Messes

She hated messes. She’d told him so. But he hadn’t heeded. Now, this had resulted. He was dead.

She knew she was slightly insane. Her parents were warned about her insanity. If she wanted something, she WANTED that thing. If she didn’t, then it was not long before that thing was out of her way.

She was kept away from school. Suspended. She was suspended from school for throwing her bag at him. They thought it was because she was stalking him and he’d resisted. They didn’t know it was the other way round.

Every day he used to stand near the gate of the school, waiting for her to come out so that he could pester her with his proposals. Again. Again and again. She didn’t want to be his. The only person she’d loved was her brother. Her gentle forgiving older brother. There was no space for anyone else.

But he’d persisted. She told him that she didn’t like to be embroiled in a relationship. He was stubborn. Sometimes holding her hand forcibly. Sometimes trying to kiss her. But all of that has ended. He was dead.

Jol dey, her brother asked. The water washed over the dried blood on his beautiful hands, making it look like glittering rust, as he looked disgustedly into the face of his victim.

You shouldn’t have killed him, Dada, she said.

Chhar, he will not disturb you anymore, he replied.

She didn’t like messes. She really didn’t.