Fear the Heart
The man looks blankly inscrutable. Romila looks away at other solemn faces.
A sniffling sound to her right catches her attention. A woman, an acquaintance of her deceased mother, puts on a show of mourning. Romila shifts her gaze to the packed cemetery, wondering if her introverted mother would find it disagreeable to rest in peace among so many dead souls.
About an hour later, the service ends. Mourners taper off, threading back to their lives.
Romila watches her father, his head and shoulders slightly hunched as if burdened by an invisible weight, and his hands held loosely in front of him like her own. The sight reminds her of an old, decaying tree that is about to collapse.
Romila feels a presence behind her and looks over her shoulder.
The man is staring at her mother’s grave. No emotion has yet marred his stony face.
Romila looks back at her father, who slightly jerks forward as though he’s about to embrace his wife—or rather, her grave. Then the sound of sobs breaks from him and he palms his face. A few moments later, he straightens his shoulders, takes a handkerchief from his pants, and gives his face a rough wipe. His flushed face then swivels towards her before shifting to the man behind her. With two loud sniffs, he lumbers towards them.
“How long will you be in the city? Are you leaving today?” Romila’s father asks the stranger.
Romila senses what is about to happen and wishes she could catch her father’s attention, hoping he might understand from her expression that he shouldn’t proceed with his plan. However, her father never glances at her face.
The man stares at her father for an extra second in silence before responding. “I'll be here a few more days.”
Romila’s father nods. “Why don't you visit us in three days? Ah, on Thursday? Are you free? Do you know our address?" Romila's father finally voices what she has been dreading.
The man visibly thaws. Romila watches stupefied as he tries to blink away the moisture in his eyes. Then, the moment passes as his stern look returns, and he responds with a simple nod.
……
No one was really hungry, so everyone just prodded the food.
It was mostly silence, punctuated by questions thrown at the man by Romila's father, who, since his wife's death, has found some comfort and joy in hearing other people's stories about her.
Ahriman—that's his name, the man sitting across from her. When he introduced himself first, Romila was surprised to see a little curl on her father's lips.
Knowing her father well, Romila imagined he thought the man was joking and would soon admit it. However, no such thing happened. Her father's expression sank, and he shifted his sight to his plate, his brow furrowing slightly.
It confuses her. Is there anything wrong with the name, aside from its uniqueness?
She toyed with the name, rolling it around in her head. Romila thought she had encountered the name before.
Then it came to her. In Zoroastrianism and Zorvanism, two ancient Iranian religions, Ahriman is revered as the Lord of chaos and darkness.
Romila regards the man seated stiffly and politely, looking as serious and poker-faced as on the day of the funeral.
Without realising it, she mirrors his action, lifting her spoon laden with rice and shoving it into her unwilling mouth. She has to chew several times before the food finally goes down her throat.
After the awkward quiet, her father begins to talk about her mother, and Romila zones out.
She places her spoon on the plate and focuses on the area between Ahriman’s jaw and mouth. There, she notices a streaky, inflamed red rash, likely from razor burn. Something tells her that he has shaved his face recently, probably earlier that day. Something also tells her that he is someone who prefers growing his beard long until it reaches the point of looking untidy, and he has grudgingly removed it. Perhaps he was upset and rough with himself while shaving, giving him a nasty cut.
“You should stop making assumptions based on looks.”
Her fiance's words echoed in her mind.
Romila pulls her gaze onto her plate. Everyone is different. She could never imagine seeing such a wound on her boyfriend’s face, who treated his body—especially his face—with utmost care.
Romila hears a clink beside her and looks to find her father's head drooping over his plate.
“Dad?”
A moment of inaction on his part makes her heart leap.
Romila jumps out of her seat, and her father lifts his head to look at her. His eyes are moist again. She understood. He wanted to cry but couldn’t do so in the presence of an outsider. His nose flares, and before he tears up again, he rises.
“Excuse me, please. I’m not feeling well,” Romila’s father says to Ahriman, his voice faltering at the end.
Ahriman gives a gentle nod, perhaps sensing the situation. Romila’s father glances at her before lumbering to his room.
It takes Romila a moment to realize she's still standing. Sitting back, she continues to observe her mother's former student as he fills his glass with water.
“What do you remember the most about her?” Romila surprises herself by voicing her mind.
Then she blinks twice.
Did she just notice a little smile on his face that faded as quickly as it appeared?
Ahriman’s gaze is fixed on the blue velvet curtains covering the window, as he replies, “She was very kind to me.”
Yes, of course. The typical, corny one, she thinks.
“She was very kind to me,” Ahriman repeats, his voice softening. He still avoids her gaze, letting his eyes wander from furniture to wall. “She’d recommend books for me to read. I read them all. They helped me get through a difficult period.”
Difficult childhood?
Her mother, a devoted reader who firmly believed in the profound healing power of literature, would have certainly advocated for reading as a cure-all for every challenge. On Romila’s thirteenth birthday, her mother gifted her a book brimming with a wealth of diverse and intriguing scientific and historical tidbits, a volume Romila would come to see as the root of all her later adult fascination.
“I met her just a week ago, outside a supermarket. Then, two days later, I saw her near a tailor’s shop. I still can't believe she’s gone,” his voice took on a grim tone.
Despite the somber mood, Romila finds herself studying his appearance and comparing it with her fiancé's. While her fiancé's wider, full lips always wore an amused expression, Ahriman’s small, thin lips seemed unaccustomed to smiling. His hair, looking as if it hasn't seen a salon in ages, is beginning to break away from its previously controlled form. This is quite different from Romila's partner, who would never permit his hair to grow past its usual two-inch length.
“Where do you live?” Romila asks.
He looks at her. “I don’t live here.” Then he looks down.
Romila gets the message: he does not wish to divulge the details of his personal life.
Romila is stumped as to what to say or ask.
“Was she happy before her death?” Ahriman is looking at her. A soft, light brush of sadness crosses his eyes.
How would I know? Romila thinks. She answers, “Yes.”
Her mother has shown no signs of unhappiness in the days preceding her death. But what about the moments right before she died? It had been pouring steadily for hours that day, and her mother adored the rain. Romila imagines the car's windshield misting over by the sheets of rain as her mother, preoccupied with a certain thought, collides with the oncoming vehicle. What were her exact last thoughts before her consciousness ceased?
“She was a loving mother.” Romila leans back and gazes at the walls behind him. If he is smart enough to read body language, then he'll take his leave.
“You’re lucky to have such parents.”
Romila's gaze returns to him. A slight fissure has appeared in his steely exterior.
“Parents who care deeply for their children and do not consider them cursed.” His voice sounded like a heavy sigh.
Cursed? Did she hear right?
It is as though he feared her penetrating gaze might supernaturally extract the facts of his life, he instantly rises and takes his leave.
……
His smile blooms.
Romila watches the duo.
Her best friend, Kara, lets out a dismissive laugh at Romila's fiancé, Zavian. Zavian chuckles, giving a shake of his soft curly head. Romila lifts her glass, then promptly returns it to the table. The moisture beads on the glass capture her attention; some beads, weighty from joining with others, trickle down, leaving behind a series of small rivulets.
When the mirth around her dies, Romila turns her attention to the two individuals sitting on either side of her. She tries to appear casual, even tries to join in their merriment, but finds it so hard.
At a dizzying speed, Kara’s words tumble out, and Zavian leans in, his gaze alight with focus, as if fearing to let a single word escape him.
Romila studies him. His friendly rapport with her best friend seems based on their mutual interest and common profession in fashion, she tells herself.
Early in their relationship, Romila used to share historical facts with Zavian. But it didn’t take her long to sniff the disinterest in his perfunctory nods while listening. So she stopped.
Zavian's gaze is suddenly on her, and a quick check to the other side reveals that Kara is also looking at her. A small panic arises, which she quickly stomps out. Romila has a feeling that her simple smile would suffice. The instant she smiles, they redirect their attention to each other and resume their usual playful arguments and teasing.
She loves them, doesn't she?
Of course, she does!
Yet…
They chuckle quietly, conspiratorially.
A sigh escapes her lips before she realizes it, and two pairs of eyes instantly fall on her.
Romila curses inwardly and, with considerable effort, manages to produce another normal smile. A satisfied grin spreads across Zavian's face as he turns to her best friend. Romila’s smile drops. She stares down at the menu.
A sudden lull of silence falls on their table. Romila lifts her gaze to find a waiter at their table, carefully setting down their meal in front of them. A small rush of relief perks her lips into a smile. Romila heartily soaks in that momentary silence.
As the short-lived quiet comes to an end, Romila begins to eat, her eyes drifting around at the other diners, lingering on a solitary man with a contented look.
A hand wraps around Romila’s wrists. “Do you remember that incident, Romi? And don’t you think what I did was right?”
Romila looks at her bestie, taking a sip from her glass and buying herself some time. She doesn't panic or ask her friend what incident she is talking about. By now she knows what the only thing required of her is. Romila smiles and nods.
“See, I told you,” Kara tells Zavian smugly.
Romila looks at her fiancé, then at the bowl of salad sitting next to his main dish. She is glad that he is adding more veggies into his diet. He wasn't always a fan of them, but Kara, a strong advocate for greens, recently talked him through the health benefits.
Romila observes Zavian while he voices his grievances regarding fellow designers. Zavian usually wore full-sleeved shirts; however, now he is wearing a half-sleeved, sage green T-shirt.
And his tattoos are showing.
Zavian recently got a tattoo on his forearm. He said he forgot to mention it to her prior to getting it. Romila doesn’t like men with tattoos. Kara does.
“Sadly, the proposal didn’t go as planned.”
Her bestie’s voice snaps her out of her observation.
Romila stops eating. She feels sick.
Romila rises from her seat, a bit shakily.
“I’m not feeling well. Can you take me home?” She poses the question to her fiancé, simultaneously regretting not coming by her own vehicle.
Zavian glances at Romila’s best friend, then turns to her and nods.
……
Romila spots him kneeling by the tombstone, his head bowed.
As she approaches, she notices his eyes are shut. Her steps on the cropped lawn are gentle; however, that doesn't stop him from sensing a presence, and his eyes snap open. Surprise flashes across his face as he hastily rises.
Romila is herself surprised to see his youthful appearance in a mustard T-shirt and denims in contrast to the prior encounters.
Neither of them speaks.
Ahriman walks away but stays within the cemetery grounds. Romila watches him weave through the tombstones until he pauses at one a short distance away. There, he drops to his knees, his hands clasped.
Romila stares for a beat, then faces her mother’s grave.
She has so much to say yet doesn't know where to begin.
“What was he saying to you, Maa?” Romila mumbles under her breath.
A bell tolls from a nearby church. A movement catches Romila's eye, and she turns to see a dog strolling around the perimeter of the cemetery, passing a sculpture of a winged lady.
Her eyes then wander to other graves, some heavily garlanded with fresh, lovely flowers. Romila looks down at the modest bunch in her hand and sets it on her mother's grave.
As perspiration begins to dot her brow, she squints at the sky. The sun gazes fiercely down at her. Romila turns to leave after bidding her mother goodbye, and her eyes land on Ahriman. Without realizing it, her legs carry her in his direction.
He gets up as she comes closer.
Romila takes in the headstone's inscription, name, and the dates of birth and death of the one inside. Whoever it was, their death preceded her mother's by only nine days.
“She was my teacher in school,” Ahriman voices. Romila turns to him, catching a slight tremor of sadness in his voice.
“It’s hard to believe she's gone. I met her just two days prior to her cardiac arrest. I was meeting her for the first time after so many years. She appeared fine and healthy to me, just as I remembered her all the years back. She…” Ahriman comes to a sudden halt.
Without a word or query, Romila looks away at other graves.
Sometimes keeping quiet is the most effective approach to prompt another to continue sharing their thoughts.
“She was one of only two people who have ever shown me genuine kindness.”
Turning toward him, Romila notices him silently gazing at his old teacher's final resting place, wearing an expression of total bewilderment.
She does not wish to interrupt whatever is passing through his head but couldn't help asking, “Who’s the other one?”
Ahriman's gaze slowly rises, then just as slowly turns to her, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. Beads of sweat glisten on his chin, upper lip, and tip of his nose.
“Your mother.”
Romila’s eyes widened.
Both of them died shortly after meeting him, her mind shrill.
“Kindness kills,” Ahriman says in an alarmingly grave tone.
Maybe he recognizes the confused look on her face as he elaborates. “Leena ma'am and your mother were extraordinarily kind to me in the past, and their affection was just as strong when we reconnected recently. I felt like a kid again. It was a mistake.”
Romila shifts her weight from one foot to the other, feeling the back of her head becoming hot. She dislikes when people talk in code. “What do you mean?”
Anguish fills his voice. “It was a mistake on my part. When it realises that you love, care for, and are attached to someone, it takes them away from you. Far, far away.”
“It?” She is sure she misheard him.
His nostrils flare, then he looks away. “Something inside you.” His voice has dropped.
Romila’s body now craves for water, and she runs her tongue over her lips as Ahriman walks off.
……
As Romila drove to the beach to meet Zavian, she couldn't shake off the image of her students' dull, unfocused eyes fighting sleep earlier in the day out of her mind.
The sky was sunless and dull blue, and Zavian was waiting for her with a smile she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
He was so happy and chirpy that Romila was sure it had something to do with his job. So came the surprise when he told her that it wasn’t the case, and he was jovial for no reason. That didn’t make any sense to her. It troubled her. If there was a reason for his happiness, which Romila believed there was, why not share it with her?
Romila ate that trouble up quietly and tried to have a good time with her fiancé, which wasn’t hard, as she loved him.
At one point, he asked her to join him in the water, and she declined.
Ignoring the warnings of posted signage, Zavian stepped into the water. He called out to her, waving her over. Ignoring her own warning bells chiming inside her, Romila waded into the water towards him. They shared a giddy giggle. At first, the gentle rolling waves tousled them. Then, when they were tossing water at each other playfully, an unexpected, powerful rip current yanked them off their feet, filling their lungs with seawater. With considerable effort, they both managed to stumble back onto the shore, completely soaked.
A faint yell rang out in the distance, and Romila's eyes were drawn to a small cluster of bystanders.
Her face flushed with embarrassment, Romila thought of shouting back that they were fine but found no energy to do so. Instead, she turned to Zavian, who was staring in a different direction.
Romila asked him what was wrong. Zavian turned slightly and said he thought he saw Romila’s best friend in the distance. He pointed to a woman in a yellow dress, and Romila clarified it wasn’t Kara. They then made their way back to their spot. Romila anxiously hoped that her purse was still where she had tucked it behind a rock.
An inexplicable malaise enveloped her as they sat down by the shore.
“What happened? You look mad,” Zavian said, bumping his shoulder into hers.
The near-drowning, brought on by their own recklessness, was the only reason Romila could think of to be upset about.
“All these liters, it’s so sad,” she said, waving dismally at the plastic wrappers and cups strewn all over the shore before leaning her head against her knees. She felt unwell and blamed it on the extra two tablespoons of sugar she added to her coffee before driving to the beach.
“You should have been an environmental science professor instead of history.”
Lifting her head, she frowned at her fiancé. “What is the connection? What does it have anything to do with my career?”
Zavian shrugged, looking distant. “Just saying.”
Just. Saying.
Romila’s gaze dropped to her feet, and she noticed her right toenail was slightly overgrown and split in the middle. Her experience warned her, but like the posted signage, she ignored it and began messing with her toenail with her finger. And winced.
“What?” Zavian turned to her and then tracked her vision.“Oh, don’t do that. Are you mad?”
Romila dropped her hands to her side, realizing she couldn’t pull off the split nails without causing herself further pain.
When night fell, Romila drove back home with pain.
……
Even as dusk falls, the air holds a lingering warmth.
Romila comes out of the clothing store saying she felt unwell. She pulls out her phone, eyes the dark screen, and suddenly drops her hand. There was no one she could talk to. The only two people she usually chatted with on the phone were now inside the boutique store behind her.
Romila watches the crowd, a sense of regret creeping over her. This was not her plan for the evening.
When Kara phoned her asking to go shopping with her, Romila didn't hesitate to say no. Kara insisted, adding that Zavian would also be joining them to buy a blazer. Romila paused, eyeing the sudoku she was solving before finally agreeing.
Now, standing on the curb, Romila wasn't proud of her decision.
The phone in her hand chimes with a notification. A message from zavian: Are you okay? Romila stares at the screen, chewing the inside of her lip before sliding the device into her handbag.
Romila forgot how long she had been standing as the evening faded into darkness and artificial lights took over the street.
The aroma of onions roasting in oil drifts toward her and her stomach growls in response. Romila starts to re-enter the shop but pauses, noticing a figure in a dark red hooded shirt, their face glowing at the entrance of the brightly lit decorative lighting store.
Romila walks into the shop to find Kara and Zavian at the counter, so absorbed by their chat that they fail to see her until she is right next to them.
“Are you feeling okay?” they ask together.
“You didn’t reply to my message,” Zavian adds.
Once they were out of the store, Romila quickly looked at where she had seen Ahriman. Her heart sank. He wasn’t there. She spun in the opposite direction.
“What happened? What are you looking for?” Kara asks.
“Nothing.”
Romila's weariness has begun to ebb, so she doesn’t mind when Kara suggests going to a footwear store next.
All along, Romila’s eyes scan the crowd, looking for the red hooded shirt. Zavian points to a footwear store a few meters away, and before they enter, Romila spots Ahriman. Ahriman looks around at that exact moment and notices her looking right at him. Neither smiles nor waves. Romila grabs Kara's hand, stopping her, causing Zavian to pause as well, while Ahriman has already turned his back to them.
“See that guy over there? The red shirt? He’s Ahriman.”
“Is he your other lover?” Zavian jokes.
Romila shoots him a grim look, which slides right off him.
“I think I saw him at aunty's funeral,” Kara says.
“Yeah, he was there. My mother’s former student. A pretty weird fellow. I want you both to meet him.”
Zavian opens his mouth to speak, but Romila cuts him off.
“I want you to befriend him,” she tells him.
Zavian’s brows lift as far as they can go. “Why do you want me to befriend a weird guy?”
“To hang out, you know. To be a little kind. I think he'd prefer a male friend.”
Romila noticed Ahriman walking away with large strides. “As little as he told me about himself, I gathered he has no one in his life. It seems his parents weren’t nice to him, and there was no mention of any friends. He'd really appreciate some kindness in his life right now.”
Zavian rubs the nape of his neck, lips pulled into a tight, sideways frown. Romila senses he is likely coming up with an excuse to dissuade her.
“Kindness,” Kara mutters, looking thoughtful.
Something comes over Zavian’s expression, his eyes lingering on Kara.
Romila doesn’t wait for his opinion and starts walking, then jogging, in the direction of Ahriman.
“Ahriman,” she calls out. Whether he hears her or not, he doesn’t turn. But Romila isn’t giving up so easily. Getting closer, she calls him twice more, at last, forcing him to turn.
And Romila can tell from his expression that he has indeed seen her and her companions and was deliberately avoiding them. An amused grin spread over her lips. She gestures towards her best friend and fiancé as they catch up to her.
A smile plays on Zara’s face while Zavian struggles with a fake one himself as the trio closes the remaining distance to Ahriman.
*****
