my intro

I don’t know where to start this story. Its not just a story, it’s my life. 7 days from my life. Like 7 shades made rainbow, 7 swaras made music and 7letters made friends, these 7 days made my life. The most beautiful part, yet the most… I don’t know how to explain. You will know once I finish the tale. My fairy tale. This is my love story. Or rather, I should say my life story. No suspense should you expect, only a beautiful relationship…

I will begin by introducing myself. My name is Serena. Serena Williams. I am 21 and doing final year engineering. My father William was a businessperson. My mom, Priya was a homemaker. Theirs was also a love story. My mother’s family was less supportive of it for three reasons. One, her love, my father was of another religion (I can’t understand how that mattered, but still a reason). Two, he was an orphan. That would mean no family for my mom after marriage. And finally, he was jobless. Yes, he was jobless when he loved my mom. After their marriage, my mother’s family abandoned her. Nevertheless, my father was determined to live his life with his love. He started as an accountant in a store. A year after he started his own, expanded and in 5 years, he was the managing director of a huge company. He did not stop. In another 5 years the business world had only one name, Priya – Priya medicals, Priya exports, Priya boutique… A year after that I was born. Our family was complete. Their love story had a beautiful ending, but their life story didn’t…

When I was 3, my mother died in an accident. That was an unexpected shock to my father. When my mother was in deathbed, unconscious after the accident, it is told to me that my father didn’t even drink a drop of water for 3 days (though I seriously think that was highly exaggerated to highlight their love to me as 3 days without water for a man is a medical miracle). When she died, many feared that my father would go nuts. But worse happened. He became a drunkard. He never cared for his life anymore (I have often wondered later whether he forgot me). He gambled, used drugs, I would say he actually lost his life before he was physically dead. That happened when I was 4. Unlike my mother’s death, this was no shock to anyone (It was quite obvious with his constantly deteriorating health conditions).

You must be amazed how I talk about this with so much ease. Its because I never missed them. My memories of them are just some shattered pieces. From the day I could remember, my mother’s younger brother and his wife had taken their position. My mother had looked after my uncle when they were small. He had a very special love towards my mother. She was his angel and best friend. But one day he saw his sister being kicked out of the house and he had no power then to stop it. He always had guilt for it. He kept meeting my mom secretly. When my father destroyed his kingdom, drowned himself in debt and died. He felt it his responsibility to look after me. It was supposed to be his ‘act of apologize’. He faced lot of opposition from my mother’s family again. But then he was a married man with ‘power of words’ as he quote. Though I am not still allowed to enter my mom’s home, I was adopted as their daughter. My new family- my uncle, aunt and an elder brother- Aswanth.

They looked after me like their own daughter that until the age of 10, I thought they were my real parents. It was then that I knew that the ‘uncle and aunt’ in my shattered memories were my real parents and my ‘parents’ were actually my uncle and aunt. It was quite a revelation. Though I understood the facts, I never accepted them. I continued to call them mom and dad (and fortunately they were more than happy with it). I have never felt alone with them expect for the days they visit my grandmother. They leave me at home then. But I have always liked those days, the times when the only sound is that of my breathing and the ticking of the clock. Those rainy days where I could sit near the window in the library with a book in hand, not reading, but distracted by the raindrops shooting the glass, sipping a cup of coffee were my favorite. Books had always been my best friends. And my parents built a library in the home just for me. That’s the place I miss the most when I go back to my hostel. Ofcourse, library comes only after my bedroom, sleeping is my first priority and biggest weakness.

Okay, lets come to our story. Now you know my background, let us see where I stand today. As I said, I am doing final year in my engineering away from home. I stay in a women’s hostel. I am quite an introvert. I would not call myself quiet, I am rather talkative when someone talks to me, I just prefer to keep quiet in a group. Initiating a conversation is also not my cup of coffee. You will only know that if you only start talking to me. Initially I am very quiet and hard to talk with. But once when I get comfortable with someone, they will have to tell me to shut up every half an hour. That’s the best thing about my family, they love my chitchat.

I am deviating too much from the topic, let us stay with our 7 days. It all began when I came home from hostel on semester break. My travel was at night. So I reached home early morning. A night’s sleep was pending for me. But still I had a coffee and breakfast and planned to sleep after having a bath. This was usual for me like all semester breaks. I was in my tub when I realized that some guests had arrived downstairs. I hated guests. They always demand our presence with a fixed smile. Ofcourse I never say that to anyone, instead I just stand behind my mother with that same fixed smile answering their questions for five minutes, then be back at my room. I am expected to do it every time and so I do it. So when I felt the presence of these guests downstairs, I knew I would be called down soon. It made me lazier. I sat in the tub for half an hour more. I only got up put down my bathing robe when my fingers pruned due to over exposure to water. I looked over the mirror. I was a plump girl with a round face. Though I used to be proud of my round eyes, they looked tired with lack of sleep (I didn’t have proper sleep for more than a month as I had my exams). Though I never thought myself as pretty nor liked my face, the fact that I had plump lips and fair complexion was something else that I liked about myself. But that day I looked pale. That was just the effect of a long journey and an equally long bath. I looked away from the mirror and dressed myself in my pajama. I took out my headphones and plugged it to my old phone. It had my favorite songs in it and now it was used as my ‘iPod’. I slipped it into my pocket and fell on to bed. While searching for my favorite songs, I remembered the guests downstairs. I was not called downstairs. I removed my headphones letting it fell around my neck and sharpened my ears. The guest was still downstairs, but there were no talk or laugh or anything else heard. The house seemed… well… tensed. I didn’t know whether I was supposed to go downstairs myself. I should have been happy that I was not called downstairs and I should have allowed my sleep to take over me. But my curiosity was pricked. And before I knew it, I was heading downstairs.

That was the first time I saw him…

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