Romance The Eighth Wonder

[storywriter]

Chapter 1

The night was thick with the humid, comfortable warmth of a Saturday in the city. The Sharma family was ready to return home from a late-night movie and dinner, a frequent weekend tradition. The valet brought their Ciaz from around the corner and they got in. The apartment was soon filled with the sounds of their return: the jingle of Anand’s keys, the rhythmic kick-off of shoes in the foyer, and the shared, lingering laughter over a joke made in the car.


"Honestly, Anand, that hero was at least twenty years too old for that role," Meera laughed, untying the pallu of her silk saree as she moved toward the kitchen to put away the leftovers.


"Age is just a number, Meera! The man has charisma," Anand countered, already loosening his tie and heading for the living room. He collapsed into the sofa with a satisfied groan, the old springs welcoming him like an old friend.


Rohan followed, tossing his jacket over a chair. "Dad, the 'charisma' was mostly CGI. You’re just a sucker for a happy ending."


A few minutes later, the family had settled into their nightly ritual of unwinding. The large LED television was on a low volume, murmuring the late-night news, but no one was really watching. Meera had changed into a soft, cotton nightgown and joined Anand on the sofa. Without a word, he opened his arm, and she tucked herself into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. His hand came down to rest on her arm, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin in a gesture so practiced and natural it was almost invisible.


Rohan, sprawled on another sofa with his phone, looked up and caught the sight. He rolled his eyes, though a small, fond smile tugged at his lips.


"You two are gross," he remarked, though there was no discomfort in it. "Twenty plus years and you still act like you’re in a romance movie. Don't you ever get tired of each other?"


Anand pulled Meera a little closer, kissing the top of her head. "When you find a masterpiece, Rohan, you don't put it in storage. You keep it where you can see it every day."


Meera swatted at him playfully, her cheeks pink. "Go to bed, Rohan. Your father is getting poetic, which means he’s tired."


As they all stood up to head to their rooms, Rohan paused at the hallway. "Try to keep the 'poetry' down to a whisper, will you? Some of us have an early morning."


"Goodnight, you brat," Anand laughed, throwing a decorative pillow that Rohan expertly dodged before disappearing into his room.

[storywriter]

Chapter 2


The following morning, the atmosphere shifted from the lazy indulgence of the night before back to the steady rhythm of their happy small family middle-class stability. The apartment was filled with the hum of a ceiling fan that had a slight, rhythmic wobble and the soft glow of sunlight filtered through peach curtains.


Anand Sharma sat in his favorite leather recliner, a newspaper folded neatly on his lap. His face was lined with the easy-going creases of someone who had spent most of his life laughing. Though the paper was open to the financial section, his eyes were actually fixed on Rohan, who was currently sprawled on the Persian rug trying to fix a tangled pair of gaming headphones.


"You know, Rohan," Anand remarked, his voice carrying that deep, melodic resonance, "the new neighbor finally moved in this morning. A young fellow. I saw him grappling with a chest of drawers in the hallway. The fellow has a lot of boxes, and most of them look like they’re filled with art supplies and large canvases."


Rohan didn't look up, but his grin returned. "An artist? I hope he isn't going to paint graffiti on the walls. That's just what this building needs to lower the property value, Dad. Or.. may be it will increase it.. Who knows..  Was he wearing a beret? Did he have paint on his clothes"


"He looked a bit more like a sleep deprived graduate student", Anand chuckled. "But he has a good face. Sturdy. Respectful. When I offered to hold the door, he thanked me like I’d handed him property papers."


From the kitchen, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a heavy knife stopped. Meera appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a floral apron. At forty-two, she possessed a beauty that was timeless. Her dark mass of hair was gathered up and tied in a loose updo, and a bead of sweat was appearing on her brow. Her movements were deliberate, carrying the quiet authority of a woman who was the undisputed heart of her family.


"If he's just moved in, he won't have his kitchen set up," Meera said, her brow furrowing with maternal concern. "The poor boy is probably sitting amidst cardboard boxes. Anand, did you at least invite him for tea?"


"I did better than that, my dear," Anand said, winking at Rohan. "I told him we were having a small feast tonight - lamb curry and your saffron rice - and that it was an ancient building tradition to feed the new arrival. He tried to refuse, quite shyly, but I didn't give him much of a choice. I practically dragged his consent out of him."


"Mmmm, delicious! You are a good neighbor, Dad", Rohan said, grinning, already dreaming of the feast.


Anand chuckled. 

[Rocky@handsome]

Nice Start