You Don't Care

I guess you didn’t care, and I guess I liked that- I knew you were trouble.

It was Jalal who had informed Ajabdeh about Pratap’s breakup, and for the entire evening, she found it hard to concentrate on her studies. As she moved from her place for the umpteenth time, making Heer frown at her disapprovingly for distracting her, Ajabdeh got up from her seat and silently walked up to the window. Rain clouds had gathered on the horizon, almost hiding the setting sun, and she could hear them roar in the distance. Her eyes travelled from the horizon to the rustling of leaves in the old royal poinciana tree that stood right beside her window and finally further left to the edge of the pool, which was barely visible from her angle. She spotted his silhouette in the light of the dusk, as he seemed to sit on the edge of the pool, hugging his knees, his eyes fixed on the water. At that moment, Ajabdeh wished he didn’t know about her feelings so that she could approach him with some words of consolation. Shakti always said she was good with words. Heer eyed her standing by the windowsill and cleared her throat. 

“Don’t you have anything to study?” She said, at last making Ajabdeh nod and turn to walk back to her study table. Although the sisters weren’t quite as close as to discuss their love lives, Heer could always sense Ajabdeh’s inclination towards Pratap. From the moment Shakti informed her about Pratap’s breakup, she kept a keen eye on her otherwise emotional sibling, almost worrying that she would start daydreaming about the impossible again. But Ajabdeh wore a concerned frown on her face all day. The sound of a conversation made Heer peep through her bedside window this time around, and she said almost to herself, “Oh, good! Jalal Bhaijaan is there with Dadabhai.” Ajabdeh looked up at her words and stopped chewing the end of the pencil, which she had now discoloured. A part of her was relieved that Jalal heard her plea and was there to be with his best friend.

“He has not eaten a bite since yesterday evening.” Ajabdeh was in Shakti’s room, adding her creative touch to his class project, when she overheard Jaivanta sounding worried as she talked to her mother over the phone. “I don’t know what is wrong, Maasa. I tried talking to him… You are right, someone should talk to him… someone his age? No, I don’t trust Shakti.” Nanisa suggested she make his favourite food, and Jaivanta complained that she had already tried it. “He is in his room all day.” Ajabdeh looked up at Shakti, who had his noise-cancelling headphones on, listening to music while he went through a recently bought Comic. Ajabdeh hurried with her work and gestured to Shakti that she had finished it, getting up to leave.

Ajabdeh walked past the closed door of Pratap’s room and stopped. For a moment, she was unsure and almost critical of herself for thinking about his well-being. He never cared to ask her how she was doing, even when she was sick. She was aware he did ask Shakti, though. What was the worst that could happen if she did knock on his door? He would perhaps be rude, like he always was. Ajabdeh walked up to the door and promptly knocked on it twice. There was no sound as she turned the doorknob and peeped into the dark room. The curtains were drawn, and even at midday, no sunlight came into the room. He was lying on the couch, watching something on Netflix on the screen hanging from the wall opposite the couch. Ajabdeh walked in promptly with confidence, her heart beating a thousand miles per hour in her chest as she tugged at the blinders, and immediately the room was flooded by sunlight. Pratap winced, displeased, getting up from his position as he spotted her silhouette first against the blinding light.

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounded less annoyed than she expected. Ajabdeh heaved a sigh.

“Ranima is worried sick.” She carefully avoided looking at his sleepless figure with his hair dishevelled as he frowned some more. “Go and talk to her and eat something!”

“Go away. Nobody asked for your suggestions.” He shook his head and turned the volume up on the movie. Ajabdeh stared at him, bags under his eyes visible from sleepless nights, and he looked weaker. Worse, he was still in the same shirt she saw him in at a fest. It's been two days. A part of her wanted to ask him what happened, and another knew it would be deemed inappropriate. What annoyed her was that he was acting as if his world had crumbled and he was the first to experience heartbreak. She, for one, no matter how emotional or romantic she was, could never put anyone over herself. Yes, she had her share of pain and tears, but she stopped well before she reached any point of self-destruction. He looked like he was some sort of criminal and that he was guilty of something. Ajabdeh couldn’t quite place that with heartbreak. She cleared her throat and boldly stood between him and the screen.

“Just go and talk to her once. She is worried sick. It is not the end of the world, you know?” Ajabdeh’s frown was something he saw for the first time. Her tone was almost disapproving of his ways, and Pratap was slightly taken aback at how easily she used that tone on him, even when they barely interacted. It was like a part of her had some unsaid right to point out his mistakes, and it bothered him to the core. Truth be said, ever since Samaira left, what haunted him more was what she said she observed and implied about him, rather than the fact that she was no longer in his life. He had sat on the seat in front of his mirror for most of the night, staring at his reflection blankly as Samaira’s words haunted him. Could it be true? If it were, assuming for the sake of argument that it was, it wouldn’t do away with any complexities but rather increase them twofold. And Ajabdeh? If he was so hurt and confused, how much hurt had he inflicted on her? He never intended to. He just wished their equations were simpler. It’s been two years; she should have moved on. He looked up at her face again, her brows narrowed, eyes smaller as she stared at him suspiciously. Could she see through him? 

“It is not the end of the world,” Ajabdeh repeated, unsure whether he heard her the first time around.

“Yeah? What do you know?” Pratap retorted, irked, almost in a reflex, getting up to face her. He could see the sunlight illuminate one side of her face, her brown eyes and blackish brown hair appearing a shade lighter on one side of her face. Ajabdeh’s heart skipped a beat as she could see his face turn to instant regret as he mouthed the words. Was he showing her some pity? Her jaws tightened.

“You are right, I don’t know.” She said firmly. “But the last thing I will do is hurt others with my problems, especially my mother.” She strode out of the room, leaving Pratap standing there for a moment as he observed her shaking her head, almost as if to disregard his helplessness as hopelessness. Ajabdeh was almost at the threshold of the house when she heard him call out to his mother.

“Ranima, I am hungry.” A relieved smile appeared on the corner of her lips as she walked across the pool area back home.