Straight love stories are like: we saw each other and thought they were hot, we kissed and now we’re in love
Queer love stories are like: “He is half of my soul as the poets say”, “I would've loved you if we had more time”, “He was a boy made of fire who'd been turned to frost. He was meant to burn”, “all the people are fake. Theyre made out of metal. But I like you… and that is not fake”, “Ismail Shah, did he forget the color of Isfahan's sky?”
Suhani Ahuja character of all time. forcibly medicated as a child and now she’s on cocaine. hates her family. family hates her. wears doc martins. great hair. selfish and reckless but what else could you be? nobody's ever offered her a banta before. kind, sometimes, to the right people. doomed from the start.
Title: this sinking feeling (knowing i can't help)
word count: 1968
category: m
pairing: dhruv/faruq
disclaimer: this is quite rushed and has only had an s + g check.
(i'd love to hear your thoughts on this, feel free to share!)
Don't cry, put your head on my shoulder
Tell me what happened, my friend
Ever since having to forsake his home in Kashmir, Faruq hadn’t breathed a word about why, that much was clear to Dhruv. He didn’t dare look away in the silence that followed the two sentences of explanation. Of description, introduction even.
Faruq was still searching his expression for…. something. What, Dhruv could barely fathom. A handful of seconds later though, the furrow between his lover’s brows cleared and the tight band around Dhruv’s heart eased.
Uttering Shabbir chachu’s name after bringing it forth from the shadows of his bereaved heart and into the glaring light of the day had been difficult, clearly, but it can’t have been enough. Not for the Faruq Dhruv knew. Continued to know.
“Kya dekh lega tu.”
The intonation left it as a half question – half resigned statement. If nothing else, Dhruv was determined. Stubborn to a fault. If nothing else, he could at least offer to witness Faruq’s grief with him. Dhruv let go of his jacket sleeve to reach for his hand. After a moment’s stillness, he entangled their fingers, squeezing twice.
Faruq’s brow lifted, clearly lost.
“Tell me more about him. What’s he like?”
A few false starts later, Faruq was almost…. chatty. If it weren’t for the shining bruise on his cheekbone, Dhruv would’ve thought all these recollections were being revealed to him of free will.
And yet, with each sentence he uttered, the light, the spark was returning to Faruq. It showed in the way his body unfolded. From hunched to relaxed, limbs outstretched and face tilted from staring at his shoes to the sky.
Past – Faruq Manzoor had just turned 12 in the narration when present day – Faruq’s countenance shifted, the first shadow being cast. Dhruv pressed closer still. With the first shaky exhale, Dhruv moved to wrap around an arm around him. What he didn’t expect was for Faruq to collapse against him, the rest of his sentence becoming unintelligible as his face pressed against his chest, curls tickling the ridge of his collarbone.
Dhruv froze as Faruq’s arms wrapped around his torso first.
The narration of ages 12 – 16 felt more like a whisper, as if speaking directly to Dhruv’s heart, tucking each word, each secret, precious memory tucked safely between its rhythmic beats. Faruq didn’t cry, but it was a very near thing (as far as Shabbir Manzoor had gone, and then again, not at all).
The door is locked, the kettle's screaming
And I can't stop this sinking feeling
Dhruv continued to hold Faruq as he described his abbu’s grief, his ammi’s silences, Saba’s sudden acceleration in her academic pursuits. His 17th birthday stood out to them all, Dhruv learned, if only for the accident that left Yusuf Manzoor with a burn scar on his wrist (hence the strictest adherence to full sleeves) and a mental scar for his son. Hence the opaque curtain on his personality, lifting only now. Only for him.
Faruq’s abbu had tried to make (recreate, replicate) his brother’s chai for his son’s birthday and dissociated. He’d forgotten to monitor the kettle and then –
Watching you do this damage to yourself
Knowing I can't help
Dhruv’s breath caught in his chest as Faruq described everything falling apart at the seams. It’s not that saying it was making it hurt any less, hell no, but in all of this chapter, Dhruv could pick up on how the weight of guilt and shame had worsened, weakening the force of Faruq’s heartbeat.
Dhruv felt his own heart race instead as his Faruq described all of their attempts of returning to themselves, given that trying to find each other in the phantoms that remained had been proving far from useful an endeavour.
For Faruq, it had in part entailed re – accepting his sexuality, his desire, his wants. Then discovering an inroad to leaving again. Dhruv could hear the smile in Faruq’s voice as he described meeting Balli shortly after Saba had transferred to NK’s school.
A gentle breeze ruffled Faruq’s hair as they traversed closer still to the winter of just last year. Dhruv had to squeeze Faruq’s shoulder twice to cue him into pausing. His love pulled away concerned, only for the fear to fade at his one word, awkward clarification.
“Cramping.”
Dhruv couldn’t hold back his fond exasperation at Faruq’s needlessly guilty expression as he took in how the shades of their canopy – sky had changed for the first time in hours.
Don't cry, put your head on my shoulder
In changing their configuration and shifting about, a gossamer light veneer of…. composure had settled over Faruq. A web, even. He tried to stand even taller so Dhruv figured it was best to change their positions too to dispel the illusion that this was over. As his extremities regained sensation, His narration contorted itself again, and with it, tears began to track down Dhruv’s cheeks and he let his head rest atop Faruq’s shoulder instead.
Faruq squeezing his hand in gratitude as he continued to speak, bringing his story inevitably closer to the present moment. The ache in his chest lessened as Faruq declared with conviction that Shabbir chachu would’ve liked him.
What more could he ask for?
You're doing your best
It’s not that either of them had the habit of asking for things, as their lives had borne witness to, but they still had the freedom to hope, to dream. And then, one fateful afternoon, that too had changed for Dhruv and Faruq.
Two dining tables, kilometres apart, parents sat down to cross – examine their sons. They couldn’t come up with much, in the end. Aside from the fact that whatever they’d been doing hadn’t been enough, if this had been the outcome.
Yusuf Manzoor was disappointed more than he was furious. Deven Sanghvi was furious more than he was dismayed.
And what more can you do?
Their collective disappointment transformed into constraints descending onto their sons. They’d discovered there was still space left to act, if only to prevent their sons from acting out any further. Their wives, the mothers, stood disapproving – of what and who, neither men in either household could quite discern, but what did that matter, really?
In the end, it wasn’t death that was prising them away from their futures. It was something far slower, far more deceptive and in the days that followed, they both tried, then failed. Tried again, failed again. In the end, there was nothing more for it.
Take all the time that you need
Faruq’s ears rang as he stumbled back towards his room. Not once in this torturous fortnight had abbu yelled. Even so, the quiet, even tone he chose to use to inform Faruq about his wedding to a woman felt like he’d used a megaphone. The ticking of a clock counting down a month’s worth of time joined the words.
His shoulder caught the edge of a bedpost and Faruq fell to the floor. The skirmish rendered Saba silent, for the fact that she’d lingered in the doorway to his room escaped Faruq’s notice until she cleared her throat.
She didn’t say anything as she sat down beside him. It wasn’t the same. Faruq desperately didn’t want her to speak either.
Even so.
Even so, when Saba’s hand reached for his, Faruq let himself feel less alone. The whole world had been kept at a distance, but at least he had this. For now.
Three days (Saba still went to school, how she fared only Allah knew) and three evenings (she worked in his room now – their parents accepted the change in stoic silence) later, his resolve broke.
The daytime, a Sunday, looked like endless accounts. Saba returned from goodness only knows where. She paused at his desk…. expectant. He looked up. She glanced behind her.
Minutes later, her phone was pressed against his torso, a last ditch attempt at vanquishing the yells down the line. There was nothing any of them could do now.
When this whole world
Has walked away
The seating capacity of the auditorium nauseated Faruq. The conversation made his near empty stomach churn. He didn’t dare say a word in his own defence as people invaded his space over and over, unapologetically. He may as well have been invisible to them all.
Just as well, he supposed, until the farce had to come to a stuttered halt.
It was always fated to last only until he saw an errant curl resting against a grey sari drape. Then, dark eyes trying to pin him and his family in place even as they closed the gap. And behind her –
Try as he might, Faruq couldn’t look away. He refused to blink.
He barely registered Abbu’s curt retorts, or being shuffled into the seats, settled between his sister and father. Veer’s earnest defence didn’t log itself to his memory at all.
It was only on seeing the ivory suit disappear out of the corner of his eye that Faruq reacted. Just as the lighting changed, he leaned closer to his sister. One murmur, one pat of his hand in confirmation, Faruq slipped away. She’d feign ignorance just fine. Abbu’s dissociating was helpful just this once. One last time, if nothing else.
Come and find me
The frantic racing of his heart was pacified only on finally spotting his love. Damn the acoustics of this stairwell for carrying his sobs up to him with no hesitation. His clambering down the stairs felt obtrusive, loud, but on reaching Dhruv, everything settled. Turning his face back to him and meeting his eyes, Faruq felt real again. The touch of his skin, the warmth of his being, everything.
He’d found him. He was here. He was – he is, well. They were shattered.
Dhruv needed no prompting to recreate that afternoon. There was nothing more to say. There was nothing that speaking could achieve. No insight that could help change the trajectory of their fate.
When Dhruv did choose to speak again, though, Faruq could only match him. And when he slid his photograph into the opaque pocket of the wallet, he chose to break their hearts again.
One last kiss, and Faruq found himself walking away. His quiet desire to go back and hold, be held by Dhruv faded eventually. The tears on their faces had dried by the time they saw each other again, at the exit gates of the school.
Only to be prevented from leaving at the catastrophic turn the night had taken.
A whirlwind of 3 hours later, they’d managed to set foot in the alley that led to the house. The whole time, Faruq’s hand hadn’t been let go of, Saba attached to him unrelentingly.
He’d seen Veer glue himself to Dhruv’s side just the same and his Dhruv had simply embraced him, taken it all in stride. Faruq decided to do the same.
Saba parted from them only to change her attire. She reached for him again and ammi – abbu remained silent at her request to leave them be. Leaving twin mugs of chai in front of them, their parents bid them goodbye. Whatever the new day was to bring, they had to be ready.
For now though, they all needed space.
Saba turning to him only when their empty mugs had lost their residual warmth was unsurprising. Faruq was stopped from sitting up straighter by his sister putting her arm around him, a quiet, hoarse murmur his only cue before his perspective shifted. The material of her scarf and a few errant strands of her hair felt foreign to his forehead, but he let it be, unwilling to break the silence she’d created for him.
I rewatch one (1) old Cla$$ Netflix interview and suddenly im back at Ismail's tomb and the Kulfi lane and the Rooftop and the Staircase and the Pool and the Ruins and the
