THE BEACH VIEW

We are standing on the white sand on the beautiful shores of the great Indian Ocean, about two hours after we struck that deal back in the house. He didn't just agree to my deal; he also promised that he would not touch alcohol for that one week. Impossible, right? I can't wait to smirk at his handsome, drunken face when he fails, which won't be long, by the way. I am sure. He can't survive a day without that sh*t.


Anyway, I toss the details of our deal aside and turn my eyes to the beautiful waters of the sea. It feels so calm and tranquil here. The sound of the waves is so fascinating. It's peaceful here, just like how I wish my life could be. Instead of taking that garbage called alcohol last night, I should have just driven here and listened to it. I don't know if it is safe to come here at night, though. But this is exactly what I needed.

It's pure bliss, like a cool breeze on a hot day. It's so refreshing, like nothing I've ever felt before in my entire life. I've never experienced such beauty in someone's mind and soul. If only I could stay here, if only I could live in this moment forever, I would do so without any regrets or second thoughts.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His voice breaks through my reverie, drawing my attention to him.


I turn to look at him, and just like me, his eyes are fixed on the vast expanse of the sea. He's lost in its depths even as he speaks, his gaze wandering over the waves. Somehow, it feels like we're both swimming in the same emotional whirlpool. It's as if we share a common bond—a connection that transcends words.

"It is," I mutter, taking my eyes back to the sea for another tour around it to the furthest corners I can reach. It's extremely wide, though. I doubt the further my eyes can go equals even a quarter of it.


We observe a moment of silence again, observing the captivating blue waters and the strong waves, and also savoring the beautiful breeze and the serenity of the surroundings. I am glad he walked us to this quiet spot. We left the crowded public areas and walked to this extremely serene spot where there was no one else but us. We are not in a cheerful mood like everyone else here.

We did not come to swim and take captions of our happy memories. We didn't come here to listen to the noise of people who are happy and content with their lives. We need some peace. Some quietness. Some alone time to ourselves. I am speaking for him because, even if he doesn't say it, I know he is troubled. To hell with that nonsense that he is over whatever he thinks he is over with. His eyes say it all.

"So, are you ready to let go?" His words break the serene atmosphere, and as if guided by some unseen force, we both turn to face each other simultaneously.

"Let go of what?" I inquired softly, puzzled by his question.

"The things are tormenting you. The things that brought you to this city," he replies, his voice carrying a weight of understanding.

Hold on a moment! I haven't shared any of this with him. I am certain I haven't let anything slip out of my tongue. I couldn't afford to, not with the secrets I harbor. How does he know I ended up here by chance? I can't help but wonder if my father has taken to posting articles about my disappearance everywhere.

"Where did you get that from?" I ask, trying to keep the unease out of my voice.

"From observing you and from your actions and attitude," he responds calmly. "I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out you ran away from something. Or someone."

Damn! His words send a shiver down my spine. I'm not calm, not when he seems to read me like an open book or possess the uncanny ability to see through my thoughts. Come on!

At this point, I don't see any reason to act like all is well. "Is it that obvious?" I mumble, feeling vulnerable as I pose the question, my eyes softening with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"It is," he says, turning to me. 'I could feel it even that night I met you on the street. A lady of your pedigree stuck in the middle of the road to nowhere. That was enough contradiction. I also know that you have two phones that you have not dared to turn on for three good days. What are you running away from?"

Shit!

I believed I was so good at masking it. I thought I was so strong not to reveal any hint of my sorrows to anyone. Why did he have to see through my strength? And I also thought I was okay. I didn't care about anything at all anymore—not about that betrayal, not about my father, and not about that cursed betrothed of mine. I thought I was okay being far away from all that shit, at least. Why do I feel so weak now? Why do I feel like a cold liquid is streaming down my left cheek from my eye? Why do I now feel this big clot in my throat that is blocking the air in my system?

I close my eyes, and I feel his soft touch on my cheeks, cupping them and drying the tears away. How ironic! It's the third day I am spending with him, and the second time I am breaking down in front of him like this. The second time, he is drying the tears away from my eyes. His touch is gentle and soothing, with his thumbs leaving sweet, jolting trails as they caress away the tears. I want to listen to this sensation and get lost in it for a while, but I can't do that, and I also don't want to be far away from it.