Golden. That's how the sunlight was, as it eased in through the window, and fell on the floor, stumbling through the clutter of the room, crawling up the desk, groping for a hold on the bed. The sky outside was a clear blue, with flakes of snow-white clouds strewn across. Dew-drops lounged on the grass-blades, glistening as the rays hopped over them.
Gold, blue, and green; the colours dominated outside, striking up a harmony.
Tranquil. Serene. Peaceful...
"KABIR! If I find you still on that bed, I swear I'll--"
As Parveen Shah rounded the door, her words died in her throat, lodging themselves there. She swallowed.
The woman had a furtive look in her eyes, a look of sheer terror. Her actions were sudden, and her lips had come together as if to stifle a scream. She ran up to the lift and jabbed the call button savagely. The lift had been on the eighth floor, her own. She cursed out loud.
She had to get home, she had to get--
A car entered the parking lot with an ear-splitting screech. His car. She felt her heart thunder against her ribcage. He was here.
She was a woman like no other. Completely out of her mind. She always chose the riskier path. Always. And she revelled in it! It was glorious for her. I haven't met another person like her, who took joy in failing because, "It was just an experiment, after all." A lunatic, I tell you.
But around me, she was totally opposite. Like flipping a coin. Fussy to the point of frustration(fussy is always frustrating, I know). She always looked at me with a suspicious eye, wondering whether I'd been up to any mischief. And as always, I'd disappoint her. But that didn't deter her, oh no! She would be unhappy with me because I wouldn't do anything wrong so that she could fly in as a messiah and set things right. I'd stopped messing things up a long time ago, and she hated me for it. I think she hasn't forgiven me for that even now.
Mir walked slowly, every step sending a strained message to his brain. To stop. To lie down. To give it a rest. It had been a long day, like every other. Mir should relax.
The saner, wiser part of him argued vehemently against those pleas. If he stopped, he wouldn't be able to get back up. And then a kind villager would have to carry him to his shack. He wouldn't be able to bear that sort of humiliation again.
'Freud's Psychoanalysis', I scrawled on the magnificent ruled paper, and paused to allow myself a moment of self-pity. The scrawl looked incredibly ugly on the white sheet, and I almost convinced myself that I shouldn't study. Freud frowned up at me.
The reason behind the 'almost' was the dishevelled creature in front of me, who snapped ferociously if any one of us so much as yawned. Zeenat(as her name suggested, albeit in a different sense altogether), was someone to be handled with care.