***
2016
"Can I have that bunch please? No, not that one. The one behind it. Yes, that's the one," he reaches into his wallet to hand over the cash with an exuberant smile on his face.
The florist is a plump, elderly man of a benevolent temperament who smiles warmly at the young customer's enthusiasm. "For a special someone?"
He takes the elegant bouquet of white roses with a bright smile on his face. "My girlfriend's coming home today," he beams, "after a whole year." He forgoes the change for an amused smile and with a wave, he runs back to his car parked at the curb.
Swayum is humming as he drives to the airport. It's raining hard, but even the bleak weather cannot put a damper on his spirits today. Today is the day he has been waiting for - today is the day Sharon comes home. He almost cannot believe it - he cannot believe that finally all the yearning, the heartache will come to an end today.
A year without Sharon almost drives Swayum to the brink of insanity. He does not eat or sleep properly. He cannot focus at work and his dance lacks soul and passion. The sudden emptiness in his life devours him from inside out, but there is little he can do to control himself. He is haunted by the memory of love.
But today is the day he learns the Napoleonic art of anticlimactic counter-attack. He is through and done with passivity, or so he thinks. Inertia is powerful because it is stagnant, irresistible and incapable of force. It is the ultimate weapon to be used, when all other strategies fail. He simply refrains from action. It will work"really, it will"in good time.
Nevertheless, he knows it will not. It will not hurt any less tomorrow, no matter what he says or what he does. The pain will not die, will not numb with time or space. She has a haven in his head whether he likes it or not, and he constantly thinks about what she is doing, of whether she misses him as much as he misses her.
When all else fails, he tries the reverse tactic. In the first few weeks of Sharon's departure, Swayum tries to occupy himself with extra classes at the academy. He actively involves himself in even the most menial administrative tasks, just to keep himself busy. He works hard during the day and looks forward to the evenings in anticipation of Sharon's Skype calls. Until mid-December, they communicate daily, but then slowly the Skype calls dwindle and eventually cease as Sharon becomes busy with her classes. Daily phone calls become brief monthly updates, until they all together stop right before her first semester exams.
And though Swayum tries to drown himself in the abyss of normalcy, his despondency is apparent to everyone around him. Restless, anxious, Swayum constantly checks his phone in anticipation of even just a message or an email from Sharon, but any communication from her is sparse. Her absence festers into a sense of disquiet, a resolute nothingness that leaves him lost and lifeless.
Sometimes he forgets his way home, but somehow he always finds himself at her apartment. She leaves her keys with him so that he can drop by and check on Sara from time to time. Sara is usually not at home, and Swayum takes the time to water the plants and dust her shelves. Sometimes, he sits on Sharon's bed and imagines her sitting next to him. Her scent still lingers on the bed sheets, on her pillows. He drinks from her mug and imagines her lips on the porcelain. He can almost taste her. Perhaps it is somewhat perverse, but he has no control of himself. He knows he is being obsessive, but her memories are slowly driving him crazy.
After a while, being here in her room does not soothe him anymore. Adversely, it only reinforces her absence and his loneliness. But Swayum is nothing, if not a martyr - he must participate in his own destruction. He still visits the empty apartment, still searches for signs of her in her belongings, in some twisted, sick form of self-torture.
It is hard to lie awake in bed, when all his mistakes come back to haunt him. It is harder to succumb to sleep, where he knows Sharon is waiting for him, a momentary phantasm beyond the reality of touch. His life is quickly fraying at the seams.
Everything just seems to fall apart.
Without Sharon's management skills, their dance academy crumbles. Bills are not paid on time. Rent is overdue. Student administration is all over the place and class schedules are messed up. They don't know how to manage their time - should they be taking care of their bills or funds, or promoting their academy? Should they be teaching classes or performing at events? They know that things are quickly going downhill when their students start leaving. Faced with bankruptcy, the group now realises that they have rushed headfirst into this venture with no real practical knowledge of how a business is run. Finally Rey arrives at the decision that they need time and more experience.
The dance academy is put on hiatus as each of them takes a break to discover themselves, who they are and where they truly belong. Rey flies to New York. Nil and Simmi decide to visit Rinni in Florida. Vicky finds himself in Delhi in search of Neha, while Amar enrols in a hospitality course at Mumbai University. Bharat decides to expand his garage business and Sara leaves Vogue to join Harper's Bazaar to be closer to her new Italian crush who is the Head Chef at a nearby restaurant.
While all of his friends are making plans and building dreams, Swayum begins to see the cracks in his own life. He knows nothing beyond dance and has no dreams other than being with Sharon. It scares him. He feels inadequate, small and undeserving of the smart, determined woman he loves. The realisation hits him hard. He wants to deserve her. He wants to be a better man for her. And so Swayum decides to join the family business. Swayum's father is overjoyed with his decision, and eagerly introduces him to the corporate lifestyle.
Under his father's watchful eye, Swayum begins to learn how to be a businessman, but the work politics seems to completely go over his head. He might be intelligent and eager to learn, but he is too simple and soft-hearted to be a successful leader. Despite knowing this, his father gives him the opportunity to grow, to prove himself as a worthy executive of Shekhawat Industries and Swayum accepts the new responsibility without protest. Even though he finds the work mundane, he tries his best to be efficient.
When Swayum is given the option to relocate to England to manage their London branch, it takes all his will power to decline. He is not stupid; he can see the pity in his father's eyes. To an extent, Swayum appreciates his concern. His father is not blind to his misery, and his gesture is merely a means to put an end to it. But Swayum refuses the offer. As much as he wants to go to London, to be nearer to Sharon, he knows that she does not want him there. If she did, then she would tell him that herself. She would not have left in the first place. The knowledge that he is so close to her, and yet must keep his distance will be the death of him. Besides he does not want to distract her, nor does he want to suffocate her. He wants her to come home to him because she wants to, not out of some sense of compulsion or duty.
He sends her a bottle of her favourite perfume in August and an album full of their college photos. He knows how lonely she must feel in London, but he wants her to know that she is not alone, that all of her friends are thinking of her especially on her birthday. A part of him hopes and wishes that the photos will remind her of home and that she will return soon. It is selfish, but he wants her back, he needs her to come back to him. It's been too long and he doesn't know how much more of it he can bear.
There are so many days, so many moments over the past year that makes him want to give it all up and go after her, but he doesn't. He's not daft. He knows that she has left for a reason. She needs space and will come home when she wants to. He has faith in their love. She will come back to him no matter what, and it does not matter how much time it takes, Swayum will always wait for her.
It is a hard year, a terribly long year and he counts the days to her return. Then suddenly out of the blue, Sharon calls him one morning- the first of November. Their conversation is brief but not awkward. He cannot contain his joy at hearing her voice and she too does not try to disguise her excitement.
"I'm coming home," she says. "Tomorrow."
After she hangs up, Swayum throws a celebratory punch in the air and jumps on his bed like an excited child. He cannot believe it. For a moment he worries that he might have imagined it all. It is not uncommon for him. He has all sorts of hallucinations about Sharon all the time. Sometimes, he imagines her sitting in front of him; sometimes she's there in his kitchen making her favourite black coffee. There are days when he sees her dancing in the studio, but she disappears in a blink of an eye and he is left heartbroken all over again.
He pinches himself once and then again to make sure that he is not dreaming. Even when it stings, he cannot believe it. Then he checks the call log on his phone.
Last call: Sharon.
His day seems longer than the whole year - he cannot wait for tomorrow to arrive. Swayum cancels all his meetings for the following day and makes lunch reservations at Stella. All the pent up frustration of the past year is quickly mounting to restless energy and he does not know how to expend it all in
Another sleepless night ensues, but this time, he lies awake in excitement, anticipation of her return. He is still smiling like a dork in the morning as he showers, and fixes his hair. He wears the dark blue polo shirt that Sharon bought for him on his birthday last year, with white jeans and white tennis shoes. It is a classic, simple look that he knows Sharon likes.
But now as he restlessly paces the airport lounge, Swayum can barely contain his anxiety. Fortunately, in spite of the rain, Sharon's flight arrives on time. But that was at eleven and it is close to twelve now. She is probably stuck in customs, he consoles himself.
He senses her arrival before he sees her, almost as if there is an intangible shift of momentum. As bizarre and contrived as it sounds, there is almost an instinctive pull in his gut that forces him to look up from the broken lines of his palm to the previously vacant gateway. Swayum spots her from a distance away, even before she crosses the barriers, but of course Sharon is rather hard to miss. In a breezy, white and indigo chevron print shift dress, Sharon turns heads.
She really is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. His heart is pounding as he watches her walk confidently, her head held high. There is something different about the way she carries herself now, perhaps the slightest, most miniscule shift of posture that creates the profound distinction between arrogance and confidence.
He watches as she strides tenaciously toward him, rummaging through her handbag and then when she looks up, her eyes meet his. For a long moment, she stops and stares at him as if she cannot truly believe that he is there in front of her.
Abandoning her luggage trolley, Sharon approaches him slowly. There is a thickness in the air that permeates through her very being, threatening to suffocate her, but she moves forward, daring to believe that this is the man she has longed for every moment she has been away from him. He meets her halfway and smiles at her kindly, patiently and in that instant, she knows. Without any hesitation, or thought to audience, she throws her arms around him.
This moment feels so surreal. He feels like a part of him had been missing. With her in his arms, he finally feels complete. Holding her tightly, he can hardly believe that she is here, but she feels so alive, so warm against his body. He can hear her heart thudding loudly, and then he reconsiders - perhaps it is his own heart, he hears.
They do not exchange greetings or sentimental sweet nothings because they do not need to. It is painfully obvious, how much they have missed each other. It is in the way that Sharon clutches at Swayum, and through the joy shining in his tired, bloodshot eyes.
It feels so good to be back in his arms. She has desperately longed for this moment for the last twelve months. Burrowing deeper in his chest, Sharon sighs with contentment, wallowing in his warmth. He still feels the same, smells the same - sharp and zesty like citrus. Basking in the finality of this moment, Sharon fully realises the buried ache within her. She has always been excellent at compartmentalizing, but now, being here with him makes her accept the reality of how much she has truly missed him. Her acceptance opens the floodgate of relief. After a long time, she feels human.
She feels small in his arms. Even smaller than he remembers. She has always been thin, but strong. Now as she trembles against him, Swayum can feel how frail she has become. Instinctively, his arms tighten around her. His grip is fierce, but he cannot let go. When he finally pulls back to cup her face, to get a good look at her, he inhales sharply. Underneath her perfectly applied make-up, her cheekbones are more prominent and her eyes are sunken in. Her pallid skin colour tells of sickness and neglect which tugs violently at him, but he keeps quiet. It is a conversation for later.
His eyes are red with unshed tears, hers are moist. She leans into him once again, and listens to the steady beat of his heart. Indifferent to prying eyes, she kisses him at the base of his throat, nuzzling into his rain soaked skin. The resulting groan reverberates through his entire being, making Sharon chuckle lightly. Smiling at him affectionately, she runs one finger down the line of his cheek, along the stubble at the edge of his beard line, then across his full bottom lip. She smiles when he playfully nips at her thumb. Her fingers smooth back his fringe, as she appraises him with curious eyes. "Why are you wet?"
"It's raining outside," he says, brushing an errant curl behind her ear. He cannot keep his hands off of her. The irrational fear of losing her again, gnaws away at his insides.
"Haven't you heard of an umbrella?" Smiling, Sharon finally pulls away from him.
Laughing softly, he takes her small hand in his and takes hold of her luggage in the other, "Come on, let's get some air,"
Holding hands, they leave the airport. He leads her to a sleek black BMW, and is pleased to see her look of admiration. It is a company car, but nonetheless it is his. He loads her luggage into the trunk and then holds the car door open for her.
"You got your licence," she smiles as she settles into the passenger seat.
"About time I suppose," he feigns nonchalance. He does not want her to know that he only learnt how to drive to understand her love of driving. To be closer to her in any way that he can.
One night in early May, he sees a Facebook photo tagging Sharon with a tall, built blonde man. They seem to be dancing together at a party. She looks radiant in a short raspberry red cocktail dress, and clearly her friend is enamoured with her.
Before Swayum knows what's happening, he finds himself at a downtown bar with a tumbler in hand, and nursing what feels like a broken heart. He takes to whiskey, like the proverbial moth to light. He tries his hand at smoking as well. Swayum thinks Sharon would have a fit if she found out her straight-laced boyfriend has started smoking. And then he wonders if she even cares. For a while the bitterness consumes him, even more so than the tobacco he smokes. But trying to replace one addiction with another proves futile, because Sharon is more than just an addiction. She is a part of him, and trying to live with her, is like living without a limb. Like a body without a soul.
He is drawn out of his musings by Sharon's soft humming as she plays with the radio, switching from station to station in search for something of her liking. He drives out to Andheri East, where he has made lunch reservations at Stella.
Upon arriving, they are directed towards a cosy booth at the back of the restaurant. To Swayum's surprise, Sharon politely asks the usher for a table on the terrace instead. In the open air, they are more conspicuous, more visible to the public but Sharon is unbothered by the exposure. In fact, she seems to revel in it. Swayum accepts it all in stride, gesturing to the waiter. Sharon takes the eggplant gnocchi, while Swayum orders a vegetable lasagne. They wait until both of their meals arrive before they start eating.
The meal is enjoyed in comfortable silence, with occasional praise from Swayum and the off-handed compliment from Sharon. While Italian does not really appeal to Swayum, he is happy to eat it because Sharon loves pasta. They clink their glasses together and toast to homecomings, the Chianti sharp and acidic in his mouth.
He offers to buy some gelato for dessert, she asks for coffee instead. As they wait for their coffees, Swayum can no longer contain his burning curiosity. "So," he reaches across the table to take her small hand in his, "what was your year like?"
She blinks slowly - the memories of the past year suddenly crashing against her like errant tides in a tsunami.
A year without Swayum proves to be miserable for Sharon.
Ever since she has been little, her father has said that she has the Midas touch. Everything she touches seems to turn to gold, but it is as much a curse as it is a blessing. Her rise to success effectively means that she has to sacrifice those she holds most dear. She is blessed with incredible luck and it seems like she is born to succeed, but it comes at the price of family and affection because even money cannot buy love. Thus, while her year in London yields great success and wealth, Sharon feels lost and unsatisfied. There is no joy in success, when there is no one to celebrate it with. And the one person she wants to share it with is continents away.
There is not a moment that goes by, that she does not think of him, so much so that she spends most of her first three months in London, crying. Her composed, laconic aura fools everyone nicely, but when she calls her friends, it takes all of her will power to not cry and let them know how miserable she truly feels. Miles away from them, alone in a foreign country, Sharon is terrified. She is not as invincible as she seems and that also scares her. She feels out of sorts and she begins to detest the person she is becoming.
And so she joins as many social clubs as possible. She tries her hand at mooting and represents India at MUNA. She also joins the dance team, but it only serves as a reminder of the glaring absence in her life - dancing brings back too many memories of her friends, of Swayum and it weakens her drive, her resolve to succeed against all odds.
An opportunist by nature, Sharon wants to make the most of this experience. She is always early to her classes, and the last to leave. Night after night, she lies awake so that she can read ahead. She survives on an average of four hours of sleep per night and only eats apples and two minute mi-goreng. She has neither the time nor the skills to cook herself a meal. She does not have any time to waste because the harder she works, the quicker she graduates and the sooner she can be with Swayum.
Her dedication to her studies pays off when half-way through first term she catches the eye of her corporate finance lecturer. He appreciates her keen eye for detail, her consistent effort and top marks. When he offers her the opportunity to be his research assistant, Sharon accepts gladly. The new responsibility adds onto to her already heavy workload, but she works diligently and seems to flourish even more under the pressure.
Six months into her degree, Sharon is offered a paid internship at Barclays, in the investment banking division. She has glowing reviews from all her lecturers and special recommendations from her social committees, which gets her through the doors at many prestigious firms, but she settles for nothing less than the best. The work is both thrilling and challenging. It is difficult for a woman to survive in her industry and so Sharon works harder than the rest to create an impression. Resolutely ignoring the passes and the propositions directed at her, she works part-time and studies full-time, attending night classes after work.
By August, Sharon lands her first big client - a Fortune 500 company specialising in telecommunications. Her shrewd investment strategy earns six million pounds in pure profit for her company. As a token of appreciation, Sharon is rewarded a massive twenty per cent commission on the deal, of which she does not even spend a cent. Instead, she saves the money, hoping that it will accumulate interest. Someday in the future, she may be able to use the money as capital to start her own business.
On the last day of October, Sharon graduates Egregia cum laude with a gold medal. As she watches the happy families celebrating after the ceremony, she suddenly feels terribly alone. There are couples kissing outside in the garden, families posing together with graduates and teachers while she stands alone on the stage and watches. Here she is, the topper of her batch, the person who should be the happiest today - alone, miserable and tired to the bone.
She has not spoken to her mother in two years, and her father is in Dubai for a conference. She does not even have any friends to celebrate with. She has met many people, built networks and made countless connections - but in the process, she has forgotten to make friends. In that moment, she terribly misses Simmi, and Rey. And Sara.
And Swayum. But she has never stopped missing Swayum.
So when all the job offers start flooding her inbox, she does not even bother reading them. She gets called for an interview at HSBC and is offered a permanent position as an investment banker at Barclays. The salary is enormous, and the added scope for commission exceeds all expectations. But accepting these would mean staying in London. Staying away from Swayum.
She doesn't have to think twice when she rejects the offers and books the first available flight to Mumbai. She has had enough of the loneliness, of these forced distances.
Sharon closes her eyes, as if it will help erase the pain, but grief is an immurement of sorts.
"Sharon?" Swayum prompts again, concerned and curious, "how was your year?"
"Good," she finally replies. "My year was ...good." What more can she say? It was her decision to leave and her ego will never let her admit that perhaps, a year apart did more harm, than it did good.
"You majored in Finance and Corporate Strategy, right?" Swayum presses, hoping for more answers. The monosyllabic replies are not cutting it for him.
"Yes," she nods, fiddling with her phone, avoiding meeting his eyes. She knows she will give away too much, if she lets him see her. He will see right through and she cannot take his pity or his concern.
"So you're a banker now?"
"Actually, I'm an investment banker," she corrects him with a slight smile. "I specialise in mergers and acquisitions, and private equity."
"That's great," he smiles weakly, looking hesitant, "Do you enjoy it?"
"I do," she replies confidently, honestly. "I do very much."
"More than you love dancing?"
She does not reply and in her hesitation, he finds her answer. Sharon can never love anything more than dancing. A strong surge of relief rushes through him, but it is paired with something akin to despair. If dancing is her passion, then how can she possibly survive without it?
For a moment, she feels the lines begin to blur. For a second, she wonders if he is asking about where her future belongs, or where her heart lies. She has come to associate her love for dance, with her feelings for Swayum. To her, dance is synonymous to Swayum, and so when he questions her choices, she feels as though he doubts her love for him.
It stings more than it should.
When the shock wears off, her focus shifts to a far deeper concern. While the question throws her off guard, she is still astute enough to know that he is not seeking insight into her. He knows her better than she knows herself and thus, he is not questioning her - he is interrogating himself.
Guilt and remorse strike her speechless, as she begins to comprehend the layers of devastation, he is hiding from the world. Without dance, Swayum is nothing. He is not born for the daily routine office life. He is born to dance - to be creative. Not doing what he loves, must be killing him inside. His anguish is as clear as day to her, but she does not know what to say to make it better.
It is the choices they have made that have led them to this point. She makes more mistakes than she can count, but she does not know how to be sorry. She only knows how to move forward. Swayum, on the other hand, has a tendency to dwell upon his mistakes and let them eat away at him.
When their eyes meet from across the table, she looks away first. "I heard about the academy," she murmurs sadly, squeezing his hand gently.
"It wasn't the same without you," he breathes. I wasn't the same without you, he thinks. His macchiato burns his mouth, but it hardly bothers him. He's discovered that he has somehow become desensitized to pain. "I joined the family business."
"I know," she replies softly. Just because she was not speaking to him during her time away, it does not mean, she hasn't checked up on him. Through various sources, (namely Simmi and Sara), she has kept herself updated. She knows that the academy sank fast - that their friends are all searching for new beginnings. She knows when Swayum joins Shekhawat Industries. She also knows when he turns down an offer to move to London.
When she first hears the news, it hurts. It feels like a direct rejection - deliberate and maddening, like he is sending her a message. She fumes for days and pretends that she does not cry. After a while, she realises that there is no one to see her tears, no one to see her weak and so she can cry as openly as she wants without fear of being caught. Then eventually, she thinks that he does not even know that she knows about his life, his decisions - how can he be doing this to hurt her? She still does not understand why he refused to move. But the anger, the sadness has somewhat faded. At least she thinks it has, until she remembers the confusion, the longing she felt when she heard that there was the slightest possibility that he might visit her. She remembers how much it hurt when he didn't.
The throbbing ache in her chest tells her that the wounds have reopened, and she thinks, perhaps they have never healed at all.
Swayum watches Sharon, as she stares off into the distance, quiet and thoughtful. Even though she is here with him, she seems to be miles away. Her Americano is growing cold, but she seems unbothered as she drinks it slowly, maybe, Swayum thinks that she does not even notice. When he reaches out to her, to bring her back to reality, she pulls away quickly.
"Thanks for lunch, Swayum. Maybe we can meet up sometime this week." She says abruptly, reaching for her hand bag.
There she is again. Unpredictable, impulsive Sharon, who often burns everything in her way in her fit of rage, only to realise, she has burnt herself the most. She often wins; she is sure she will win today but as always, her victory will be pyrrhic, because she will have lost him in the process. She has to leave, before she loses herself to the anger and sadness and says things, she will perpetually regret.
As he watches her gather her things, Swayum feels his heart sink. He often thinks that he is losing her, but now he worries that he has never had her in the first place. "Stay," he pleads. "Just a little longer."
"I'm sorry," she says laconically. "My driver is on his way. He'll take my luggage home. You don't have to bother."
"Where are you going then?" He asks perplexed. Her answer hints at more ambiguity and it frustrates him more than it intrigues him.
"I have to drop by at Credit Suisse to grab some official paperwork," she replies without thinking, busily rummaging through her handbag.
His frown deepens in confusion, "at Credit Suisse?"
There is a slight pause, as Sharon looks up at him then, unsure and tentative. "I'm the new Head of Corporate Affairs at the Mumbai branch."
"You've found a job," he is stuck between being impressed and wary. He tries not to wonder whether she received the offer before or after she decided to return home.
"I spoke to an agent just after I received my results," Sharon explains softly. "She had me send my transcript along with my references and CV. Last night HR at Credit Suisse contacted me with a job offer as a senior executive. We had a phone interview and I accepted. That's all there is to it."
"I'm happy for you, Sharon," he says after a pause, deciding that he does not want to know which decision led to the other. He is simply glad that she is home. "Let's celebrate," Swayum declares with determination. There is a hopeful glint in his eyes when he says, "have dinner with me."
"I can't," she says apologetically. "I've promised to have dinner with Papa and Sara tonight. Papa's visiting from New York just to see us."
But Swayum is nothing if not persistent. "Okay, how about tomorrow night?"
"Simmi's organised a homecoming party for me. I'm sure I'll see you there." This time the brush off is blatantly intentional. It is not that she does not want to spend time with him. She does - more than anything, but just being with him, in this moment, reminds her of all the pain and heartache she has suffered - of false expectations and impossible longings.
She will not tell him that every single day that she has been away from him; she has hoped and prayed that one day, she will open the door to find him standing there. That he will kiss her on her doorstep and take her home with him. And she knows that she would give up everything she has worked so hard for, in a heartbeat. But that moment never comes.
"Sharon, we are still in a relationship aren't we?" Swayum asks bluntly. He has had enough of dancing around the question. He wishes he never had to ask it in the first place, but everything about her hints at denial and it eats away at him.
"You tell me," her reply burns with her defiance. She is sick and tired of being put on the spot, for always having to make all the decisions.
"Are you really asking me that Sharon?" He scoffs at her in disbelief. "You've always called the shots in this relationship. You've always made the decisions. I'm only here for the ride." As soon as he says it, he knows he has crossed a line, but for once he does not regret it. He needs answers today, and he won't back down from a fight.
She knows she should be offended, but she isn't. Distracted by the quiet fire burning in his eyes, Sharon takes a moment to reflect upon the course of their relationship. More often than not, she has been the one to make all the decisions. She despises inaction and he has never stepped up to the table. She often wonders why, but inside she already knows the answer. He loves her - too much, one might argue. He lets her get away with anything and everything, out of pure love. She cannot expect time or distance to wear down his love for her. His love is the eternal sort, the unconditional kind and she knows that no matter, what she says and however angry she might be with him - she loves him too.
With that realisation weighing upon her shoulders, Sharon decides that she should extend the olive branch this time. She is great at making decisions, but terrible at bridging gaps and yet she will try her best, because Swayum deserves her honesty. Therein, she thinks to approach it a little lightly, for the atmosphere is far too serious for two lovers to reconnect.
"I've been propositioned sixteen times in the last twelve months," Sharon informs him without preamble. She doesn't include the many times, men have asked for her number.
"Why have you kept count?" He demands accusatorily. His arms are crossed over his chest and he is looking mildly miffed.
"I'm good with numbers," Sharon jokes wryly, "but that's beside the point."
"Is there a point to this conversation?" Swayum scowls indignantly. He has no interest in sitting here and listening to the number of occasions his girlfriend has been accosted by her never-ending array of admirers. He stubbornly believes that he is not jealous - only that his stomach sinks at the thought of Sharon being with another man. He might also want to tear said hypothetical man from limb to limb, but that is also beside the point.
Watching his grim expression, Sharon pushes a little more, just because he looks even more endearing with his mouth pursed with envy. "I've met so many handsome, intelligent men in the last year, but none of them have appealed to me."
"No?" he scoffs, sounding sceptical.
"No," she smiles patiently, "because none of them were you."
There is honesty shining in her eyes as she smiles at him with assurance and affection radiating from every ounce of her being. And just like that, all the walls between them collapse in a heap of ruins. It only takes one look to understand that the storm has passed and the time has come to rebuild their homes and their lives - together.
"You stopped calling," he says softly.
"Then why didn't you start?" She fires back.
Sighing heavily, Swayum runs his hands through his hair. "We're really messed up, aren't we?"
"We're both stupid," she corrects him frankly. "Love makes us to do stupid things."
They grin at each other now, both feeling stupid, but incredibly happy to be back together, in tandem.
"So, you love me, huh?" Swayum asks cheekily, breaking the quiet moment.
Sharon rolls her eyes, "I am not even going to dignify that with an answer."
He grins at her smugly, obviously proud for having caught her out. She responds with a dangerous smirk of her own.
Slipping off her navy Louboutins, Sharon lets her bare feet rub up against his leg under the table. Slowly, gently teasing. She watches with amusement as his eyes darken with ill-concealed desire.
He groans. "What are you doing?"
"What I've wanted to do, for a good twelve months now," she whispers devilishly, eyes glittering at the prospect of having him so close and ready, after so long of wanting him . Trailing a perfectly manicured fingernail slowly up his arms, and over his chest, Sharon traces the letters of her name against his heart.
He groans again, deep and guttural as Sharon presses her toes against his inner thigh. "Play footsie with me?" He manages to choke out.
"Getting what I want," she breathes fire against his mouth now, tempting him with the slightest of brushes, only to pull away just as he leans in.
But he is far quicker than she predicts, snatching her wrist in his firm grip and turning her swiftly to have her pressed against the glass balcony balustrade and his hard, lean body. He nudges her long nose with his, making her chuckle.
"And Sharon always gets what Sharon wants doesn't she?" Swayum laughs deep, huskily as he wraps his arms around her tightly, her lithe figure moulding against him.
"You're damn right, she does." She has to have the last word no matter what, and with that, her slow seduction burns to its peak as she presses her mouth against his.
He kisses back, slowly, softly, sweetly, letting her take charge. He will go, wherever she will lead him. He simply enjoys the moment - basking in the warmth, the joy that he feels. At one point, he used to worry that he may never feel her so close to him ever again. That he might never feel her soft skin, or the reassurance of her small hand in his. The tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he holds her closer still, her head in his hands as he guides her mouth back to his for sweet kiss, after kiss.
"I'm so glad to have you back," he says between kisses, so close that their eyelashes flutter against each other.
Her heart soars with happiness, as the pain and heartache of the past year seems to melt away. It is all worth it. Every moment of their separation is worth it, as it has accumulated to this moment.
It does not matter where she is, as long as she is with him.
He is her home.
Sharon smiles against his mouth. "It's good to be home."
comment:
p_commentcount