The Lost Book - Part 2

continued from part 1

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Later in the night after dinner Yuva went to their usual weekend spot, on a terrace of the ashram building, under the canopy of stars and she was lying down there with her right hand in her mouth, awkwardly trying to get rid of some fiber from dinner that got wedged between her molars. Seeing the silhouette of approaching Yuva she instantly brought her hand down and adjusted a little, trying to induct some grace into her posture, hoping he didn’t look him in her earlier pose.

He gave her the book saying, “I swear I didn’t open it since Gandhiji gave it back”

Shruthy suddenly sat upright and plucked the book out of his hands, horrified, she asked, “Gandhiji? Why was it with Gandhiji? Holy cow! I must have accidently put it on his table when I went to give him his letters. Did he say anything about me?”

“No, he thought it was my book, I didn’t care much to dispel him of his illusion. “

“So he thought it was yours? Thank God!”

“Why, what would happen if he knew it was your book?”

“Nothing, it’s um, nothing, just like that.”

“So let me see your progress, till where did you read?”

She showed him, where she folded the corner of the page to keep track.

“Hey, that’s not a good practice to dog-ear them, books get hurt,” said Yuva, and suddenly started laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” She asked confused.

“You didn’t want to take my book, because you made some progress on your book? And wanted to read only from it?” asked Yuva struggling to keep a straight face.

“Yes, what’s so funny?”

“And all this time the only pages you’ve read so far are: the title page, introduction, preface and acknowledgements. You didn’t yet start the story,” saying which Yuva couldn't restrain  himself any longer and guffawed boisterously putting on display all of his teeth. 

“So what? Anything is a progress?” She hit him on his head with the book and stood up and turned away giving a hurt look.

Yuva was still unable to control his laugh, put his hand on his mouth to muffle it and was biting his lips, and tried saying sorry, but it was too difficult given his laugh.

“You boys are so immature and will never understand girls.” she said and left him and went back to her room.

Only after going into her room, she opened the mid pages, where she doodles and decorated ‘YS’, which meant ‘Yuva and Shruthy’, and consequently she was more anxious to get her book back than to read the story. She wasn’t a fan of crime mysteries all she cared about was that the book was given by Yuva. She remembered the way he looked when he innocently promised and her lips acquired a graceful curve at that memory. After all, boys should approach first, she thought, and covered her blanket and sunk into mesmerizing dreams.

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While on the bed before drifting into his sleep, Gandhiji reflected about the book again, and recalled the doodle, ‘YS’, and thought to himself, “Poor child, might be missing his mother a lot, YS, Yuva Scott, obviously, kid fancies his mother’s surname, poor child! I should make a note not to scold him even if he’s done something wrong; after all he’s a lonely kid.”

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