let the truth rise up. I heard that tsunamis sucked the water down the ocean sands, gathering strength before they attacked a wall of merciless, killing water. My tears did the same, trickling one at a time down my cheeks before a torrent was unleashed, pushing past my eyes so fast it was almost like the organs had disappeared, letting the tears erupt with no obstacles.

  I heard, rather than saw, Vivaan push off the bed and kneel on the floor beside me. I felt his strong hands wrap around mine, carefully putting his reassuring pressure on my undamaged skin, rather than my healing areas.

  I don’t know how long my friend knelt on the floor before me, letting me shed the bitter, scared, frustrated tears that I had kept so carefully filtered from my ‘normal’ life, the one that didn’t allow random emotions.

  As my tears started to abate, he slid onto the large chair beside me and took my broken form into his large embrace. Embarrassed even then by my weakness, I turned my head to his presence, seeking the normalcy my best friend offered.

  Then, I shook my head, suddenly embarrassed, and sat up quickly, using the unbroken parts of my hands to push away the rest of the tears.

  ‘Vivaan,’ I started, mortified. ‘I didn’t. . . I mean. . .’

  I was not a man who let sentences settle unfinished. I was raised to be strong, to say what I felt, unapologetically. But here I was, a crumpled pile of wilted crepe paper made up of tear-stained nothingness. I despised the feeling.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be. Crying yields a force within yourself that will allow you to do many things—healing, forgiving, or sustaining. Allow those tears sometimes, and one day you won’t need them anymore because you will have healed.’

  ‘Healing.’ I scoffed at that word.

  ‘Kabir,’ Vivaan responded helplessly. ‘Tell me what is going on.’

  I sniffled. ‘I’m not sure I can, to be perfectly honest.’

  ‘Try,’ he said urgently. ‘Kabir, please. We all thought you’d be happy to go home. What has changed?’

  I hung my head, letting the weight of my problems pull it down for a few moments. ‘It’s. . . everything. Vivaan,’ I asked, almost pleading, ‘how did things change so fast? I know I’ve had a month to come to terms with everything but truly, how did it happen? One minute, I was on the top of the world. . . of course, to me at the time, it was just another normal day. But it was good; it was the constant I knew.’

  I took in Vivaan’s face, twisting with his own empathetic pain.

  ‘And then,’ I continued, ‘it all changed in the blink of an eye. Now here I am, some hideous version of the Kabir I was.’ As he would, I knew Vivaan was catching his breath to argue, the faithful companion he was.

  I wouldn’t let him speak though. ‘Don’t,’ I commanded.

  His breath let out, but he said nothing.

  I kept going. ‘People used to come to Kafe Kabir simply because of what we offered.’

  ‘And that was?’ Vivaan whispered.

  ‘Consistency, for starters,’ I said. ‘They came for the same darn cup of coffee every day. One cream? Two sugars? Didn’t matter. When they left with their coffee, they could trust that it tasted the same that it did yesterday, and two weeks ago. And would taste in the next month or even year.

  ‘But it was more than that. We were a normal group of people, so normal that we were really background music. Friendly music, yes, but only secondary because we were so . . . normal.

  ‘Look at me,’ I commanded and Vivaan’s eyes caught mine. ‘NO!’ I insisted. ‘Look at my arms, my hands, my neck. What do you see?’

  I knew he was uncomfortable, even though he barely squirmed under the discomfort. Instead, his eyes raked over my burned skin, his gaze so intense, it was almost physical and I winced a little. My voice lowered, but I persisted. ‘What do you see, Vivaan?’

  His eyes lifted to mine once more. ‘I see you.’

  ‘You see a tarnished me,’ I argued.

  ‘No, Kabir,’ he insisted. ‘I see you. Changed a bit, yes. But these scars’—he waved his hand over the whitish tissue—‘and this’—hovering over my pink, tight, new skin—‘this is all part of Kabir. Scars may change the appearance of the skin, but they are the way the body heals, and when the scar is formed, it adds a layer of strength that didn’t exist before.’

  ‘You say that so easily,’ I responded darkly.

  ‘Healing will be the most difficult thing you ever do. But it’s also the most important.’

  I wanted to believe his simple words, but I simply couldn’t. ‘Don’t you see, Vivaan? My differences, these scars, these are all signposts screaming ‘I’m different!’ I don’t want people to be uncomfortable around me.’

  ‘You are still you, Kabir. We hurt for a reason. Pain tells us there is a problem. If we don’t feel it, we can’t fix it. Do you understand?’

  ‘No. It has changed. Kafe Kabir was a success because it was unchanging. Now, everything has changed. There isn’t even. . .’ I choked on my own emotions once more before clearing my throat again. ‘There isn’t even a Kafe Kabir. It’s . . . gone,’ I ended in a whisper of agony.

  ‘We’ll rebuild,’ he argued.

  ‘I can’t start over,’ I said helplessly. ‘Look at this.’ I handed him the hospital bill and let his eyes take in all the numbers. ‘Ten lakhs,’ I said. ‘I don’t have this kind of money! Everything I had, all our savings for my family and our new café, has gone in my treatment. I can’t pay this AND rebuild!’

  Vivaan took his time reading the tallied charges before he swept the bill aside and stood up angrily. ‘You can’t think of this now,’ he said.

  ‘How?’ I cried. ‘How can I ignore this?’

  Once again, Vivaan sat at the foot of the hospital bed, frowning at me. ‘Do. Not. Give. This. Power.’ I sat back at my friend’s ferociously determined words.

  ‘I have to,’ I said. ‘It’s reality.’

  ‘No!’ he barked. ‘Reality is this: You were hurt. You could have DIED, Kabir! After your accident, Nisha, Meera, and I watched you fight for every next breath. At first, every few moments. Then, you fought for the next minute, then the next hour, then the next day. You’ve been through nothing short of hell. But it’s not over.’

  Wow, so much for an optimistic pep talk , I thought dryly. ‘I’m tired of fighting,’ I argued.

  ‘You are tired, but you can’t be tired of fighting, Kabir. The pain goes away. Giving up does not. Giving up remains with you forever, a thorn in your shoe. You are still healing. You need to keep healing, and it isn’t going to happen if you’re worried about bills and rebuilding, and everything else.’

  ‘And what do you suggest?’ I asked bitterly.

  ‘Heal.’

  I expected more but he left it at that one word. It wasn’t enough for me.

  ‘Th
at’s it. Heal.’

  ‘Yes, Kabir,’ he said. ‘Put all your energy into rebuilding that skin, and fixing those scars. Find the new Kabir, the one who was hurt but the one who moved beyond that damage. But it’s more than just on the outside. You need to heal on the inside, too.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘When you heal, you don’t just force the hurt aside. Pain is actually a welcome feeling because it means that you have not closed yourself off to life. You need to learn how to embrace it as your companion, for a little while. Allow it to coexist with you for the time being; don’t use it to mark when your life ended, but where it began again. If I could, my friend, I would take away this pain. But even if I held my arms out as wide as possible, I could never capture all the hurt.’

  I laughed bitterly. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but that is easy for you to say.’

  His eyebrows raised. ‘I am your friend, Kabir. Don’t you realise how much I would take on if I could? Friends stand by you no matter what. If you are hurting, they share your shadows, and when you celebrate, they are there to share the sunshine. I’m there with you in the darkness right now, as much as I want to tug you back into the light.’

  As he said that, I felt his words wash over me, and for a moment, the pain was simply gone.

  ‘What about Kafe Kabir?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ll figure it out when the time is right,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I was there for you in the beginning, right?’

  I smiled tightly. ‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘I couldn’t have started my business without your investment. And your confidence in me.’

  ‘That confidence is still there, my friend,’ Vivaan said, leaning forward and squeezing my arm. ‘And the investment will be there again. Life can hand us garbage, but we need to use it to fertilise our hopes and dreams once more. We will be together every step of the way. Yes, there is still pain but you don’t need to let yourself get hurt.’

  I said nothing. What could I say? I couldn’t keep taking from the man. But he seemed to read my thoughts and spoke again. ‘Anytime now, investors will commit to my project and I can start my own business. It’ll grow exponentially,’ he said confidently, ‘and then I’ll have the money to put back into helping you rebuild your business.’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘When you are fully healed,’ he said, interrupting me, ‘we will rebuild. You have to keep pushing ahead, even when things seem hopeless. You’ll find when you look back that you had a strength you never knew was in you before.’

  I looked at him, seeing his determination, but also seeing admiration in his face. A man only truly knows his worth when he sees himself in another person’s eyes.

  My throat was tight once more, dammed up by the emotions of his pledge. All I could do was purse my lips and nod. ‘Okay,’ I whispered.

  Vivaan smiled. ‘Ready to go now?’ he asked, and I nodded. ‘Let me go and see what is keeping the discharge nurse. They should be bringing your final forms any minute!’

  He swept out of the room with an air of determination. Our conversation had helped alleviate a lot of my fears, but my anger was still there.

  ‘Damn you, Fate,’ I spat. ‘You stole my livelihood from me. You could have let me continue my happy life, but no! You thought it would be fun to toy with my life! I swear this to you, you will not win.’

  13

  VIVAAN

  ‘Okay, thank you for letting me know,’ I said, the sense of defeat making my words thick and hard to vocalise.

  I hung up the phone and started pacing. That was the third potential investor that had rejected my proposal for Musafir. How could this be happening? They seemed to like the idea when I first met them but now it seemed like a different story.

  I sat down at the table in front of me and turned on my laptop. I clicked on the file that listed potential investor information. Sadly, I highlighted the name of the gentleman I just spoken to with two alphabets: ‘NO’.

  Discouraged, I looked at the other names, trying to visualize each one and their expressions when I had met them.

  One name caught my attention: Daksh Chandran. I recalled he seemed very interested in the presentation, his eyes lighting up as I mentioned various places where I could take groups. Picking up my phone once again, I called Mr Chandran.

  He answered the phone cheerfully and I introduced myself.

  ‘Ah, Vivaan,’ he said, his voice a little more guarded. ‘I was planning to call you soon. I’m sure you are wondering what my decision is on investing in your little company.’

  Uh oh, ‘your little company’ doesn’t sound very promising , I thought to myself. I tried to ignore the thought and responded to his comment. ‘Yes, sir,’ I said respectfully. ‘Are there any other questions that you have for me that will help you make your final decision on investing in my startup?’

  I heard him sigh at the other end of the phone and my hand clenched nervously. ‘Let me ask you one question. You said before you started exploring parts of India, you traveled to different areas of the world.’

  ‘That’s right, I did.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘It is as I mentioned in my presentation, I didn’t realise the true beauty that was right in our backyard. The history, the different regions. I thought I wanted more; I thought I needed to leave our country to learn about the world.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said.

  I realised he was leading me down the wrong path, one that would end up rejecting my tour company, and was quick to explain. ‘But, I also said that was wrong; that the riches of India had claimed my heart. It is these areas that I want to show to people.’

  ‘Would that younger Vivaan have listened to someone about the beauties of India?’

  I shook my head sadly. I wanted to lie to him, to tell him that if someone had sold the idea of staying in our country to me at that age, I would have stayed. But I remembered my desire to escape the borders of our country. ‘I would listen to me now,’ was all I could say.

  ‘But before,’ he pressed on.

  Now it was my turn to sigh. I closed my eyes, praying for a fleck of inspiration as I spoke to this man, but the sense of defeat was too much. I couldn’t push through it to find those reasons to stay.

  Mr Chandran continued. ‘I think it’s a good idea, Vivaan. I truly do.’

  I started to brighten up a little and stood from my chair excitedly. ‘So you will be willing to invest in Musafir? That’s terrific!’

  ‘You misunderstand me,’ he said, and my heart sank once more. ‘I, personally, like the idea. But I am one person, I am an old man. The demographic you speak of targeting is nowhere near my age,’ he said, chuckling a little. ‘I’m sorry, Vivaan. I did some research of my own and the younger generations are determined to leave India.’

  ‘So we give them a reason to stay!’ I was growing desperate.

  ‘Making the assumption that this demographic will have such an abrupt change of heart is a dangerous gamble,’ he said sadly. ‘I thought about this long and hard, and my answer is no. I cannot risk my finances in an investment such as this. Perhaps later, when you are established and are ready to expand, I may reconsider. But for now. . . people want to travel abroad, and not India.’

  I couldn’t change his mind, and to push any harder would just make me look like a fool. And put off any potential investment opportunities in the future. I walked to the window and looked out, beyond the building tops. My beautiful, beloved India, these jungles, temples, and castles, they were just waiting for people to appreciate them. If people could just look beyond the dusty cities, they would realise how foolish they were to hop on a plane and escape to other countries.

  ‘Thank you for your time, sir,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your honesty and am grateful that you took the time to speak with me.’

  ‘I hope I’m wrong,’ Mr Chandran said.

  I laughed, aware that there was a sadness in the sound. ‘I too hope you are.’

 
Disconnecting the call, I trudged back to my laptop and sadly highlighted his name, writing ‘No’ beside it.

  Over the next several days, I reached out to everyone on my list and got the same response from each one; some regretful like Daksh Chandran, others practically calling my idea crazy. ‘Nobody wants to spend money to see India,’ one man said in a condescending tone. ‘When they spend money travelling, they want their money to take them to other places, not their backyard! Your dream is just that: a dream. A rather insane one, if you ask me.’

  I wanted to flee, to lose myself, and bury my frustration. With an almost desperate need, I packed my travel bag and prepared for another trip. My destination? The caves in Tabo, I decided. I could hide away in the darkness, and wait for the sting of rejection to heal itself.

  I picked up my bag, stalking to the door. Then, sighing, I dropped it on to the colourful rug near the front door. I couldn’t run now, not while Kabir still needed me. He was home and while he was healing physically, he was still hurting emotionally. No, I needed to stay and lean on my friends, the way I had encouraged them to lean on me since that horrible fire.

  I called Meera and asked her to meet me at Kabir and Nisha’s apartment. Then, I called and spoke with Nisha, suggesting that I get some takeout food from one of Kabir’s favourite restaurants and come over. ‘I’ve asked Meera to meet me at your place, too. I would like to talk to the three of you.’

  ‘Of course,’ Nisha responded. ‘I haven’t started preparing dinner yet, so this will be a welcome break.’

  I knew Nisha was picking up on my tense aura, but she wasn’t going to comment on it over the phone. I appreciated her sensitivity. She was an extremely wise woman.