Work Text:
Akarsha Anand sits across from her.
Amongst the rays of sunlight weaving themselves through the curtains and scattering through the entirety of the room, a brown-haired beauty sits across Noelle. She wears a soft smile, and an even softer, patient gaze with deep brown irises, uncharacteristic of her usual, giddy demeanour. Her eyebrows slightly lift, as if questioning Noelle’s sharp stare.
“Initiating a staring contest, my beloved Frenchman?” Akarsha eventually asks, now unable to resist the beaming smile which soon rises upon her face. The sudden but familiar nickname causes the girl’s heart to flutter, an unexpected attack of impulsive, but fleeting feelings she should not act upon beginning to reside in her mind. And yet, Noelle finds herself staring further and further into Akarsha’s bottomless eyes, as if drowning. The tides push her where she shouldn’t be, and she falls for the one she shouldn’t have ever fallen for.
Noelle blinks. The swift beating of her heart hammering through her ears and the burning sensation at her flushed cheeks remind her that such feelings will always manage to, one way or another, prevail over the conflicting thoughts straying in her mind, nestling in each nook and cranny to stir aimless introspection. Akarsha’s smile wins her over one more time when the brunette registers Noelle’s blink. This will be the last time, she tells herself, over and over again. And, of course, it is never the last time. Noelle hopes that it will never have to be the last time either. Besides, she would rather lose a million more staring contests just to see that wide, overjoyed smile of that one, special girl. Of the one special girl who she’d never admit her true feelings to.
“Perhaps you have forgotten? I am the champion of staring contests! I have remained undefeated for the past decade, I will not lose against a pesky beginner individual such as yourself, Frenchie!” Akarsha exclaims loudly, boasting her decade long win-streak, a white lie. She stirs in her seat for a moment, unable to keep still.
“Akarsha.”
“Okay, okay, chill, dude! Can’t a girl celebrate her achievements?”
“No,” Noelle flatly replies. There’s not so much as irritation in her voice, she’s just tired, but not bored, certainly. Akarsha's shenanigans never get boring, fortunately or unfortunately. “She, in fact, cannot. Now, if you would, please do refrain from moving around too much.”
Akarsha is just about to open her mouth, ready to protest. It’s then Noelle quickly cuts her off with a sigh, and a couple words of wisdom.
“And from spewing any further nonsense,” she adds. Akarsha playfully rolls her eyes, and silence falls within the room once more. It’s a pleasant surprise, to be able to bask in said silence with a person such as Akarsha here, and for once, Noelle wants her to speak, because silence isn’t characteristic of Akarsha. This is . . . this is but a fanciful endearment, she thinks. This is nothing, and it will stay this way, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting a casual conversation to pass the time either, is there?
Noelle bites her lower lip, withholding herself from even saying anything. She opts to quietly return her focus to the canvas in front of her, and her muse. Her breathing slowly but surely returns to normal, and so does her heartbeat. The thoughts continue to stir in the recesses of her mind as she presses the fine graphite tip of her pencil onto the canvas and begins to softly sketch out the curve of Akarsha’s jaw, that sweet tilt of her pretty smile, and the faint dimples which accompany it.
They both ease into steady, quiet tranquillity, no need for words. It’s certainly something else to watch the sketch come together, but something more to gaze at the girl sitting in front of her. She’s softly humming a tune, somehow familiar, though Noelle can’t exactly place her finger on it, and looking longingly out the open window, past the thin curtains. Noelle pauses for a short few seconds. She withdraws her gaze from Akarsha and also stares at the pink, cloud-studded sunset. As usual, she has no words to say. Instead, she breathes in the cool spring breeze and goes back to drawing. The slightest tremor tugs at her wrist as Akarsha opens her mouth to speak.
“I’m forever that girl who gets lost in the colours of the sky,” she whispers. Whether or not Noelle responds, she doesn’t seem to even mind.
Noelle quirks an eyebrow. That almost doesn’t seem surprising, to be fair, but the girl is curious, to say the least. “Oh? What do you think when you look at the sky, then?”
Akarsha inhales deeply. She ponders over her choice of words for a moment, then finally settles on, “Nothing, for once. Only a feeling,” she mumbles.
“That sounds depressing.”
“It’s not, it’s not, I promise,” Akarsha quickly assures Noelle with a goofy smile. “You know when, like, your mind is constantly noisy and stuff? I look at the sky and I realise it’s so much bigger than me. My problems mean nothing compared to it, and my mind quietens. It’s nice,” she explains.
Noelle chooses to remain quiet, unsure of how she could answer Akarsha’s introspective thoughts. She studies her expression, and continues to draw. It does not take long for this short-lived silence to be interrupted, though.
“Can I ask you a question?” Akarsha queries. Her mouth slowly curves into a smile again. It’s a smile, for sure, but it lacks the usual delight Akarsha brings with it. It’s a bit of an oddity.
“Sure,” Noelle replies, after a minute.
“Between saying ‘The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?’ or replying ‘I could die happy now,’ which do you prefer?”
“I . .” Noelle stumbles over her words, and her footing in this situation. What kind of question even is that?? “Neither. I would rather speak directly,” Noelle lies, but it passes as a truth, just barely. “I love you . . much too dearly to speak in the euphemisms of literary giants. Platonically, if that was not obvious enough already. And this is the last time you will be hearing this,” she scowls, waving her brush aimlessly in the air.
Akarsha’s eyes crinkle at the corners. She toys with the soft fabric of her garment. “There you go, ruining my hopes again, Frenchie,” she comments with a short laugh.
“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Akarsha.” For a few seconds, Noelle’s eyes bore into Akarsha, a bit of a threat, if you will.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Akarsha retorts, but her voice is too despondent to sound angry. She just seems disappointed, melancholic, maybe.
Noelle chooses not to answer, again. Guilt gnaws at the pit of her stomach, but it’ll pass, surely. She returns to her canvas, continuing to draw. Her attention is now on the arch of Akarsha’s eyebrows, and she makes sure to line them just right. The heaviness of Akarsha’s words which echo in her ear make her hand sway with a tremor. She picks up her rubber eraser, rubs out the disfigured line skewing Akarsha’s still grace on the canvas, and starts over again. Her hand, this time, draws firmly, with confidence. She won’t falter again.
“That’s what I’ll always be, right? Your what if. Your, what could have been.”
“What?”
“You should forget. For your own sake; it’s too late, Noelle, you can’t fix this,” she concludes with an empty expression.
“What are you talking about??” Noelle furrows her brows, confused. She tries to meet Akarsha’s eyes again, but this time, some unknown force pushes her gaze away. Her fingers creak, and she grips the pencil tightly. She needs control. She wants to hurry and finish this sketch. She also, unknowingly, wants to slow down and stay with her forever, cherish her and this time they’re having together. Something suggests it'll be the last.
Noelle sighs. She stares miserably at yet another crooked, wobbly line, and stretches her hurting wrist. It’s a sight and feeling of regret, all of it.
But that’s okay. She’ll start over. Again. As many times as she’ll have to.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Akarsha jokes. Noelle stares at her with a piercing gaze that speaks volumes about her current displeasure towards this . . joke. “I’m only kidding, hey, don’t give me that look, Frenchman! I’m here, am I not?”
Liar.
Liar. Liar. Liar.
Akarsha was a liar. Ever since they had first met, it doesn’t matter when, or where, or under what circumstances it was, Noelle had always known that she was a liar with a pretty, playful smile and sparkling brown eyes. A girl who thought too little of herself and chipped away at her being under a façade of smiles and laughs, kiddings and awful jokes. They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Akarsha’s eyes are sunken and sad. Akarsha’s eyes aren’t always as sparkling as they seem. But she smiles, and smiles, and smiles, and oh god how much Noelle would rather for her to cry and sob and scream instead of coating her words and tongue in saccharine honey until it clogs her throat.
Noelle’s only truth was the familiar, homely warmth of her palm as Akarsha pulled her along. As children. As high-schoolers.
It ended with tragedy. It ended with a stubborn, indirect fight, like two children tugging on a toy until they tear it in half. And that’s what they did. Push, pull, tug, shove, until their bond cracked, contracted, stalled, exceeded its limits, shattered and collapsed. It ended with messages left unsent. What should have been something new, something as beautiful as the city lights trying to mimic the stars at night ended with shattered hopes and dreams, broken relationships left to fester in the dark.
“Noelle, when you’ve finished the painting this time, let me see. You don’t draw people very often, you know?”
“That’s because I don’t have many people I like.”
“Do I get bonus points if I act surprised?”
“No, you flea-sized brain individual.”
“I call this slander and bullying, Miss Lei!”
“You can look at the painting, just not when I’m drawing it, you dolt.”
“Riiiiiight, you could’ve just said so!”
“And ruin all the fun? I could never.”
“Ha! So you do have an ounce of humour in that heart of yours! You are one hell of an enigma, Frenchman, I’ll tell you that.”
“I’d say that is a gross over-exaggeration of my personality, but thank you?”
Noelle swiftly finishes the sketch, has a quick glance at it then switches to her acrylics. Her wrists burn with soaring pain. Still, there’s work to do. Someone’s portrait she must urgently finish.
Noelle smiles.
Akarsha.
Of course it’s Akarsha. Is it ever not Akarsha?
Akarsha clearly notices, as signified by the sly smile which swiftly grows on her own face. “Something on your mind, dearest Frenchman? Could there be something, perhaps someone you might be thinking about? Anyone you like, maaaaaybe?” She drawls.
Noelle rolls her eyes. “You’re making me repeat myself. I already told you. I only draw people I like,” she indeed repeats with a touch of vexation present in her tone of voice.
“We desperately need to work on your social skills, it wouldn’t hurt to be more direct,” Akarsha points out with a light laugh. She’s smiling, brimming with sheer joy just from the fair share of banter between her and Noelle.
“Perhaps you got the wrong hint. I’m drawing myself, if you couldn’t tell,” Noelle shoots back condescendingly. It’s obviously forced, so Noelle comes off as some arrogant aristocrat, which . . suits her, just a bit. Her eyes switch from her canvas to her subject of interest as she continues to draw. “You cannot be telling me that you’ve been thinking that I have been drawing you this whole time, can you?”
Akarsha’s lips curl up in delight and she grins brightly. A hoarse laugh escapes her mouth. It’s certainly a sight to behold.
“Oh what could possibly be so funny, Akarsha?” Akarsha barely resists the urge to snort loudly at Noelle’s lack of understanding over the situation. She’d be surprised if she knew the girl was doing this on purpose. Why? Well . . .
Noelle likes Akarsha’s laugh. In fact, she loves it so much that she’d sell her soul to the devil just to hear it again.
“Well, since you won’t answer that, immature you are as is, there is something else I am curious about,” Noelle sighs. She truly does wonder whether she will get a serious answer from this, but she supposes it does not hurt to try, even if the results she’ll yield will turn out disappointing. “So, what about you? Who do you like?” She asks.
“Mmm, well, I don’t have many people I like either,” Akarsha confesses.
“Really now? You do not?”
“Yeah! Colour you about three hundred twenty two shades of sceptical and surprised, huh!”
“That number is oddly specific??”
“Come on now, does that really matter?” A light tint of red finds itself on Akarsha’s cheeks as she glances away, avoiding the way Noelle gazes at her with sharp intent. “Besides, you already know who I really, really like, don’t you?”
“No?”
“Okay, well,” the brunette thinks for a moment. “Well, well, well,” she echoes with a grin.
Noelle taps her foot on the ground impatiently. “Well?” She asks, awaiting her answer.
“The person I like isssss . . . she’s good with words, but really clumsy at speaking. About her feelings, mostly. She’s a living, walking encyclopaedia who should take care of herself better too.” Noelle notices as Akarsha steals a glance to watch her expression. It’s disappointing that Noelle seems mostly unphased, even if she’s partly boiling inside, but mostly fumbling with her own heart, which refuses to sit still. But really now, a walking encyclopaedia?? What the hell! “She’s taller than me, unfortunately, scowls twenty four seven, also, who knew she could smile, right?? And, I guess, now that I think about it, she has the softest lips too,” Akarsha finishes.
Noelle cannot quite find the words to speak. Akarsha leaves her flustered and embarrassed in the worst way whenever it is that she truly speaks her mind. The girl recalls upon that one, single time they kissed. It was a fragile moment they shared, in pure quiet. It should have never happened. Yet it did. Somehow, it did. Of course, neither of them had committed to anything, promising to brush it away as a mistake of youth just as their lips barely pressed against each other. They were in Akarsha’s room, working on a school project. The rain softly pelted against the window, and with their homework discarded to the side, they kissed, just that one time. Just that one time.
“Oh, and she hasn’t visited me recently. Or texted me! I’m here, you know!”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” Noelle apologises. She’s genuine, even if it doesn’t quite come across. “We’re okay, aren’t we?”
Her wrist hurts.
The lines are blurring.
The paint spills.
Slightly.
Only slightly.
Akarsha furrows her brows in disbelief. “What? Of course!” She almost sounds put off by the question. “Do I gotta say this again? I’m right here, aren’t I? One look is all it takes to confirm, helloooo!”
Noelle hesitates. She hesitates, but she does take a glance, eventually. And, true to her word, Akarsha is right there, still gazing out the window. She’s distant, but she’s there, right there. If only Noelle could just . . touch her. Hold her hand, one more time, like when they were kids. Stay in the sanctuary they built together, where the rest of the world could never reach them, where the only sound is the music of their choosing and the quiet beating of their hearts.
They continue to chat, but as all the material they could possibly speak about is finally exhausted, they soon fall into quietude.
The shadows blur increasingly, as do the lines. Noelle's hand wavers with each touch of paint on the canvas. It's inexplainable just how much she'd like to tear her arm off when it shakes mid-stroke and ruins part of Akarsha’s face. A sharp breath follows, she sighs, then slowly sets her palette down next to her and chips pieces of her skin with her nails while fixing the mess she herself created.
“Say, Noelle, what would you say if I told you, ‘the moon is ugly tonight’?”
Noelle bites the inside of her cheek.
“You mean to say you don’t love me?” She asks, quietly. Surely that could not be true. Yet another joke of hers, Noelle assumes. Or hopes. “So that I’d answer, neither do I, I’d rather not die for you? You speak improper words, you should expect a similarly improper response.”
“Haha.”
“Well, then, would you accompany me to see the stars and moon once more tonight?”
“We’ll see.”
“I’d rather receive a more concrete response, it’s a yes or a no, Akarsha.”
“I don’t think we have the time.”
There’s a brief moment of silence. And, while there's been a lot of those during their interaction, with this one, Noelle feels buds of sweat grow on the nape of her neck, then her back. Her eyes narrow, and she squints against the bright sunlight to peer at the structure of Akarsha’s face, and the way each shadow casts itself upon it. Each detail counts, but why can’t Noelle see her anymore? Why is she fading? And why is she smiling, even now?
Akarsha shifts her body ever so slightly. Before Noelle can even interrupt her, ask her to stay still, the girl hops off her stool and stretches her body. She continues to blur in Noelle’s vision. That . . that might be because of the tears rimming her eyes. She tries to blink them away, she really does try, because she must be able to see Akarsha, to finish the portrait, to tell her, I love you, because she had never before. And yet, something tells her, she won’t be able to set her eyes upon this special girl again.
“Akarsha, just a moment, hold on, Akarsha,” she says. Her eyes widen, just slightly but she keeps herself composed. She can’t fall apart. Not now. “Akarsha, no, please, stay here, I’m . . I’m still painting your expression,” Noelle pleads, voice trembling.
Her wrist hurts. Oh, it hurts so much. It burns with pain, it asks her, please stop, and yet it is too late.
The brush she so tightly held now falls from between her slender fingers with a clatter on the ground that does not quite reach her ears. It stains the tiles, red, red, bright and ugly red, and when she tries to wipe away the tears streaming down her face it smears all over her face; at what point had she even started using red? It was a terrible colour that both suited Akarsha, and also did not. Noelle’s fingers tremble as she stares at them. She can’t even bend enough to grab the paintbrush. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.
“Let me hurt you one last time.”
These feelings need to come out, Noelle needs catharsis. She needs to be rid off all these strange and complicated and frustrating and awful feelings. She needs to draw this venom from this old but freshly stinging wound, words that spill like poison from deep within her chest, we didn’t have to be this way, and yet, here we are. She needs to get them out, get it out, get everything out; all that is ugly, and gross and sick and bad, it all needs to come out. Then she can heal. Only then, yes, only then can she heal. She must touch it to dispose of it, even if it means to hurt.
“I hope the moon is beautiful tonight, Noelle. I really hope it is.”
So she can’t keep looking away. She has to face her, she has to do this, take her by her hand, like back then. She is a part of her, and no amount of running will let Noelle leave her behind, because, because maybe she still does love her. But a canvas should not speak; this is a canvas of a person who can no longer speak, of a person who should be dead within Noelle’s mind and heart. And yet Akarsha lingers.
“It’s a shame we won’t get to see it together.”
And yet, Akarsha will linger.
Akarsha Anand sits across from her.
And fades away.