For a moment I froze. As if I had misheard what she had just said.
“Wait what?” I asked in dismay.
“I want to steal his shiny PS4.” She said cooly while rolling her eyes. Those pearls carried an immense amount of coolness of an ocean,but deep down that ocean was a fire raging.
“Why would you do that? You want a PS4 that bad?” I asked, more confused than in shock.
Her expressions remained constant, as if her face was a portrait with a staggering amount of details.
“I do.” She said.
I couldn't think of anything to say to her. I was talking to the most bizzare girl who seemed like a runaway, dressed up as a rich kid, sipped strawberry shakes at odd hours and was apparently here to steal a PS4 from a game parlour. Not everyday you stumble upon such a queer personality.
A hauntingly beautiful silence invaded the space between our bodies, a cold breeze followed it afterward with tiny droplets of rain on our shoulders. It had started drizzling.
She spoke first.
“Tell me K, do you think passion is overrated?” Her gaze penetrated straight into my soul, I felt vulnerable and naked, goosebumps enveloped my body not because of the rising cold in the air, but because of the coldness of her aura.
“I…, no. Passion is not overrated. I think it’s the most important thing a person needs to be alive. To be able to breathe, and to be able to feel are two different things, and you need immense passion for the latter. Else you’re just a dead meat in this ever constant world.” I said, looking straight into her eyes.
She smiled. I could see her flawed teeth hiding behind the braces she wore. Her smile was weirdly satisfying, Like a cold shower on an early summer morning. Terrifying at first, exhilarating later.
“Now you know why I need to steal it?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.
I didn’t say anything. The rain picked up. I somehow knew it was going to be another downpour like the other night. We had to get out of there. Stealing could wait.
“I...am not sure yet. We need to get out of here first though,it's going to be raining cats and dogs at any moment. My apartment is nearby if you would like to come and explain to me in detail all the bizarre shit you have just told me.” I said, breaking eye contact.Somehow I couldn’t invite her to my place by looking straight into her eyes, I had a feeling she would sense the nervousness in me. Maybe she already had.
“Sure.” She said, grinning. “Lead the way.”
We started walking, my apartment was barely a 5 minutes walk yet this fate changing journey felt immensely long. As if someone had slowed down everything this world had to offer by four times the normal rate. No words of whispers between us wasn’t helping either.
The family that lived on the ground floor was thankfully away. I wouldn’t have wanted to attract their attention by inviting this strange looking girl to my apartment. I was pretty sure the aunty would have called the land lord first thing in the morning, complaining that I had brought in another person and finished all the stored water. As if people only came to take showers at my place. It was weird how people’s way of looking at you could be defined by a single mere attribute like water. Ironically, water was everywhere, but not one that could be used to take shower or do the dishes.
As soon as I unlocked the front door, a mild stench of beer reached our noses.
“Shit, I must have left the beer cans on the floor again.”
“I see, somebody has been pouring down alcohol rather than H2O.” She said teasingly.
I flushed.
“Sorry I’ll just clean it up.”
I switched on the lights in the lobby and the bedroom as she checked out my ordinary, cream coloured apartment. I told her to sit on the bed as I cleaned the floor and lit the mosquito repellent machine.
Just as I expected, it had started to rain heavily, as if all the clouds had suddenly started crying together, letting out the emotions of long by days, or even months or years. There was no stopping there. The ceiling of my lobby had started leaking in a uniform manner, one drop every now and then, I placed a bucket to collect the water which I could later use for my cooler.
“So you mean the mansion that you have been seeing in your dreams is Gothic?” She asked, leaning against the bean bag on the floor. Her left hand fooling around with her hair as if trying to unravel the mystery of those curls.
I told her about the crazy dreams I had been having lately, for some reason I thought telling her was the right thing to do. We hadn’t yet discussed the heist she was planning, who she really was, why she was here, why she wanted the PS4 so far. But for some reason I didn’t feel the need to know about these things.
“It sure seems like one.” I said.
“You mean the ones from the 13th Century?” She asked, her eyes seemed much more focused than before. How brightly they shone even in this dimly lit bedroom.
“Ah yeah. I’m not completely sure. All I know is that it looks gothic. And it’s not a replica of those classic European Architectures, like the Prague Castle or the Notre Dame.
“The Notre Dame,” She said, rolling her eyes.
“ Hey does that mansion in your dream have flying buttress?” She asked suddenly, her big bright eyes twinkling like a pearl.
“A flying what?”
“ A buttress is a structure that is built against another structure to strengthen or support it.” She explained earnestly.
“A flying buttress on the other hand, is something like a slanted version of a buttress. How do I explain it in words? Umm you remember climbing the Notre Dame in Assassin’s Creed Unity? There were slanted structures that you could slide off.”
“Ah yeah I believe I remember that.” I said fuzzily, going down the faded memory of four-five years ago. I wasn’t surprised at how little memory I had retained from those days. It seemed as though somebody took a tiny eraser that could easily fit inside my brain and erased all that was there before I woke up everyday. I suddenly felt like those Androids from Detroit:Become Human. But then even those Androids ‘found’ themselves by the time the credits rolled.
“Here, let me show you.” She said while getting up from the bean bag as she came and swiftly sat beside me on the bed.
Her hair left a faint smell of the shampoo she once used.Must have been quite a while back I wondered. The more I took it in, the more I felt dizzy. As if I was being pulled towards her from an imaginary string, string of fate, towards the mysteries her heart held.
“Hey you with me?” She asked,seeing me doze off someplace which was not here.
“Uh yeah.” I said, looking at the pictures she showed me.
“Of course, I have seen them in the game.I performed air assassinations countless times while jumping from those platforms.” I said smirking, hoping she wouldn’t read my thoughts from a minute back.
“Me too.” She said excitedly, to my relief, she stood up and went back to the bean bag that lay motionless exactly where she left it. I sometimes wondered what would happen if these materialistic things we owned carried an emotion of themselves as well. Would the world be a better place?
Or perhaps an even shadier version of what it was now?
“There were always at least two of those stupid guards just below that flying buttress structure. Double Air assassination always felt such a soothing and a holy process.” She said with a smirk of her own.
Only god knew whether she was a sadist in real life as well.
I smiled as a cold breeze enveloped my chest. Goosebumps wrapped my entire body. I felt getting inside the bedsheet was the best option I had at that moment.
“So you’re interested in history?” I asked,peeking my head out as the rest of my body lay wrapped in an invisibility cloak.
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“Sure, that much I had figured out when I saw you wearing that Ezio pullover the other day. But most people don’t get into Assassin’s Creed because of history but because it looks like a fun game.” I said.
“Well it was opposite for me.” She said.
“I was interested in history first, then I stumbled upon AC, and then there was no going back. Like a flowing river, I jumped on it, with no life jacket to save me if I started to drown, I had to save myself.
“And the river led you here?” I asked.
“You can say that.” She said while shrugging.
“You know I wasn’t really interested in History when I was in school.” She continued.
“The assholes of a teachers back then made it sound obnoxiously boring.”
“That’s because it ain’t the real history they teach us there.” I said, getting out of the bedsheet. I suddenly started feeling warm. The polarizing emotions that was sucking my mind was not comprehensible.
“What do you mean?” She asked curiously.
“History is a collection of facts right, one person’s reality?” I asked her. She waved her hands in a confused state.
“See reality can be deceiving. How can you believe everything that is written down in the books? Sure some of the facts seem tantalizing. But others outright bizarre. I have no reason to accept them. They may be true, but at the end whatsoever is written depends upon the nature and the reality that person was living in, the one who had written.”
She continued to look at me with the utmost attention, her eyes seemed hazy as if she was trying to recall something.
“ There’s not a concrete narrative about history. Everyone’s depiction is different. What if a racist wrote about the Industrial Revolution? People will believe his words because they were obviously not there to witness it themselves right?”
I continued,” I believe more of the history where art is involved. Rest everything is just war and politics toned down in a fashion preferred by the ones who wrote it.
She stayed silent for a moment. Probably trying to take in what I had just said. Her fringes kept bothering her eyebrows, like a toddler disturbing her mother every now and then.
“French Revolution or Industrial Revolution?” She asked suddenly while looking straight at me.
“Industrial no doubt. I think London suffered a more darker period than let’s say Paris,which I like to think reflected more of the cultural side of the country. Also Industrial Revolution seems more believable to me.” I said.
“Care to explain how?” She asked. “As far as I remember, France underwent a similar dark period and that seems pretty believable to me.Thousands of people died, Bastille was destroyed.”
“No, I meant dark as in artistically dark. Ah how do I explain this.” I murmured, thinking of a way to explain to her why exactly one fascinated me more than the other.
“Do you know about the story of Jack the Ripper?” I asked.
“No, but I think I might have heard it somewhere.” she said, looking at me with those cat eyes.
“Hey do you mind if I sit on the bed? It feels kind of cold down here.” She said suddenly.
“Uh-sure why not.” I said nervously as she swiftly made her way into my bed, my bed which wasn’t exactly big enough for two people to spread their arms comfortably.
Fortunately I didn’t have to worry about that much as she curled up in one corner like the cat she was, barely taking any space.
I looked outside the window of the room, the rain wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Pouring down as if it was the final hour of the universe, as if the world was going to be non existent tomorrow morning. It rained in such an unprecedented manner.
Aside the rainfall, it was strangely quiet, if it wasn’t for this downpour, other people living next to me could easily hear our voices. I suddenly felt an incredible sense of warmth towards this rain. It was acting as our guardian angel, not to mention the coldness it brought along with it. It seemed though everything and everyone had a different sense of showing affection, the act of coldness was also one such way.
“So you were saying?” She asked, breaking my illusion.
“Umm yeah. Jack the Ripper,” I fumbled.” He was the most infamous serial killer of the late 19th century.
“He was active during the same time when the revolution was in full swing. Just like most of the serial killers, his victims were a specific group of people. They were all prostitutes. And I think all the murders took place in and around White Chapel.”
“What’s interesting is that nobody ever saw him in person. He was active for a certain amount of time period, from 1888 to I believe somewhat till 1891. And then he just vanished, like a ghost. Maybe he met his redemption, maybe he died, maybe he accomplished what he wanted to or maybe something entirely different? Who knows, that’s the beauty of his existence, not that I’m saying that what he did was a sane thing to do. The man was a murderer for all we knew. But you get what I’m trying to say right?” I asked.
“That is interesting.” She said with a thoughtful look on her face. “But what does it take away from French?”
“Nothing.” I said,”It’s just stories like these make the revolution in London much more believable and interesting.”
I looked at her, curled up in that corner, she looked like a rough diamond, hidden away midst the darkness of the world.
“I’ll go pour down some coffee.” I said while getting up. “Do you want some?”
“Uh-huh.” She said without moving an inch.
“I’ll consider that a yes.” I said as I went to the kitchen.
The rain continued to shower us with its coolness. The lobby of my apartment was already soaked, the ceilings weren’t as leak proof as I expected. Sighing I went to boil some water.
My heart was surprisingly calm throughout all of this. I had a mystifyingly beautiful girl in my bedroom. She looked like a runaway, there must be all sorts of people searching for her, I didn’t even know her name, all I knew was that she loved history, was obsessed with video games, liked to drink strawberry shakes and apparently curling up like a cat in other people’s bed as if she owned them. But somehow none of these made me tense. I felt immensely contented for hiding a runaway girl in my crumbling apartment.
“Hey I brought something that would make us warm, I-” I said as I entered the bedroom only to find her languidly napping away peacefully. Her face covered up in her jacket, her hands shying behind that red velveteen blanket, the only thing I could see was her astonishingly straight nose and her meticulously crafted small lips.
Keeping the coffee into the fridge, I switched off all the lights and lied on the bed. She was inches away from me yet my heart was calmer than the darkest of woods at night. Instead of thumping away in excitement, it was at peace, as if it had found its twin.
I closed my eyes, wanting to distract myself from the situation I was currently in, hoping to draw myself away from the reality of this world and jump away into the reality of another. But as I was trying my hardest to do that, I felt something incredibly soft, something that shut off the gates to the illusionary world I was trying to find in my mind and threw me back, very gently to the real world.
I didn’t open my eyes, not even a tinsy tiny bit, for I was worried that such a reality would vanish if I did, and so I lived the most loveliest moment of my life thinking of it as another dream.
We kissed, I don’t remember for how long. I was drawn into a monumental sleep soon after.
To be continued...
Link to chapter IV -
https://shreykatsura.blogspot.com/2019/10/the-many-realities-of-that-rainy-summer_40.html
