Passionate Obsession

Storm,Scars and a birthday Surprise

As soon as Anu applied the ointment — a mix of alcohol and painkillers — to the bruised wounds on her knees, she winced and let out a soft cry.

To ease the pain, Aru blew gently over the area while rubbing the ointment with her fingertips.

> “— Done. No more ointment or pain for now,” Aru said.

Arched eyebrows and a serious face, Aru added,

> “— This little pain? Both your knees are badly bruised. Tell me how this happened?”

Anu’s mind drifted at her sister’s question. True, it might just look like a minor injury, but if that stranger hadn’t arrived on time today, something far worse could have happened. America, for all its glamour, also had its dark side hidden beneath the gloss. Today Anu had stumbled right into it.

After finishing her shift at the cafeteria, Anu had gone to the hospital to see her mother. Her mother was in the ICU, mostly cared for by nurses, which allowed Anu to take a part-time job. She had never thought that this job would almost become a curse.

California, between San Francisco and the surrounding state, barely had public transport. Without a personal car, moving around was hard. From the cafeteria to the hospital there was a small bus stop, but to reach Kritik’s isolated house Anu had to walk.

Usually she went to the hospital in the company car, but in the evenings, because of her part-time shift, she avoided troubling the driver. She took the bus and walked the remaining distance herself.

That evening she had just gotten off the last bus at the cafeteria stop. It was early night, yet the entire road was empty. Except for the distant hiss of trucks on the highway, even the sound of falling leaves was missing. The atmosphere was eerie. Anu hurried her pace.

That was when the man from the café incident appeared — this time with a few others. They looked drunk, their eyes greedy and feral. In the dim sodium glow, their stares were disgusting. It felt as though they had been waiting to trap her. Their accent wasn’t American — probably British.

The thought “British” alone sent a cold current up Anu’s spine. British men were more aggressive, more vengeful.

> “Are they here for revenge?”

She stepped back, then turned and ran. Behind her, their footsteps pounded.

While running, her sandal strap snapped. She tripped on the sharp asphalt, scraping both knees.

> “Ma!” she screamed in pain.

The men were almost upon her. Trembling in terror, she wondered if she would ever survive.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed hers. Fingers locked into her palm and pulled her forward. A man was running, dragging her with him. She tried to match his pace despite the pain.

> “Come on! I’m no movie hero to fight them off alone. We have to run first. Later we’ll deal with them,” he said without looking back.

Under the streetlight Anu saw his maroon shirt, his slim build, light brown hair, clean-shaven face, glasses with thin frames. It was the same man who had saved her from the hot coffee incident at the café. Again he had come to save her. Who was he — some kind of angel?

They hid behind a wooden house, pressed tight into a narrow gap. Anu tried to keep distance, but he still held her firmly by the waist, scanning the street like a hawk. Their breaths mingled.

> “They’re gone. No more risk,” he whispered, finally exhaling relief.

Their eyes met; Anu looked away instantly. He smirked,

> “How cinematic,” he hissed.

Later, recalling all this, a shy smile touched Anu’s lips. Aru, watching, asked,

> “Hey Apa, why are you grinning like a fool?”

Anu pulled the comforter over herself and said,

> “Go away. I’m sleeping.”

Aru rolled her lips,

> “Why so shy? I’m not your father-in-law.”

---

Days passed. A month slipped by in Kritik’s small duplex without Aru even realizing it. Doctors had said Azmeri Sheikh needed open-heart surgery, but her other health complications meant it could take a year or more before it became possible. Anu and Aru had no choice but to be patient.

Meanwhile Anu had asked Kritik to arrange university admission for Aru. Aru thought he would refuse, but he surprised her by asking which university she preferred. Yet despite living under one roof, Aru barely saw Kritik; a wall of silence stood between them.

---

California’s winter was mild but constant. Sometimes the rainy season swept in, mixing cold and drizzle. Today was such a day — dark clouds, scattered rain, and biting chill.

Despite the weather, Aru’s mood was bright. She had been admitted to San Francisco State University. Tomorrow a new chapter of study would begin.

In her joy she sang as she stirred a huge pot in the kitchen:

> “On this cloudy day, the heart won’t stay alone …”

The doorbell rang sharply. She rushed to open the door but saw no one — only a bouquet of fresh red roses on the bench outside. Droplets of rain clung to the petals. Inside was a wish card:

> “Many many happy returns of the day, JK Sir. — from: S”

Aru frowned, glancing toward Kritik’s upstairs corner room where he was sleeping.

Two nights ago she had seen him bandaging his own injured leg in the dark. She had even sent his clothes to the laundry afterward but dared not ask how he got hurt — last time she’d asked, he had slapped her.

---

Around ten or eleven o’clock the sky was still dark but without rain. Kritik came down fully dressed, adjusting his black-belted watch, ready to go out.

Aru blocked his way, holding the bouquet:

> “Happy birthday, bhaiya …”

The word “bhaiya” felt heavy on her tongue. Kritik didn’t react; instead he sneezed violently again and again.

> “What happened? Are you all right?” Aru asked.

> “i***t, remove that! I’m allergic to roses,” he managed between sneezes.

Ten minutes later he was calmer and ready to leave. Again Aru stopped him:

> “Where are you going?”

> “University. My students’ exam. Anything else?”

> “You’re thirty-plus and still studying?”

> “Not me — my students. And are you taunting me about age?”

She quickly shook her head. She couldn’t understand why, despite his wealth, he worked as a teacher.

> “Be careful. You’ll end up with an old husband yourself,” Kritik muttered.

> “Why curse me like that? What did I do to you?” she asked.

He gave a bitter smile:

> “Seriously? Is marrying someone my age such a curse?”

She stayed silent. He looked at his watch and moved on, but she ran ahead again.

> “Do you want to come with me? Shall I put you in my pocket?” he snapped, teeth clenched. “Move before I slap you.”

She gulped and held out a small packet.

> “What’s this?”

> “Payesh … sweet pudding. It’s your birthday. Apa says my dessert tastes like nectar. Whatever our relation, you’re still like a brother to me …”

The last line pierced Kritik like an arrow. He took the packet, walked a few steps, then hurled it into the trash bin. Turning back with fire in his eyes:

> “Shame on your f***ing sympathy.”

He stormed out through the gate.

Aru stood frozen. She hadn’t meant it as pity — she had made it with care. Why was he always like this with her?

---

Later, on the roadside, Sayor spotted Kritik’s parked Mercedes. Surprised, he went over and tapped on the window. Kritik rolled it down.

Sayor climbed in — only to see Kritik calmly eating payesh from a container.

> “Where did you get that in the middle of the road?” Sayor asked.

Kritik pointed to the dustbin behind them.

> “What?! You picked food from a dustbin?”

Kritik nodded.

> “Disgusting! You’re not that desperate. We’re still here. Give me some — looks yummy,” Sayor said.

> “Sorry bro. Not a pinch for anyone. All mine,” Kritik murmured. “Only mine.”

Sayor stared. “Since when are you obsessed with dessert?”

Kritik’s lips curved faintly. “She’s my dessert,” he thought but didn’t say. Out loud he whispered,

> “Your Apa’s right — her dessert tastes like nectar.”

Sayor had never seen him so soft, so distant. Usually Kritik hated talk of love.

> “Are you okay, bro?” he asked.

Kritik smirked,

> “One day you’ll meet someone, Sayor, and they’ll literally take your breath away … You’ll want them no matter what. You’ll even eat from a dustbin if it’s theirs.”

Sayor blinked. “Was there something mixed into that dessert?”

Kritik started the car, muttering,

> “Yes — her heartbeat’s touch. My personal drug.”

---

Evening fell with heavy rain. Power was out, candles flickered. Anu called to say she was stuck at the hospital.

Aru was about to go upstairs when the gate opened. Kritik entered, soaked to the skin. She hesitated, remembering the morning’s insult. She turned to go upstairs but his voice cracked like wood behind her:

> “Seeing me shiver and you won’t bring a towel? Did you swallow your brains with water?”

She sighed,

> “I’m bringing it.”

She returned with a towel, face set in mock anger, and held it out. Kritik grabbed her hand along with the towel and began drying his hair with her hand still in his.

> “Hey! You’re hurting my hand,” she protested.

> “You eat more rice than me, so why does it hurt?” he teased.

> “Are you mocking my eating?”

> “Even if you ate all my wealth, I wouldn’t give you this,” he said cryptically.

> “What?” she blinked.

Before he could answer, the door burst open. Alisa, Arnob, Sayor, Kathleen — everyone shouted together,

> “Surprise!”

Kritik instantly pushed Aru away. She fell hard on the floor.

> “Ah … my back …” she groaned.