Lots of Love & Bits of War

I lunged and grabbed his hand while we walked towards his place, as per our usual routine. He was already a few paces ahead of me and the force of my pull forced him to skid to a sudden stop, “Whoa. What on earth?” and he glanced back at my hand still gripping his. Next, he shifted his line of sight up, towards my face. His half-confused and half-startled expression propelled my lips to smile and he returned my smile with his trademark grin before my failing nerves flattened my lips linear. Stepping closer to me, he extended his right hand to my face, when I ducked out of his reach and stepped backward, which is contrary to how I would have normally reacted. Sensing the almost tangible oddity between us, he persistently stepped forward and dabbed at my forehead. “What’s wrong? You, okay?” he asked, as he held up the two fingers, he used to dab me. His concern laced the tone of his voice and his thick black brows scrunched together. His fingers were glistening wet with what must have been my sweat. Instinctively, the palm of my hand went to my forehead to confirm my thoughts, and, lo and behold, the beads of sweat were indeed rolling from my hairline, down my forehead, and onto my raised brows. Unwilling to allow my sweat to rain into my kohl-lined eyes, I fumbled for the pack of tissue in my bag but as he so thoughtfully produced his favourite chequered blue hankie from his pocket, I quickly snatched it. Ungraciously I dabbed the poor piece of cloth on my face. If this was an anthropomorphic hankie, it would have definitely sued me for harassment and won the legal suit too. My nervous system has always let me down in my moments of dire need. Nothing new there. If only my body could show me some mercy, my whole body wouldn’t perspire like a sinner in a church. Even the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet were conspiring against me. Luckily, I donned my sneakers today instead of my sandals. Had I been wearing my sandals I would have slipped down onto the pavement by now. Okay, brain, I chided my core organ. Quit with the stalling, I’m sure he’s waiting for you, no, for me to answer him. Eyes hooded with heightened anxiety, he repeated himself, “What's going on? You’re freaking me out.” Each word was spoken slowly with emphasis on it, as though they were each an individual sentence by themselves. Both his hands were now holding onto both of my upper arms. His eyes were fixed on mine. I can’t backtrack now. I can do this, I convinced myself. Gulping down my nervousness, I stammered, “I uh... I... I... I uh... Umm... I... I...” “Yeah, you. You and you. Get past ‘I’ already, will you? Let me guess. You’re feeling sick? Do I need to get you to the doctor?" he started rambling away as he reached to put the back of his right hand on my forehead, to check my temperature. His gaze no longer held me prisoner and I rushed to say those four words (yeah, that’s right, it’s not the three words, that most sane people would begin a relationship with) that I’ve been meaning to utter for some time now, “Will you marry me?” He jumped to a stop, as though he’d been electrocuted, and his jaw was wide ajar (it would have dropped down literally if it could stretch that far down that is). His brows were shooting up almost reaching for his hairline. His doe-like big round dark chocolate eyes framed with thick black eyelashes were wide open, shock clearly registered in them. I would have laughed out loud if my nerves weren’t jingling with anxiety for his response. He took a few deep breaths, before he replied, “I think I misheard you. Can you repeat that?” I groaned internally. Not exactly the reaction I had hoped for. This so not going the way I dreamed of a proposal throughout my life. I was all game for, at least a handful of romance, a dash of drama, a few drops of tears, and an immeasurable happily ever after. I dared to dream that he might actually gaze into my eyes and say some sort of cheesy line like, “Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting forever” or “Can’t wait to start our happily ever after” or, anything else along those lines while he interlocked his warm fingers with mine. Instead, I got this. At least, he’s not running away flailing his arms, I consoled myself. Feeling rather annoyed, I repeated, “Will you marry me?” His expression got funnier. Wackier. I pressed my lips together, holding my laughter in. Nope. I have to keep a straight face. Otherwise, he might assume that I’m kidding him, and the truth couldn’t be anything but that. This thought, helped me reign myself in. He still seemed unsure. Nervousness heavily decorated his now pale face. His right hand went behind his lean neck and rubbed hard. He opened his mouth to reply when he stopped himself, probably rethinking his words before he replied. He seemed to be struggling with words. I’ve never seen this side of him before. He has always been that jovial and confident guy, who befriended anyone and everyone. The guy whom you could count on to hold the stage and command the undivided attention of the audience. “Shiva,” he said. Instantly, I knew this wasn't going to be good. He hasn’t called me by my given name since we became the best of friends almost a year ago. “You know I don’t think of you like that, right?”, he spoke softly. Before he continued with the same low tone, “You’re my bestie. I’m not sure how you even got this idea.” And he would have continued if I didn’t put both my hands up in the air and added, “Wait. You don’t have to reply now. Take your time. Think this through.” His rejection had rapidly steeled my nerves. Instilling me with my usually unwavering confidence. He shook his head, about to interrupt me but I gushed out with a mixture of amusement and ferocity, “I’m not taking no for an answer. If you don’t agree, I’m just going to have to kidnap you and force you to tie the knot with me”. I knew he knew that I meant business when he appeared startled by my threatening posture before I turned around with a smirk and continued walking toward his place.