***
2017
"You only know what I want you to
I know everything you don't want me to
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine
You think your dreams are the same as mine..."
- The Civil Wars, Poison & Wine
Time slips by like dry grains of sand in an hourglass. You can flip the hourglass around and restart the process, but you cannot turn back time, and as he sits there, staring blankly at the papers in front of him - he wonders how much time he has left.
Day in and day out, Swayum feels like he is losing himself amidst the towers of paperwork, the mindless meetings, document after document concerned with contracts and commodities or protecting some God forsaken corporate secret.
Everyone has secrets. Corporations have secrets. Families have their secrets. Friends have secrets. Rivals. Lawyers. Doctors. Everyone has something to hide. Swayum knows this and yet, he is still bothered by sense of mystery shrouding his girlfriend. Once upon a time, it used to entice him and now it only serves as the wedge driving them further apart.
More than ever, Sharon is detached, aloof. But then again, she's never been one to share. Sharon is like sand, captured in his fist. The tighter he tries to hold on, the faster she slips away.
Drowning out the noise of his meeting, Swayum quietly muses of the most important person in his life.
As the Head of Corporate Affairs at Credit Suisse, Sharon Rai-Prakash is a formidable woman who has the power to command the attention of the country's most powerful men with a simple glance. Under her administration, the company not only flourishes, but becomes the highest performing bank in the nation. At twenty-four, Sharon is the youngest and highest paid female executive in the country. It is a remarkable achievement for a person of her youth and gender, but then again Sharon is anything but conventional.
Sharon is a creature of habit. The once impulsive, impractical, irrational girl matures into a sensible, disciplined and organised young woman. She is still spontaneous, but it only makes her better at what she does. There is method to her madness, and her high risk investments always yield the highest profits. Driven by her passion for success, she thrives under pressure and revels in the art of corporate politics.
Her business acumen proves to be exceptional, and she hones it further with hours of detail, constant study and hard work. More often than not, Sharon works late, well-past midnight and then crashes at his place, simply because his apartment is closer and she has the spare key.
It becomes a habit - her staying the night in his guest room. But she is long gone, before he wakes. The only way he even knows that she has been there, is because he hears the tell-tale jingle of her keys, when she arrives sometime during the night and his kitchen smells like freshly brewed coffee in the morning.
He hardly ever sees her anymore and he cannot bear it. Swayum wants to wake up to her smiling face every morning. He wants to feel her bare skin under his hands, see her dark hair spread across his pillows. He wants to pin her against his wall and kiss her until she is late for work. He wants to hold her hand at the Sunday market, picking out groceries for their home.
Is he selfish to want to be her everything? He wants her in every way possible. He wants the good and the bad, and everything between and beyond.
But life is hardly about what one wants.
Despite spending nights in his spare bedroom, her presence is almost invisible. It bothers him that she leaves behind no trace of her being. There are no heels left by the door, or an expensive designer blazer draped over an armchair. Her sweet, floral scent lingers in the air, but her signature perfume does not find a home in the bathroom vanity. She even takes her toothbrush with her every day, almost as if she does not expect to return.
It is a thought that haunts him, as he lies awake and listens to her toss and turn on the other side of the wall.
Subconsciously, he has been clearing out his closet to make space for her belongings, but not even a tube of her lipstick can be found lying around and it bothers him. She cleans up after herself, almost religiously - as if she is trying to erase herself from his life. She makes her bed before she leaves. Always washes her coffee mug.
There are no physical signs of her being there and it eats away at him. It tears his mind apart, and even though he does not doubt her love, he constantly searches for ways to tie her down to him.
Fingering, the small metal key in his pocket, he silently arrives at a decision. It is now or never. He has waited patiently for her to do this at her own terms. But enough is enough. There will be no more waiting. Or quiet pining. He is through and done with patience and passivity. There will be no more dancing around the flame.
Just as Swayum is bracing himself, he is rudely awakened from his thoughts by the demanding voice of his father, who glares pointedly at him. In fact, the entire boardroom is staring at him, all with humourless expressions.
"Swayum, did you get that?" Rishi Shekhawat demands disdainfully, pointing at the figures on the overhead.
Swayum looks up apologetically, murmuring, "I'm sorry, I just...I have a headache."
Unexpectedly, his father's expression visibly softens, "take the afternoon off. You've done excellent work on the DBA project. You deserve a break."
Heaving a sigh, Swayum strides swiftly back to his office. Employees acknowledge him respectfully as he passes, and he nods curtly, not feeling up to the small talk. He checks his phone to see if Sharon has called.
No calls. No messages. Only six emails - four from clients, one from the real estate agent and one from his lawyer. Shaking his head, he pockets his phone and storms past his loyal secretary, who does not even flinch at her boss's faraway look and cold disposition.
Carelessly, Swayum shrugs his blazer off onto an armchair in the corner, before moving towards his desk. It is only then, he notices a familiar head of hair peeking out from over the turned chair.
"Sharon?"
The chair spins around, and Sharon grins at him mischievously, eyes twinkling with unbridled excitement.
Long hair set in loose curls, mouth painted deep red - Sharon is a vision in a plunging cream silk blouse, and deep blue pencil skirt. Her favourite royal blue trench coat is draped over his chair. There are sparkling sapphires in her dainty ears, an elegant Longines timepiece around her wrists and cream pointed toe Manolo pumps that accentuate her long, toned dancer's legs.
She is exquisite, royally so and he cannot help but wonder how she always manages to take his breath away.
"Hello handsome," Sharon smirks coyly, standing tall and slowly approaching now.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He takes care not to sound biting, but undoubtedly, his voice has an edge to it. Once the initial surprise wears off, he remembers his dilemma and is barely able to quell the growing bitterness in his chest.
Either she does not notice, or Sharon is simply too happy to care. She reaches out and snags him by his tie, dragging his body towards her playfully. She surprises him yet again when her mouth finds his in a fiery kiss that blows him away. She kisses him, like she has never kissed him before, with every stroke of her tongue against his, speaking volumes of passion and purpose.
He knows a victory kiss when he tastes it, and today, her mouth is dark, delicious, indulgent - she is triumphant. For once, he lets her seize control of their kiss, letting himself drown in the warm immediacy of sensation. Her hands fist in his hair, while his large hands travel up and down her sides, clenching at the silky fabric of her blouse.
They forget that his office walls are made of glass and that people are watching them, until his phone rings shrilly in the background. They break apart swiftly, both breathing hard, smiling harder.
The phone goes unanswered.
Clearing his throat, he casts a look over his shoulder at his secretary through the glass. She is determinedly staring at her computer screen, but her cheeks are red, and she looks thoroughly embarrassed by their display.
Sharon on the other hand, could care less of the spectacle they have caused. She looks unusually happy, in fact she looks elated. Shining green eyes betray her exhilaration. "I did it Swayum," she breathes. "I did it. I had SRP Investment Group registered today. My own company. I can't believe it."
"I don't understand." Swayum says, arms crossed across his chest. He leans against his desk, watching his girlfriend carefully, while still gathering his bearings from their earth shattering kiss.
"I am a hedge fund owner now." She beams at Swayum. "The youngest hedge fund owner in this country." Even after the dust has settled, she can hardly believe it herself. It seems too good to be real. Even as she says the words aloud, it feels surreal. After so many sleepless nights, negotiations day in and day out, her plans have finally come to fruition.
"And Credit Suisse let you go?" Swayum asks, confused. It hardly makes sense to him. He knows that she has been working hard, but he could never imagine that all this time, she has been planning such a monumental move and he had not the slightest inkling of it. He cannot bring himself to accept that she has kept this hidden for so long - hidden from him.
Sharon shrugs nonchalantly, "I found a loophole in my non-compete. They weren't happy."
"Naturally," Swayum stares at her blankly. "You must have taken all your clients with you." He stands upright and slowly makes his way towards the edge of his office. From his vantage point, the vast panorama of a colourful city beckons to him. This is Mumbai - the city of dreams and opportunities.
It is also a cruel city, where more often than not, hopes are shattered and dreams die, Swayum thinks bitterly. His dreams were once synonymous with hers - where did they go wrong? When did it all end?
"All twenty of them," she grins, absently toying with a small snow globe, "and no one could stop me."
"No one usually can," he mutters, staring into the bustling streets filled with suited commuters, and loud traffic.
Catching his tone, Sharon feels her heart sink. The potential repercussions of keeping such a secret have always been clear to her. The snow globe, featuring two minute dancers finds its place back on the windowsill while Sharon stands up and brushes herself off.
She slowly sidles up behind him, her arms finding purchase around his waist. "I know," she says quietly, apologetically. "I know I've kept you in the dark, but I had no choice."
"Why?" He asks confused, trying not to feel so betrayed.
"I've been developing an algorithm for the last two years. Even before I went to Oxford," Sharon explains, her voice muffled as she presses her cheek against the hard planes of his back. "Until the algorithm was fully developed and patented, it was a risk to everyone who knew about it. If someone were to find out about it, they could use it against me."
Behind her dazzling smile, there is a story no one will ever understand. No one will understand the sleepless nights, the fears that crawl under her skin. The constant sciamachy wears her down, but she will never stop fighting because she knows that if she does, her demons will win. She will keep fighting even if it means that she might destroy herself.
Sharon is wise enough to accept that Swayum is her only weakness - one that cannot be avoided. But she also knows that weaknesses are what make people stronger. And so, it is her responsibility to protect him, in any way that she can.
It has never been about money or ambitions. It is about protecting the people she loves. She wonders if he will ever understand.
She pulls away from him and catches his reflection in the glass. His eyes are haunted. Hers, plead him to understand. They stare at each other through the glass, neither breaking away. They are hurting each other. Her indifference, and his doubts will be the end of them.
"Why?" He asks again, almost inaudibly.
Why do you keep me away? Why won't you let me in?
He does not doubt her love, but he often wonders about where he stands in her life. Where did he fit in, between the hostile takeovers and mountains of paperwork? Between her wheeling and dealing, the late nights and endless meetings, where did he belong?
Through the glass, Sharon is pensive, unsure of how to answer him - uncertain of which answer to give. With one word, he asks several questions and she does not know if she has an explanation for his every unspoken demand.
"My mother often used to say that a strong woman wears her pain like she wears her stilettos," Sharon smiles sadly. "No matter how much it hurts, people will only ever see how beautiful she looks."
And just like that his heart breaks all over again. It hits him like a sucker punch to the gut, as he realises how selfish he has become. After everything, he only sees that she did not tell him, not once did he consider the agony of her silent suffering. How she must have longed to tell him, Swayum thinks. How hard must it have been, to keep everything inside - to not even be able to share the hardships, or the small victories with the people that mean most to her?
Now, he spins around to face her, his lowered gaze telling her everything she needs to know. It's over. She's been forgiven.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, weaving their fingers together.
Sharon fights back tears, "I'm sorry too."
"I'm so proud of you," he says softly, one hand rising to cup her cheek in his palm. "I am so, so proud of you." And he is. It is hard to believe how much she has achieved already, although he expects it from her. She has always been destined for great things, and he is delighted to see her living her dreams.
She can see the pride, the joy in his warm brown eyes, and she forces herself to smile back. In the harsh daylight, the truth is painfully clear. Swayum is like a candle. He burns himself to give others light. Sharon is fire. She gives warmth, but she also burns everything in her path. This love is fatal, Sharon realises as he smiles lovingly at her now, taking her lithe body into a strong embrace. They are doomed to destroy each other.
As she stands still, lost in her thoughts, he pulls away and strides purposefully towards the silvery grey lounge area in the corner of his cabin.
"I think this calls for a celebration," he smiles reaching for the heavy crystal decanter on the glass coffee table.
"Scotch?" She raises an eyebrow in amusement. She smirks for his benefit. Inside, she is being torn apart.
"You deserve it," he jokes lightly, bringing out two small crystal tumblers.
Soft jazz fills the room, as Sharon plays one of Swayum's favourite records, and he smiles at her approvingly, tenderly as he hands her a drink.
With a clink of their glasses, the dark golden brown liquid swirls and even without tasting it, Sharon knows it's a Macallan 18 - his choice of poison for such occasions.
"To Sharon," Swayum says and her lips quirk, eyes shining as they take the first sip together.
In that moment, Sharon feels peaceful, like she has no worries. He is casually leaning against his desk, handsome in a crisp white shirt, and black slacks. His black tie is loosened from her earlier gesture, and his hair is in charming disarray from when she fisted it, holding him to her mouth. She wonders if she looks similarly dishevelled, but for once, does not find it in herself to care. She is content to sit back and let this moment last for as long as it does.
Noticing her curious appraisal, Swayum smiles at her patiently before straightening and offering his hand. "May I have this dance?"
"You're such a dork," she rolls her eyes, even as she kicks off her heels and her small hand slips graciously into his.
With Sinatra's soft, romantic crooning in the background, Swayum and Sharon slowly move together. Her eyes flutter shut as she wallows in his soothing presence. She is calm, content. There is nothing in the world that can touch her. She wishes that it could be like this forever. His hand on her waist, is firm and yet gentle. They are so close, that she can feel the warmth of his breath across her cheek, smell a hint of his woodsy cologne.
They are suspended in time and everything is perfect.
Swayum holds Sharon like she is made of porcelain, even though he knows she is Teflon. She is prone to silent suffering, to bottling away feelings until every part of her surface is scratched and as much as he admires her endurance, he worries for her too. What will become of her, when there is nothing left to scratch away?
Sub-consciously, his grip tightens around her. Sharon looks up in question, but Swayum only shakes his head. Lowering his forehead to rest against hers, he leans in slowly and nudges her long nose affectionately with his. The tips of their noses bump together, and Swayum chuckles.
He wants this to last forever. Just the two of them, like this. But Swayum is astute, more practical than most give him credit for. He understands that forever is only for fairy tales, and they are anything but.
Swayum and Sharon are real. The struggles are real, but so is the love and with reality comes the harsh knowledge that life cannot be so stagnant. They must move forward sooner or later.
So why not now?
When the music fades away they slowly break apart, hands lingering. While Sharon smiles, content, Swayum is lost, deep in thought. His faraway expression does not go unnoticed by Sharon, who tugs at his sleeve to get his attention.
Suddenly the air is stifling. She sees the question in his eyes, before he speaks it - that torn, fearful yet hopeful stria of grey that quietly appraises her.
"What?" She asks. "Tell me."
"I..." he begins hesitantly, his throat is suddenly parched. "I just wanted to ask if..."
There is a moment of silence as his voice fails him. The question on his lips has haunted him for so long, and yet in the moment of truth, he falters. What if trying to build bridges, only pushes them further apart?
Mistaking his silence for regret, Sharon sighs, "You're still upset aren't you?" Shaking hands cover her face, as she turns away from him yet again. He still hasn't come to terms with what is happening, with what she has done. It is still a thorn in their side. She needs to leave, before they say something they both regret. Fighting back tears, Sharon hurriedly wears her shoes and reaches for her coat and handbag before she is abruptly pulled back.
The keys jingle ominously in his pocket as Swayum forcefully grabs her by the wrist and spins her around to face him. "Move in with me, Sharon."
Relief floods him as he finally speaks freely, even though his question is blurted out as more of a statement. The request is implied.
Taken aback, Sharon stares at him wide-eyed. Did she hear him wrong? "I...I..."
"Hear me out," he says quickly, before she can refuse. "I know that you're reluctant to move in. We lived together for a few months some years ago and it didn't work for us, but Sharon we were younger then. We didn't know what to expect, or how to react. Yes, we made mistakes, but we can't stop trying," Swayum implores.
"But Swayum..." It all seems to happening very fast, Sharon wants to say, but a part of her knows that's a lie. They've been in this relationship for four years now, moving in together is a natural progression. Any girl would be thrilled with such a prospect, but not Sharon.
"I know," he looks into her eyes, gazing deeply almost as if he can peer into her soul. He takes her small face into his hands, pleading with her. "You're scared. So am I. I'm worried we'll mess this up, but I'm more scared that I'll lose you if we don't. I don't want to lose you, Sharon. Please say yes."
She pushes past him. No one backs Sharon Rai-Prakash into a corner. He should know better. Sharon hates confrontations. Not because she is afraid of a threat, but because of what she is capable of doing to a threat. Lashing out is almost an instinct, and pushed too far, Sharon will draw blood.
She feels the hardness of his chest at her back, and his strong arms encircling her waist from behind. He languidly sweeps her hair away from one shoulder and nuzzles affectionately into her neck. She feels his lips grazing her collarbone and the onslaught of warm breath sends a jolt of wet heat to the pit of her stomach.
"Are you trying to seduce me into agreement?" She moans while instinctively rolling her head to the side to give her more access.
Chuckling, he presses a kiss to the nape of her neck, "I'm trying to get you to see it my way."
"And which way is that?" Sharon presses tightly, turning around in his arms, keen eyes watching him closely now.
Swayum lets her go, and slowly moves away. Striding to his desk, he opens the top drawer and retrieves a slim, leather bound file in mahogany. Wordlessly he hands it over to sceptical Sharon, who eyes it nervously.
"What are these?" She asks breathlessly, not daring to open the file although she is fairly certain of what she'll find inside.
"Title deeds," Swayum replies simply. The answer is self-explanatory, and he notes with satisfaction that Sharon catches on, by the way her jaw falls open in shock.
"What?" Her voice is hoarse. Her doubts are confirmed, but hearing the words aloud are still surprising.
Swayum reaches into his pocket and holds out the weight that has plagued him for weeks on end. "Twentieth floor, 20/1, Romney Ave, Pali Hill."
Sharon's hands are shaking as she takes the key card and the house keys from him, "that tall white building in front of the beach."
Nodding, Swayum takes her hands in his and squeezes gently, reassuringly, "the penthouse is ours."
With shaky knees, Sharon sinks into the soft silvery grey arm chair in the corner, clutching the deed in one hand and the keys in the other. "I don't know what to say. I...I can't believe it." Her eyes find his, and she chuckles wryly. "I guess we're both too good at keeping secrets."
It is no surprise that Sharon takes it personally, and the irony does not slip by either of them. It's okay for her to keep things hidden from him, but when he does it, she cannot accept it. While it should infuriate Swayum, it only makes him love her more. Her claim on him is undeniable, but she expresses it rarely. This in one of those precious occasions.
But even then, he has wronged her. Before taking such a drastic decision, before buying the property, he should have talked to her. But he didn't. He knows that she would have refused point blank. Call it strategy or deception - everything is fair in love.
"I know," he admits quietly, guilt and regret shining in his eyes. "I love you Sharon and I don't want there to be any secrets between us. I want my days to begin and end with you. I want to see your shampoo next to mine on the shower shelf. I want to cook together, see your laundry mixed with mine and complain about your colony of shoes taking up all of our closet space. I just want to be with you, in every way that I can." He speaks fervently, gazing deep into her awed eyes, "I love you."
He says he loves her. She believes him, but she does not understand him. How can he possibly love a woman like her? Damaged at best, Sharon is emotionally unavailable and work obsessed. She has more demons than all nine circles of hell. She's often rude. She's undoubtedly cold and arrogant, but he loves her despite it all.
Sharon is quiet, eyes downcast and Swayum continues, impassioned. "You're not moving into my place. We'll be moving into our own place. Yours and mine. It's all on paper. Wouldn't you love that, Sharon? Wouldn't you love to decorate our home, with your own hands? I know you do."
She looks up at him and recognises the same fear in his eyes that she feels. She is afraid of commitment and he is terrified of rejection. She wants to refuse, but of course, her boyfriend does know how to make a compelling argument. Persuasion is natural skill that Swayum possesses, or perhaps she succumbs too quickly to his charm. He ought to have been a lawyer, she muses.
But he is right, she concedes. She does want to build a home together - somewhere that only belongs to them. She is tired of forcing distances between them. It is hard to constantly keep up appearances, to push him away when all she wants is to be held.
She wants all of that to end, and so Sharon finally meets his eye and takes his warm hand into hers. "Okay," she breathes softly.
"Okay?" He confirms again, smiling. He squeezes her hand reassuringly, trying to contain his excitement.
She smiles back, nodding confidently now. "Okay." Sharon realises that his beaming grin makes everything worthwhile.
The rush of joy that surges through him is incomparable to anything else he has ever felt. He wants to take her into his arms and spin her until they're both giddy with happiness.
Eyebrow raised, he looks at her slyly. "Shall we seal it with a kiss?"
She giggles, "Not now. When you're secretary's not watching. She almost had a heart attack, the first time."
They rest their foreheads against each other and laugh softly. They're going to be okay - they know it.
Sometimes the wrong choices bring us to the right places and even if they are making a mistake, Sharon knows that somewhere in the grand scheme of life - this is meant to happen.
comment:
p_commentcount