She Is
'She is madness, sanity. She is hell and paradise,
She is everything.'
***
Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Madness
'I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand...'
She is a blur of red and green as she whirls through the room, turning his perfectly organized life upside down. It is maddening, but at the same time, delightful in an agreeably chaotic way. It's hard to define.
If only she was black and white. But she isn't.
He often thinks that if people came with a visible aura, hers would be orange. She is like a silent flame burning, steadily, strongly - drawing him in. But he has always been afraid of fire, and so he stays away because he knows that she will eventually burn him. Only when she is gone, he lets himself long for her warmth.
Lately, she has been on his mind a lot.
So when she walks into their dance studio, he is taken aback for a moment. Despite being aware of her arrival, he freezes when she stands at their door like a sinful apparition, here to tempt him into her specific brand of indulgence.
Then she throws herself into his arms, with the enthusiasm of an innocent child. But her soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body is a harsh reminder that she is anything but. She is a woman in every way and he must keep her at arm's length, yet he wants nothing but to indulge in her. Revel in her completely.
Her voice is warm, lilting with sheer excitement as she breathes into his ear, "Shantanu."
His ears grow hot, and he can barely hear his voice over the restless hammering in his chest. To make matters worse, he becomes aware that everyone except Vrushika, notices just how flustered he really is.
As such, he is convinced that it is all part of their nefarious scheme. The crew begs them to dance, the cameras are rolling and so they comply shyly.
Their duet is unrehearsed, but not spontaneous - they cannot be. The fluidity and harmony of their movements is born from years of friendship and physical familiarity. He knows her tells, just as she knows his. When he leads, she follows without thinking and when the roles reverse, he segues effortlessly, not once questioning her motives.
Every touch, every smile is paved with memories and it is difficult not to gravitate towards her, when she is just there within arm's reach. It's the closest they've been in months and it only strikes him then - he has missed this. Missed her.
Burning with impatient, playful energy, Vrushika is radiant under the warm, romantic lighting. The entire mood of the house changes. Everyone watches, enthralled by their display. The crew has never seen their mentor like this. They know Shantanu as the strict, disciplined leader, but the man before them, with his gentle smile and easy eyes, is unknown to them.
When they dance together, his guards are down and everyone can read the tenderness between them. Unknowingly, their touches linger and they lean in closer than they should. They are magnets drawn to each other.
Of course, Vrushika seems to be as oblivious as always. She is caught up in a moment, pleased to be dancing with him once again. She is happy to be in the comfort of his strong arms. She feels safe. He makes her feel safe.
When he hoists her onto his hips, her thin legs wrap around him easily. He tilts her backwards and he feels her arch against him. Then he raises her again and when she comes up, her long hair fails into her face. Without thinking, he reaches out to smooth it away, but she tosses her head back and laughs.
He cannot help but laugh himself. He wonders if it has always been like this. Tries to remember if her laughter has always made him smile. Did she always make his heart beat so irrationally? He stares at her and wonders if she feels the same.
But of course, she doesn't seem to understand and he does not expect any less from her.
Her skin is still as soft and smooth as he remembers, and from his vantage point, he can once again count the sprinkle of freckles lining her cheek. He can feel the warmth of her supple flesh softer, silkier than her maroon cashmere sweater, clinging to her chest like a second skin. Desperately, he wills himself not to stare.
Instead focusing on the warm chocolate of her eyes, so nave and unassuming. Her long, aristocratic nose that he endlessly makes fun of, and the small, pouty mouth, curled up at the corners. He wants to touch it with his fingertips, but he stops himself.
She parts first, when Maccy, overwhelmed by nostalgia bolts past them and grips their friends into a tight hug. Instantly tearful, Vrushika's hands slip out of his and for a moment he is lost. He stares at his suddenly empty hand and realises with a heavy heart, something is not right.
***
Later, he watches her furtively as she laughs at the jokes his crewmates make. Off-screen, away from the cameras, the boys are taken with her. Once the threat of her being a new participant is removed, the boys flit about like the moths to her flame. It bothers him more than it should, but he keeps quiet. He knows better than to box her into a corner.
Vrushika lacks eloquence. She has a tendency to ramble, and gets caught up and lost in her own words. But her silences are almost epiphanic; they speak volumes and her eyes have mastered their own vocabulary. She says so much without saying anything at all.
And so, when he paces unnecessarily in front of her only to catch her eye - he is left extremely disappointed when she not only ignores him, but carries about laughing. Not even a glance is spared his way.
It infuriates him. Only mere hours ago, she was crying in his arms. Shedding tears of longing for what ifs and could haves and now, she is smiling and laughing with a group of strangers, who should mean nothing to her.
The entire scene leaves a sour taste in his mouth and he seethes quietly in a corner.
From across the room, Sam smiles at him knowingly.
"Let her be wild," she whispers gently, later while he silently sulks at dinner. "Let her be free, and at the end of the day, she will always come back to you."
Shantanu rolls his eyes at her inane need to be philosophical. There is no need for such earth shifting gravity, but she has the irritating habit of examining everyone under a microscope.
Unlike Vrushika - who knows exactly when to push and exactly when to give him space.
Much later that night, after all the cameras are off and their guards are down - the group is up and dancing again. It's what they do best, and tonight, with even more spirit as Vrushika beams under the spotlight.
From a distance, Shantanu shakes his head when Vrushika beckons him toward the dancing crowd, and a fleeting thought overwhelms him.
The lines between them are blurring. They are stumbling steadfast into unchartered territory and he is unsure of whether they are even ready for it.
Slim hips sway to the beat, her fluffy maroon sweater riding up to bare tantalizing, creamy skin - he desperately tries to look away, but he can't. As Vrushika dances, wild with abandon - long hair bouncing, skin glowing under the light, Shantanu watches mesmerised.
He thinks about her. Really thinks.
She's zany and moody but her laughter is infectious. She is overly sensitive and often too dramatic, but it only adds to her charm. More often than not, she does not know what to say, but on those rare occasions when she speaks from her heart - he realises there is a wealth of thought and emotion that makes her the person she is.
She is anything but perfect, but that knowledge alone can never really quell the absurd attraction he feels for her. It confuses him and grips him at the same time. The more he tries to escape that feeling, the harder it hits him in the face.
Turning away from the lights, and the pounding party music, he finds himself in the peace and quiet of the closed balcony. Even though they are separated by glass now, his eyes still search for her instinctively.
At one of Maccy's pathetic jokes, his muse, throws her head back and laughs heartily. Intrigued, Shantanu admires her long, slender swan-like neck and the shapely line of her shoulders. The yearning to map her skin with his fingers, grows stronger until he cannot bear to watch her silently from afar.
And so he flees without a second look.
In the dark recesses of his bedroom, he sits with his back against the locked door and stares at his hands. Why do they crave to touch her? He stares at them, mutely demanding answers.
He is tied to her in a way that he can't explain and it scares him. The uncertainty, the anticipation overwhelms him. Thoughts of her, make him crazy. For the first time in his life, he feels as though he has lost his footing and he knows nothing for sure.
Except for one thing.
If imperfection really is beauty and madness is truly genius, then he cannot help but think, that she is madness.
***
A/N: Lyrics are from Keane's, 'Somewhere Only We Know'
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