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To love someone, Paa has realised, is to embrace all the versions of a person in different situations without question, choosing to love not just who they are, but whoever they become. Over the years, Paa has seen different forms of Ink—has loved and embraced them all, without question, has welcomed the change instead of resisting it.
Paa, usually not prone to quiet and keeping to herself when she sees something happening out of the norm, has merely welcomed Ink with open arms, loudly loving her and silently keeping the depth of it, the form of it, with her. In return, she knows that Ink does the same for her too; Paa has never quite felt as wholly accepted as she does in Ink’s presence.
Over the time they’ve spent together, she has seen Ink sad, and nervous, and worried. She has seen Ink before her exams—drowned in blues, and on the first days of spring—drowned in golden hues. She has seen Ink, expressing the compassion ingrained in her veins differently with every passing year. She has seen Ink, back when she was in school and then in University when she slid into her life again as if she’d never quite left.
Paa has seen Ink, and loved her—quietly, from afar—and in return, Ink has seen Paa, and loved her—not in the same manner, perhaps, which Paa is fully alright with.
But these days, she is seeing Ink… quiet. Reserved. Distant. As though, there is something going on with her that Paa isn’t allowed to see. She laughs and smiles, but it’s as though watching her from behind a clingfilm smudged with fingertips, almost a light-year away. The smile doesn’t reach Ink’s eyes, doesn’t light her face up, doesn’t crinkle her eyes the way it used to. It feels so fickle that Paa thinks it might fall off her face one day. And if it might not, Paa is too far enough to see it.
“I’m here for you,” says Paa one day, seated in the library beside Ink.
Ink blinks. The sliver of a fickle smile makes an appearance again. “Okay,” she says.
“Like,” Paa continues, pointedly turning to look into her textbook and harshly underlining a word, “you don’t have to hide anything from me. I mean, you can, but you can feel free to tell me everything and anything you want.”
“Right,” says Ink. “Why, um, why are you saying this?”
“Right,” says Paa, quickly looking at Ink again. Her expression is curious and open. “I just— is there something going on with you? You seem a little different lately.”
Ink blinks. Paa takes a quick deep breath and refocuses her attention to her textbook.
“There’s nothing going on with me,” says Ink. “Thank you, though. I’ll let you know if there’s something.”
Paa is, very obviously, not convinced.
Somehow, the two years that they were apart felt less distant than whatever this is.
***
Paa creates a list of things that she knows would make Ink smile. If there is something going on, she’d want Ink to know that she isn’t alone, that Paa is always there. If Paa is mistaken, and there is nothing that is making Ink sad, then this would just serve as a way to make Ink happier. Paa can live with the outcome of both.
***
Ink curiously looks at the cup of coffee and back to Paa, a question clearly etched on her face.
“For you,” says Paa, leaning forward and patting her on the shoulder. “You like a double espresso, don’t you?”
Ink blinks, clearly surprised. “How do you remember?” she asks, “we’ve shared coffee only once.”
Paa laughs, nudging their shoulders together. “That is enough for me to remember your weird order, P’Ink!”
Paa runs away before Ink can reply, turning back only once, to see a hint of a real smile on her face. Their eyes meet, Paa waves, and runs away again before Paa can do something silly, like lean in and kiss the mole under her eye.
***
Three days later, Paa hands over an MP3 Player to Ink, who looks confused and in awe, at the same time. “For you,” Paa says, her heart beating out of her chest. “Just some songs to keep you company.”
“Oh,” Ink says, the confusion disappearing from her face, the real smile lasting longer and longer. “What is going on?”
Paa shrugs her shoulders, appearing to be as calm and collected as she was when practising the same dialogue with Pran. “I heard some songs and they reminded me of you,” Paa says, her words stumbling regardless of the practice. “I thought… ah, it’s alright, you don’t have to. This is probably weird, isn’t it?”
Surging forward, Ink wraps her arms around Paa, patting her on the back of her head. “Thank you,” she whispers. Looking into her eyes, she says, “Thank you, Paa.” Paa’s name has never been safer in someone’s mouth.
***
Over the next few days, Paa sends Ink memes, motivational pictures, cat pictures, all timed at regular intervals so it doesn’t seem weird or off-putting. She receives laughter and hearts in reply, and she hoards them in a treasure chest behind her heart.
Over the next few days, Paa sees Ink carrying around the MP3 player, listening to the music that was once close to Paa’s heart now connected to Ink, an invisible heartstring that pulls them impossibly closer.
Paa brings Ink coffee whenever she can, hugs Ink every time they leave the journal club together, and Ink smiles brighter and wider at every turn.
This, Paa wants to preserve till the end of time: her radiant smiles, thawing ice at every turn.
This, Paa gets to preserve.
And that feels enough.
***
The fact of the matter is: Ink is the most stubborn person Paa has ever had the pleasure of knowing. Paa had thought that her stubbornness extended to her academics and her food choices and her insistence on the “perfect” click only, but clearly, she’d never been subjected to Ink’s stubbornness about asking for help.
That changes three days after Paa sends her favourite cupcakes to Ink.
There is nothing out-of-the-ordinary about the day: the sun rises from the east, the birds circle the sky, chirping, and Paa is in love with Ink. For today, Paa decides that she wants to take them to the cat cafe near their university. And it is today, that Ink is nowhere to be found—her phone unreachable, her classes unattended.
Worried, Paa goes to Ink’s apartment that she shares with her friends, only for them to say that she left early in the morning.
Paa texts, hey. worried for you. just reply to this so I know you’re okay?
Ink replies immediately, i am ok.
Paa texts, i care for you. please let me be there in any capacity. 💕💕💕💕💕
When Paa reaches her dorm, she is mostly relieved, but a little bit concerned to see Ink sitting by her door, her legs folded to her chest, her head buried in it.
Paa runs to her, rubs circles on her back as soon as Ink looks up, and Ink—who looks more desolate than ever, heaves a sigh and buries her face in Paa’s neck.
Paa holds her close, holds her tight, holds her until Ink’s shoulders relax fully, her breaths become more regular.
They get inside, somehow. Paa wraps her favourite blanket around her and makes her sit on the most comfortable corner of her bed. Ink is handed some hot chocolate in Paa’s favourite mug and made to listen to some lo-fi songs that Paa puts on a loudspeaker.
Paa decides on making the spicy instant noodles that Ink always buys, the kind that Paa can never eat, let alone digest, the kind that Ink insists on being ‘the most comforting food out there’.
Setting the bowl in front of Ink, Paa resumes making her own milder, more sensible noodles. When she gets to her bed again, Ink’s food is untouched, her face unreadable.
“Do you want to talk?” Paa asks.
“I’m feeling a little better now,” Ink says, picking up her bowl of noodles. “Thank you,” she says. “You shouldn’t have to do this for me.”
“Why not?” Paa asks. “Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”
“Of course,” Ink replies without hesitation. “But that’s different.”
“How come?”
“Because you’re you!” Ink says.
“And you’re you,” says Paa, shrugging her shoulders. “I care for you,” she says. “I want to take care of you. Won’t you let me?”
Ink stares unblinkingly at Paa, the noodle bowl forgotten already. “Why did you have the spicy noodles with you?” she asks. “You hate it.”
Frustrated with this sudden line of questioning, Paa pushes her own noodle bowl away, unflinchingly meeting Ink’s gaze.
What is Paa supposed to say? That she loves Ink and remembers her order, her favourite colour, everything she’s talked about her parents one night when she was drunk? That she loves Ink and is ready to rearrange the stars for her if it would make her happy? What is she meant to say? That she is in love with Ink? That she cannot imagine herself not living Ink? That she has never felt so away from Ink—ever, and it terrifies her? That she just wants to be close to Ink again?
“But you like it,” Paa says quietly.
Ink, no longer able to maintain eye contact, looks down at the noodles, blowing a breath through her mouth. “Paa,” she says, her voice wavering, “if you say shit like that, people might get the wrong idea.”
“And what idea would that be?” Paa asks.
Ink doesn’t expect Paa to reply to her in this manner. She looks taken aback, her mouth opening and closing, the crease between her eyebrows deepening.
“That you are romantically into me or whatever,” Ink says, sighing deeply. “You know what? Normally, I can tell very easily if someone is into me. I know the signs, I can read them particularly well. But you, Paa? I think you’re my closest friend and yet it’s so hard to read you. So, if you say shit like that, I might get the idea that you romantically like me.”
Paa, her heart in her mouth, her blood heating up profusely in her cheeks, instinctively moves closer to Ink. “And?” she asks. “What would happen if you get the idea?”
Ink looks up, her eyes shining. “It would be horrible,” she says. “Horrible, if it isn’t true.”
“And if it is?”
The room gets quiet—absolutely still. So much so that if one listens hard enough, they would be able to hear the thudding of both heartbeats, erratic yet in sync.
“Then I’d kiss you,” Ink whispers softly. “And I’d say I love you, that I have been in love with you for so long that I don’t know how to live without it.”
“Then kiss me,” Paa says. “Kiss me, and tell me that you love me, and I’ll say I love you—that I’ve always loved you too.”
Ink lets out a stuttered laugh of disbelief, crawling to Paa and cradling her face in her hands.
Later, Paa will say, I love you, and Ink will kiss her on her nose and say, I love you too. Later, they’ll finish their cold noodles, all curled up in each other. Later, Ink will tell Paa the reason behind her distress for the last month. Later, they’ll lie in bed together, cuddling and chasing each other’s warmth in the dull coldness of the winter air. Later, much, much later, Ink will learn to ask for Paa’s support when she needs it.
For now, Ink kisses Paa and Paa kisses Ink, and their names are the only sound their souls resonate with.