A.V

It's warm, but there she is In the corner trying to warm herself. It's another summer night, One that looms softly Until you fall into dream's lap. ​I see her wrapped in a shawl, Still distant. Face and hands pale, With little hint of blood in them, Her breath turning to fog. ​I kneel down, as I whisper, "It's okay, dear." Her hands trembling, Eyes exhausted, Rough hair covering her face. ​My hands move, And recoil from the coldness in hers, Then softly my fingers find themselves Greeting her hesitant ones, Her small, frail ones. ​I can feel her hands calming down. Mine accepting, holding her frozen ones firmly. I feel their twitches, their coldness seeping in, Slowly melting away. Shimmers of life dropping down from her eyes. ​Minutes pass by, hand in hand, sitting across from each other. Small glances and tired smiles are all she passes. In this silence, I can feel her heart pumping away. As I move my hands to grip hers more, I see my fingerprints slowly etc...

The sky's overcast, daylight slowly giving way to dusk. Moving at 50 km/h, from Rishikesh to Narendra Nagar. Me and my father. Swaying from right to left, as the seatbelt hugs me tight. I feel the rubber moving against the asphalt. I hear the wind blowing past, the slow Nepali songs playing in the car. A car bearing the presence of two silent but different humans. I don't know him, but I have witnessed him. Him talking to my cousins, counselling them. Him enjoying movies frantically with my mother. Him insisting on doing everything alone, even as he comes out of an operation and scolds the staff there. I have seen him act childish with my mother, and grow angry at his juniors at work. I have seen him talk about finance and his regrets. But, I don't know him. It's okay, I guess. I don't have to know him. I get to know him. My eyes are fixed outside as the whole city of Rishikesh passes by. We came here to shop. Stopped at a CNG station instead of a petrol pump by mis...