Arav:
I was running along the darkened shore, tears streaming down my face. The waves crashed relentlessly against the sand, and I felt an overwhelming sense of despair engulfing me. It was around 10:00 p.m., and the beach was deserted, amplifying my sense of isolation. I felt utterly lost, as if every emotion and thought had deserted me, leaving an empty void in my heart and mind.
As I stumbled, the powerful waves pulled me into the water. I was submerged, struggling to breathe, the cold depths pressing in from all sides. I took a final, desperate gasp of air before closing my eyes, bracing for the inevitable.
When I opened them, I realized with a start that I was safe in my bed. The suffocating darkness was nothing more than a dream, a haunting reflection of my inner turmoil.
It was 2:00 a.m., and I was wrapped in a fog of anxious thoughts about tomorrow, will I able to do what I wanted to do. My phone buzzed, snapping me from my reverie. The caller ID showed Indu's name—my only friend. I answered, her voice a lifeline in my turmoil.
"I'm outside the function hall," she said, her tone urgent yet comforting. "The car is waiting."
Her words were a stark reminder of the escape I had planned. I glanced around the quiet, dimly lit room, taking one last look at the life I was about to leave behind.
I ended the call and sat down with a heavy heart, grappling with the weight of my decision. Wanted to clear the things to everyone as I am escaping from my marriage, why I am doing this, I grabbed a pen and began to write a note, trying to articulate the turmoil within me:
"The fault is mine. I can't marry someone I don't love. Running away is my only option."
I placed the note carefully where it would be found and opened the door. The function hall still hummed with subdued activity, with a few people lingering to finalize the last-minute details. I moved quietly through the hall, searching for my father. I found him sound asleep in his room, his snores a stark contrast to the chaos of the night. My mother was in her own room, as always, isolated from the bustle.
I pulled out the cap from my bag, pulling it low over my face. I stepped cautiously into the cool night air, my footsteps echoing in the grand, empty function hall. The luxurious wedding venue was stark against the weight of my decision. The floral arrangements and sparkling lights were a cruel reminder of what I was leaving behind, a testament to a celebration that would soon be overshadowed by my disappearance.
A car screeched to a halt in front of me, shocked me from my thoughts. I peered through the window and saw Indu, dressed casually in a loose T-shirt and half-pants, her hair pulled up in a disheveled bun. Relief washed over me as I climbed into the passenger seat.
Indu rolled up the window and began driving. After a few moments of silence, she spoke, her voice tinged with concern. "Arav, I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. Your disappearance will be all over the headlines. The entire country will know that the son of a high-profile businessman ran away from his own wedding."
Your passage effectively conveys the urgency and tension of Arav's escape. Here's a refined version that enhances clarity and emotional depth:
"Hmm, we're about 5 kilometers from the function hall. Just drive," I said tersely. The airport loomed ahead, a beacon of escape.
Indu had handed me a new phone, a SIM card, and her credit card. I left everything else behind, including my passport, knowing that staying in India would only lead my father straight to me. With my belongings left on the bed, I had no choice but to head to the Lakshadweep Islands, a destination where I could travel without a passport.
It was 4:00 a.m. when we arrived at the airport. I completed all the boarding formalities, and the plane took off at precisely 6:10 a.m., landing in Lakshadweep at 7:25 a.m.
I withdrew cash from an ATM and headed to a nearby resort. The rooms were pristine, a stark contrast to the chaos I had left behind. After a quick bath and changing into fresh clothes, I collapsed onto the bed. As I closed my eyes, my mind raced with a million questions: How would my parents handle this? What would they say?
I reached for the new phone and almost dialed my mom's number, but I stopped myself. Instead, I shut my eyes and drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the frantic wedding preparations of the past week.
I woke up to find it was 7:40 p.m. and got out of bed, feeling the weight of the day catch up with me. After a quick wash, I decided to get some dinner.
As I walked with my phone in hand, my eyes focused on the screen, I accidentally bumped into someone. I looked up and saw a man, his face twisted in anger, chasing another man who was holding a knife. The sight startled me, and I quickly shoved my phone into my pocket, feeling a chill despite the warm evening.
I moved away from the scene, seeking solace in the beach's serenity. The rhythmic sound of the waves was soothing as I made my way to the sand. Sitting down, I gazed at the sky, where the moon was still shy of being full. The tranquil setting was a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me.
As I lay there, I reflected on my life—the choices I made, the path I followed, and the decisions that led me to this moment. For the first time, I had taken control of my own life, breaking free from the expectations and orders of my parents. The sense of liberation was both exhilarating and overwhelming.
My thoughts were interrupted when I noticed a young boy, around five years old, playing in the sand next to me. I watched him with a sense of longing, wishing I could be as carefree and innocent as he seemed to be.
Just then, I heard a distant voice calling out, "Chotu."
I turned to see a young woman, likely between 25 and 30, walking towards us. Her concern was evident as she approached the boy.
"Chotu, why are you out so late? Come on, let's go home," she said gently, trying to coax the stubborn child from the sand.
The boy remained seated, his little hands still busy with the grains. Seeing an opportunity to help, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. I held both hands out, one with the chocolate and one empty, and asked him to choose. The boy, surprisingly perceptive, reached out and took both hands, grabbing the chocolate from each.
The woman smiled warmly. "Prem has spoiled you so much, Chotu. Say thank you to the nice uncle."
The boy looked up at me with big, grateful eyes and said, "Thank you, uncle."
The woman also expressed her gratitude. "Thank you for your kindness."
As she turned to leave, I hesitated and called out to her. "Excuse me, is there a hotel nearby that's still open? I haven't eaten anything since this morning."
"Oh, it's nearly 10:00 p.m.," the woman said, her tone apologetic. "Most hotels will be closed by now, but you can stay at ours. I was just about to close up; I came out to pick up my son."
I lifted the boy into my arms, and we walked towards the hotel, which was about 400 meters away. The short walk took around 10 minutes. As we approached, the woman glanced at me and asked, "Oh, I forgot to ask your name."
I was about to say "Arav" but hesitated and instead said, "Nani."
"That's an unusual name. Is it a nickname?" she inquired.
"No, it's my real name. My grandfather loved it and chose it for me," I explained.
"I'm Leela," she replied with a warm smile.
We reached the hotel, which was quite charming. The interior had a classic feel, with olive and cream-colored walls that created a sophisticated ambiance. The burgundy tables added a touch of elegance that caught my eye.
I took a seat at one of the tables, and Leela approached me, asking, "You're non-vegetarian, right?"
I shook my head and said, "No, I'm not."
Leela responded apologetically, "I'm sorry, Nani. Veg dishes are quite rare on the menu. Most of our guests are foreigners who prefer non-veg. Let me see if I can whip up something in about ten minutes."
She hurried into the kitchen. As Chotu played with a cube at the reception, I checked the gate to ensure it was closed and then followed her into the kitchen. I saw the exhaustion in her face; she had likely been working since early morning. Gently, I guided her to a chair and told her to sit.
I scanned the kitchen, hoping to find something edible. My eyes fell on a bowl of curd in the fridge and, by chance, I spotted a jar of mango pickle on a nearby rack.
Leela's voice broke the silence. "It's my fault. I never like to disappoint anyone who comes here. I feel really bad."
"See, Sis, for me, there's no food more delicious than curd rice with mango pickle," I said. Leela prepared a plate of rice and set it before me, along with the curd and pickle. She handed me a spoon to mix the curd with the rice, but I decided to mix it with my hands instead.
Leela watched, laughing softly as I mixed the rice and curd with my fingers. I looked up at her, feeling no shame. "When you're eating, you shouldn't feel shy," I said with a smile.
Leela's eyes softened. "Sorry, Nani. I didn't mean to laugh. Seeing you like this just reminded me of someone."
"It's okay, Sis," I reassured her. "This is the desi way. We eat curd rice like this, savoring every bit by licking our fingers."
Leela nodded, then turned her attention back to Chotu, checking on him as he played nearby.
I began to eat the curd rice, and with each bite, the softness of the curd and the spiciness of the pickle blended together perfectly in my mouth. It was an unexpectedly delightful combination, and I felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
Just then, the door swung open, and a tall man with a well-built physique but questionable fashion sense walked in. He wore black cargo pants and a mustard-yellow tank top. His serious expression and furrowed eyebrows made him look intense as he strode towards me.
I instantly recognized him as the same person I had seen at the beach, holding a knife. Panic surged through me, and I jumped up from the table, shouting, "Murderer!"
He moved swiftly, grabbing my right hand and twisting it painfully. As I tried to retaliate with my left hand, he seized both my wrists with one hand and clamped his other hand over my mouth to muffle my cries.
Despite my fear, I found myself staring into his eyes. I was so close that I could hear his heartbeat—a rhythm that oddly reminded me of the waves I'd heard earlier. In that strange moment, I was captivated by his gaze, losing myself in it, my mind momentarily disconnected from the fear and chaos.
Sis came over, her voice sharp and authoritative. "Prem, stop this nonsense and don't misbehave with our guest!"
Prem pushed me aside and stormed up the stairs, his anger palpable.
I turned to Sis, still shaken. "Sis, he's a murderer! I saw him chasing someone with a knife."
Sis chuckled softly, seemingly unfazed. "Calm down, Nani. He may seem intimidating, but I assure you, he's one of the kindest people on the island."
I stared at her in disbelief. "How can someone who carries a knife be kind?"
She smiled reassuringly. "His name is Prem. He's the one who takes care of me and Chotu, and he also runs the restaurant."
I was taken aback. "So, he's your husband?"
"No," Sis said with a gentle laugh. "He's not my husband. He's more like a guardian to me and Chotu—a brother in every sense that matters."
Not wanting to intrude further into their private matters, I decided to leave. As I made my way toward the exit, Prem came down the stairs, freshly bathed and dressed, heading towards the door.
"Wait, Prem," Leela called out. "Where are you going at this hour?"
Prem paused, glancing back. "Zara's on the island. I'm going to meet her."
Leela's expression shifted from concern to a playful pout. "You're so casual about it. When are you going to bring her around here?"
Prem shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Leela, you know me. I don't bring anyone to you. Not her, not anyone."
Their conversation left me puzzled, but I decided not to press further. I turned to Leela. "Sis, I'm heading out now."
Leela's eyes brightened with an idea. "Where are you staying?"
"Dream Resort," I replied.
"Perfect," she said with a nod. "Prem is heading that way. He can drop you off."
"I can go by myself…" I started to protest, but the looks on both of their faces—Prem's irritation and Leela's slight frustration—silenced me. It was clear that Prem was annoyed by my insistence, while Leela seemed displeased that I was rejecting her offer.
With a resigned sigh, I accepted that I had little choice but to follow their lead. Leela, still maintaining her warm demeanor, said, "Nani, I'll invite you for dinner some other time. Make sure to visit us again."
I nodded in agreement. As I was about to leave, Chotu ran up to me and gave me a heartfelt hug, saying goodbye. I noticed Prem's expression soften into one of jealousy as he watched. He knelt down in front of Chotu, who hugged him back with a bright and joyful smile. The scene brought a genuine look of happiness and satisfaction to Prem's face as he embraced the little boy.
Prem pulled out a basic model bike from the parking area. On the island, such a simple bike was more than sufficient for getting around. He put on his helmet and handed one to me. As he started the bike, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. It was my first time riding on a motorcycle, and I was tense as I sat behind him.
Noticing my discomfort, Prem glanced at me through the mirror. He gently guided my hands from my lap and placed them securely around his waist. I could see Sis and Chotu waving to us as we began to pull away.
As Prem rode the bike, the weather was delightful. I could feel the breeze on my face and the subtle scent of the bike's grease mingling with the pleasant air. Sitting close to him, I could catch a whiff of his unique fragrance—a heavenly blend of vanilla, orange, and ylang-ylang. It was an unexpectedly pleasant surprise.
Before long, we arrived at the resort. I dismounted the bike and thanked him. Prem gave a brief nod, his expression unreadable, as if he were indifferent to everything around him.
As I entered the resort, I noticed a woman walking past me. She had a strikingly beautiful face and was dressed in a form-fitting outfit that accentuated her figure without revealing too much. I glanced back and saw her heading straight toward Prem.
As it wasn't my place to interfere, I continued to my room. I changed out of my clothes and was about to check my mobile when I remembered: while I was holding onto Prem's waist, he must have taken my phone and slipped it into his pocket. I'd forgotten to retrieve it.
I opened the door and stepped outside, but the bike was no longer there. I walked a bit further and saw Prem and the woman from earlier sitting on a bench. She was leaning against him, looking somewhat distressed.
I approached them quietly, hoping to retrieve my phone without causing a scene.
"Prem, Dad has arranged a marriage for me," the woman said, her voice tinged with anxiety. "It's set for April. Just two months away, and I'm feeling overwhelmed."
where Prem is busy in kissing all over her face and neck.
There was a brief silence before she added, "Are you even listening to me?"
Prem answered as "Hmm...."
Here's a refined version of the scene:
"Shall we both get married now?" the woman asked, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and frustration.
Prem's face tightened slightly. "See, Zara, you know I hate marriage and relationships. I can't even love anyone."
Zara's expression didn't waver. "Hmm, if you're afraid of losing your personal space, I'm willing to compromise. After our marriage, you can still go on dates with anyone you want."
I was taken aback. How could someone be so accepting of such an arrangement? Prem, on the other hand, seemed to find the situation amusing. His laughter was genuine, but it only made Zara and me more uncomfortable.
"Why are you laughing?" Zara asked, clearly annoyed. "I'm speaking to you seriously."
Prem turned to Zara and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. I was taken aback by his gesture, feeling a pang of pity for her as I realized why she was so intent on marrying him.
"Zara, please listen carefully," Prem said, his tone serious. "Do you really want to marry in your life?"
"Yes, I want to marry you," Zara replied, her voice filled with conviction. "I want to have a family with you."
Prem sighed, "We've known each other for five years. You know me well, and I know you. But who knows, I might get bored of being around you 24/7."
Zara's eyes filled with tears. "You don't love me?"
"Frankly speaking, no," Prem said, his voice steady.
Zara's voice trembled as she asked, "What is there between us then?"
"I have a huge respect for you," Prem explained. "I care about you, but it's more like friends with benefits. It's not love."
Tears began to roll down Zara's cheeks, despite the darkness surrounding us.
"I know you love yourself so much, irritating idiot," Zara said, her voice cracking with emotion.
Prem simply smiled, unfazed. His smirk only deepened my annoyance. I was hidden among the trees, feeling a mix of frustration and empathy for Zara, while trying to remain unseen.
"Zara, calm down. Your father might choose someone who's better for you than I am," Prem said soothingly.
"But what if he's not as good as you?" Zara's voice was tinged with desperation.
Prem leaned back thoughtfully. "Imagine I give you a set of ingredients and ask you to cook a dish with them. What would you do?"
"I'd cook what I like the most," Zara answered.
"Exactly," Prem said. "In the same way, you can either work to improve your situation or grow yourself. It's up to you."
"What if I choose the wrong dish for the wrong ingredients?" Zara asked.
"Then you simply change the dish or the ingredients," Prem replied calmly.
"What if I don't want to cook at all?" Zara's voice was soft but firm.
"You're being naughty," Prem chuckled. "But deep down, I know you're not one to give up easily. I trust you more than you realize because I've seen you overcome challenges before."
"Then, let me show you what I have learnt from you tonight." (Lady)
As Zara leaned in and kissed Prem, I felt an uncomfortable intrusion into their private moment. I decided to leave them to their intimacy and retreated quietly to my room. Once inside, I locked the door behind me and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Their conversation replayed in my mind, echoing the clarity and confidence they both exhibited. They spoke with such certainty about their lives, their choices, and their ability to handle whatever came their way. It struck me how composed they were, how well they understood themselves and their situations.
In contrast, I felt lost. I had run away from a life that wasn't mine, and now I was grappling with the consequences of my decision. The weight of my actions bore down on me. I missed my mother deeply. The comfort of home and the warmth of her embrace seemed so far away.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about the conversation. I yearned to reach out to her, to seek solace and guidance. But for now, all I could do was lie there, lost in my thoughts, and hope that someday I would find the clarity that seemed so effortlessly possessed by others.