Chapter Text
Abhimanyu was never one for fighting.
It was too messy. Too emotional. Too…
Hurtful.
But, Abhimanyu never gets what he wants, does he?
October, 2017 — Dehradun, India
It all happens too fast for Abhimanyu to register — his head colliding with the metal floor made him forget what even occurred in the first place. Did he fall? It felt like he'd been on the floor for an eternity. A woman cried out from in front of him and scurried towards his sluggish state, cupping his face. Her hands were cold and sweaty as they grazed his cheeks and combed through his hair when lifting his head.
Faint voices were brought into focus, but nothing can be made of the whispers. A sudden jolt catches his attention when someone moves him by his shoulder. He lies flat on his back now, blearily staring up at the ceiling as his head lolls backwards. As he grabs the stanchion in an attempt to position himself on his knees, he slides his right fingers across his temple to soothe the growing headache that bangs against his skull. He pauses as he notices small trails of blood oozing down his index and middle fingers from the corner of his eye.
‘Who knew catching a bus was so deadly?’ He briefly thinks to himself, black spots emerging in the corners of his vision as the concerned mumbles are drowned out by the loud ringing that suddenly thrums in his ears.
“Sir, are you okay? Sir, jagte raho-”
His knees grow weak, and he collapses into himself as people rush towards him in the bus – their words engulfing him.
The periodic beeping of the heart rate monitor is the only thing keeping Shruti awake right now. She sits alone in the hospital room with Abhimanyu in the A&E ward, nursing an empty paper cup drained of coffee. God, why did she even want to become a doctor? And why the hell was Abhimanyu of all people in the hospital? She hadn't seen the guy in years. It's honestly kind of sad that these are the circumstances that they now meet on after so long.
As she goes to throw her cup into the bin, the heart rate monitor whirrs to life when picking up pace. He wakes up slowly, blinking while rubbing his eyes. Sitting up in the hospital bed, he winces to himself – unaware of Shruti in the room. He blinks in sleepy motions, feeling the gauze around his head, eyebrows knit in confusion. He turns to Shruti on his right side, and his eyes widen by a slight fraction. Fear, exhaust, and then excitement dance across his features at once. ‘Hm, vah bas umr ke roop mein adhik sundar ho jaata hai’ Shruti thinks to herself with a soft smile, still inwardly cursing her highschool self for not getting Abhi and Shanaya together – well, it's not like she kept in contact with either of them, anyways. She let her pride get in the way of a meaningful relationship. All it festered into is shame at the end of the day. Maybe she can patch up now? That’s kind of-
“Uh, Shruti? Extensions kya aapako mile?”
Abhi questions her with a cheeky smile – a stark difference to the man the newspapers captured him as. He smiles at her with youthful familiarity. Almost like they never lost contact and had been friends for... years.
Like how he was at St Teresa’s before everything went down.
“Nahi, nahi. I’ve started my rotation internship here at GEIMS. Decided to grow my hair out now, since I'm so mature.” She says, waving him off with a sigh in her chuckle. He looks at her in confusion as she slumps into the chair beside him, eyebrows once again knitting themselves together.
“I thought that's only for last year med?” Abhi states with a tilt of his head.
“Hain, I am! Surprising, isn’t it? It’s already been 5 years now, hm?” Shruti playfully tells him with a light slap to his shoulder.
“Shruti-”
“Say, kya aap yahaan kisee bhee tarah se le aata hai? Never expected to see you here of all places.”
He pauses for a moment — his thoughts seemingly scattered.
“I…don’t know?” Abhi tries, raising his arms up in a mix of confusion and exasperation.
“The last thing I remember was being on a bus.”
What?
“Abhi, what do you mean you don’t know?”
“Saale, yesterday was the football match against St. Lawrence! Ro and I went out to a party, and then I’m suddenly dressed like a business man on the floor of a bus. So, I don’t know!”
What??
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“Abey saale iddhar aa, don’t fall too far behind! I might forget you — then what?”
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October, 2017 - New Delhi, India
“Rohan, how are you finding the rehearsals?”
His manager, Manish, prods while nudging Rohan in the shoulder with a water bottle. He glides across the tent with crafted elegance.
“After all, the ASEAN festival is a huge thing – big names are gonna be here in a few weeks, as well as this being your first big booking.” Manish states, adjusting his rectangular frameless glasses whilst sliding his line of sight towards Rohan from the plastic folding table, still holding out the water bottle.
Rohan downs half the bottle of water, pauses for a short moment, and sighs in exhaustion as he holds it to his temple to cool off.
“It's better for me, since there's a new wave of indie rock becoming popular again. It just feels…different, I guess? You know what I mean?” Rohan answers with humble etiquette embalmed in full confidence. He has to admit that, after leaving home, he’s definitely matured over the past 5 years. It gave him time to heal and improve.
Ever since he signed to this company, his idea of a ‘Rockstar’ had shifted – no longer the loud and obnoxious star he so desperately burned to be, but more so an artist. Someone who, through his experiences, could relate to his audience through music. It became more than just a desperation for freedom – it grew into expression and self-understanding; at least, that's what his therapist tells him is happening right now.
Manish nods, content with his answer. “Say, Ro, you need a stage name. That agent of yours has been nagging me about it since he confirmed with the hosts that you’ll be performing.” Manish straightens the cuffs of his blazer as he pointedly gives Rohan a look as he sits on the plastic chair opposite him. Rohan tries to avoid eye contact, swivelling his head slightly to the side in shame (and maybe to protect his pride).
He supposes that some things just never change.
“Ah, waat lag gayi…” Rohan mutters to himself, scratching his hairline with his index finger. Manish crooks a singular eyebrow up. Sighing loudly, he holds Rohan’s shoulders and shakes him as he stands up. “Rohan,” he begins, “Pranesh is going to skin you and me both if you don’t at least give him an answer.” The poor guy looks like he’s sweating out his life span – even the usually nonchalant and commanding Manish knows better than to challenge the music agent. Oftentimes, Rohan finds that Manish reminds him of Coach Shah.
“Ah, jugaad!” Rohan suddenly exclaims, index finger now pointed in the air. Manish just about rolls his eyes at him. “What now? Figured out a name yet?”
“What if I dropped the ‘anda’ from the surname and 'n' from my first name? My name would be RohaN – like, with a capital ‘N’ on the end!” Rohan queries cheekily, standing up with both palms pressed together and outstretched. He cocks his head to the side like he’s the Albert Einstein of names – clearly, he’s not.
“Arre, Ro...”
"What? At least it looks...erm, balanced?"
Faadu, Manish gives up.
“Wow, Rohan! Looking as hot as ever!” Tanya sing-songs into Rohan’s ears. Honestly, she never really does get the message. He wonders why she still bothers following him everywhere he performs – for fucks sake, she has a husband!
How did she even find him after the show??
“Hm, thanks I guess.” Rohan mumbles, trudging forward. He can’t be bothered making proper dinner for himself at 3 am in the morning. Another Zomato order for tonight, he supposes.
“Say, Rohan, you’re still single, right?” She croons, curling her free arm into his as she leans against him.
“Not looking right now.” He retorts, curtly untangling their arms and walking faster. He feels bad for leaving her here at this time of day, but honestly, it’s creepy how she follows him everywhere he goes. Rohan had only ever realised after he left high school how oddly attached she was to him. No wonder Shanaya threw fits whenever she was anywhere near him.
“Besides, don’t you have a husband?”
“Nimesh? Ugh, that Guju mother-” Tanya seethes, untangling their arms and curling her hands into fists as she screams with her mouth closed and cheeks puffed. Rohan regrets asking now. He never does learn, does he?
“You know what? I tell him I’m overseas a month in advance – and he tells me the day before I leave that he wants a divorce! Arre, Rohan, what kind of man has such audacity?”
She rattles on about him, criticism after criticism, continuously slapping his shoulder at every recount she can remember as they walk along the bridge above the train station and toward the greenery.
After about 10 minutes of endless torture, she slumps on the bench under the lamp light. They’ve walked into a park of some sort across a fountain nearby. At this time of day, the water is swathed in navy blue – the moon highlighting it ripples. The beaming white, pink, and blue lights were turned off because of the time of day. It wouldn't look as serene, otherwise.
“I should probably give up on you now, huh?”
Rohan stands to her side in the dark as she props her arm up on the metallic armrest. He watches her as she stares out at the fountain in boredom, wondering what the sudden change in behaviour could mean – let alone why it happened. ‘Was it because of her husband?’ he raised an eyebrow at the thought as he ran his fingers along his chin stubble. 'Or, ex-husband...?'. He thinks the guy would be an ex by now, judging by her outburst.
“It… never was about you, Rohan.” She begins, wringing her sweating palms in her lap now after sitting up. He continues to watch, her words catching him off guard. “My mom, she wanted me to get with you – since your father was…well,” she looks at him now, raising her palm upward in a shrug in his general direction. He nods curtly. “I argued with her for a bit, but I decided to play along in the end – I’m hot enough to get away with seeming desperate, anyways.”
He stands ram-rod straight – he seems to be missing out on everything these days, apparently. Then again, he never was one to stick his nose into gossip.
“Tanya, why did you do it then?” He questions, turning to face her. He’s either going to lose his shit or laugh, depending on her answer. She almost smiles to herself, but the curve of her lips is one filled with regret and sadness. She tears her eyes away from him, almost ashamed, as she lowers her head slightly. Balling up her fists, still on her lap, she confesses in a rushed breath:
“It was about Shanaya.”
Rohan waits for her to continue, but it seems she doesn’t want to elaborate any further. So, in typical fashion, he presses on in impatience with an outstretched hand.
“Tanya, what do you mean? I know you didn’t like her, but-”
He’s promptly cut off by the sight of her tears hitting the pavement. Raising her head to face him, he notices streaks of tears and mascara that slide along her face. She looks him in the eye, still determined yet so afraid, and she speaks.
“I loved Shanaya, idiot.”
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“Arre, bhenchod. I would just find you every time! Besides, I'm impossible to forget, aren't I?”
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