As the river flows

Chapter 12

“Hello”

Silence.

Ankit frowned, pulling the phone away from his ears to peer into the screen. It was an unknown number. Wary, he tried again.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Is anyone there?”

Silence.

Huffing, Ankit pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Alright then, I’m going to keep the call.” Pulling the phone away from his ears, he frowned slightly at the screen, and wondered at the strangeness of it all. His finger hovered over the disconnect button, when the voice crackled up from the speaker urgently, muted and distorted with static.

“Hello?”

With a start, Ankit realized he knew the voice. He would know that damned voice anywhere.

“Hello?” Came the voice again.

With shaking hands and a wildly beating heart, Ankit brought the phone back to his ears. His throat had gone dry. Of all people, he had not expected Matteo Bianchi to be calling him. Especially after the disaster that was the last time they had come face to face.

“Hi,” he bit out, swallowing. His mouth had gone dry, and he suddenly felt distinctly ill at ease. Agitated, he stood up, and shook his hands out, rubbing it against the material of his trousers. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, uh, this is Matteo Bianchi. Um, we met the other day.”

Right. Ankit rolled his eyes. Of course, that is how Matteo would put it. Clearly, that is what happened. They met. Ankit scoffed as he wondered at how Matteo was trivializing the event. What even could he have expected? It’s not like he knew Matteo, and what little he did know, he hardly liked.

“Yes, I remember,” he said, knowing that he was perhaps being colder than came to him naturally. But, he supposed, that he could be forgiven this one time, given the circumstances.

                                                                                               ---

Matteo winced. A minute into the conversation, and he could already feel everything falling apart, with Ankit’s less than enthusiastic greeting doing nothing to bolster his confidence. Regardless, he knew what he had to do. He breathed out through his nose, and decided to simply soldier on.

“Yes, well. I have booked a place for us tomorrow for dinner. Be ready by seven thirty.”

He heard the sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line, and felt his heart drop. Stupid. Why did he have to say it like that?

                                                                                               ---

 It was official. Matteo Bianchi was an asshole. Seriously, who did he think he was? How did he think this was going to go? Did he really expect Ankit to feel grateful and jump at the opportunity to have dinner with him? Ankit felt his anger boil over and he clenched his fists in sheer frustration. This man was going to slowly push him to the edge of sanity.

“Ça va? Did you get that?”

“I think not.” Ankit bit out, through gritted teeth. His patience with this man was already at the end of the rope, and now, this just was too much to bear. What exactly was Matteo thinking? Why was he doing this in the first place? Was this a ploy to humiliate him further?

But, then in a stroke of insight, it occurred to him, that maybe, just maybe, this was Matteo’s insane attempt to make amends. It had to be. Nothing else made any sense. This thought, however, brought him no peace. Instead, he felt his hands shake in rage and the frustration near swallowing him whole. For, if this was indeed the man’s plea for forgiveness, it was misguided at best and downright insulting at worst.

“Quoi?”

He sounded surprised. Ankit closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course he did.

“I said, I don’t think so.”

There was silence on the other side. Ankit could feel the disquiet fizzle right under his skin, perverse and turbulent. He found himself walking over to the balcony, and looking out to the balcony opposite his. And when his neighbor looked at him and raised his glass of wine, in his customary greeting, Ankit could not find it in himself to wave back. Not with the silence coalescing painfully into something that frayed at his nerves.

“Fine.”

Silence.

“Right. So, I’m gonna keep the call.”

But, for some reason, Ankit could not find it in himself to move, to bring his phone away from his ears. He waited with bated breath as the silence stretched on, for the quiet click of the call being disconnected. But it never came. And so he waited. What for? He couldn’t say. Nor did he want to investigate. But, he waited.

After what felt like a really long time, there was a clearing of throat on the other side, and Ankit gripped his phone tighter. Then Matteo’s voice drifted out from the speaker, wary.

                                                                                               ---

“Listen, I, uh, wanted to…apologize. For my behavior the other day. What I said to you was unfair, and undeserved. And I am deeply ashamed of my own actions. I do not know what came over me,” Matteo said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, in an attempt to distract himself from the strangeness of the entire interaction, and the lump that had formed in his throat when Ankit had so swiftly turned down his invitation. “And, I would like to make amends. I wish you can see my gesture now as one of goodwill and sincerity, and agree to meet me for dinner, so that I may truly apologize.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side, and Matteo’s heart skipped a beat, unsure of how to interpret the sound and the deafening silence that followed his proclamation. He hoped that Ankit Verma would find it in himself to reach out and accept his apology. In many ways, he felt like this apology was invaluable to him. For, in many ways he had betrayed himself and his own moral standard by behaving so abysmally.

He was brought out of his thought when he heard a soft sigh reach his ears from over across the line.

“Alright. This once I shall accept your apology, Mr. Bianchi.” Matteo’s breath caught and he could feel a grin threatening to split his face into two. For some reason, his heart was fluttering, and there was a strange lightness that he felt. But, before he could think about this too deeply, Ankit Verma continued.

“In my culture, they say that one must forgive if apologized to. So, I shall forgive you. This once. But, I do not want to meet you for dinner. It seems too premature, on my part. A coffee, however, would be acceptable.”

For some reason, this made Matteo feel something that was treacherously close to fondness, for his own comfort, bubble up beneath his breastbone, and he found himself accepting with a shake of his own head.

“Alright. Coffee it is, Monsieur Verma. Would tomorrow be fine, with you?”

After a beat. “Sure, perhaps, breakfast at La Felicita? It’s on the 13th.”

“Of course,” Matteo found himself agreeing amicably. The strange fluttery feeling in his chest, bringing a lightness of spirit.

“I’ll see you at eight in the morning then.”

And with that the call came to an end. The click final.

Matteo found himself feeling lighter than he had felt in a long time, and he chalked it up, absentmindedly, to feeling better about doing the right thing.

                                                                                                  ---

Ankit cut the call. There was a slight shake to his fingers, and he felt too big for his body, his skin too tight. He had been completely unprepared for the sincerity and honesty with which Matteo had apologized. And now here they were, about to meet for a cup of coffee. Strange, he thought. Somehow this thought comforted him.