Surviving Gangster's Love

My editor often asks me why my works are devoid of any romance. It would add dynamism to my stories. A little love story can fit into any genre, she says. I always tell her that I like writing such stories which I would want to read as a reader, and that everyone is bored of love stories anyway. I lie. I don't write romances simply because I don't know how to. What does it feel like to really love someone? Or to be loved? I have no idea. Not like I never wanted it. I too imagined falling in love, finding my soulmate and such bullshit as a kid.

As I grew up, though, I realized these things don't happen to everybody.

You might think that everyone around you is in love, but look closely, most of them are pretending. Or are blind. Some of them stay blind, some are pushed into facing reality, others don't bother to go through the ordeal of love all together. I belong to the barren space between the second and third categories. I was half pushed into repulsion, and was half inherently indifferent, towards the whole carnival of love.

Austin, the guy I married, belonged to the third category; fair and square. All he cared about was his job promotion and money. My best friend Katy introduced us. She told me we were what they call a match made in heaven. Austin was totally indifferent to romance, exactly the way I was. He did not want to bother with dating and finding a partner. Nor did I. I had stories to write and books to read. He had his job and executive ladder to climb. We were both done with our families setting us up with potential partners. So, we decided to just get married and be done with it.

I won't say I was very happy with that arrangement, but I was relieved for sure. Honestly, I just wanted to kill the last stubborn blip of hope that was buried somewhere within. Which ignites a little every time I see an old couple holding hands. It's annoying to want something that I know I can't have, so I thought, I might as well make the final kill.

Austin was pretty convenient to have as a husband. We had no disagreements regarding any of the marriage arrangements. It was a sober, fairly simple thing. We just got our certificates and had a little family lunch. His family felt a bit distant, also rather indifferent to the whole affair, not that I was complaining. It was comfortable. I did not need to be accommodating or presentable with anyone.

My father wasn't even a bit impressed by Austin, but my mother was happy that at least I had come upon liking someone enough to marry them. I did not burst her bubble, but I could sense disappointment in Papa's eyes. He has always been perceptive. I had a feeling he could see through the sham. Not that he could do anything about it.

Papa had always treated me very delicately. He would agree upon almost everything. So much so that I felt a distance from him. My Indian features were a tell-a tale. My brown eyes and thick black hair as oppose to my blond parents. It was as plain as day that I was an adopted child, but more than that, it was my father's cautiousness around me that made me feel like an outsider. I almost wanted him to question my choice this time, to tell me that I was wrong, but he said nothing, like always, supporting me quietly.

Katy was the happiest person at the party. She was pulling everyone in for the dance, drinking like there was no tomorrow. Sometimes, I just can't get through this woman. Katy and I have been friends since we were in pre-school. Others think that I am the weird one of the duo, but trust me, it's her. I have never had many friends and the number kept on declining as I grew up. I can never get through the double talk, pretending to like the person I dislike, or smiling when I don't even feel like it. Katy, on the other hand, has been an expert since she was a kid. She would make friends with everyone and still be with me, through all my foul moods and cold behaviour.

Katy said she was happy because now I had a partner, but I never saw Austin as a life partner. It was just for convenience and more of a compromise that I had to make for my family and society at large. To be honest, it was a bit sad the day I got married. I had convinced everyone that I was't romantic, but I had never convinced myself entirely, it seems.

Austin and I rejected the idea of a honeymoon. It made no sense for us to go on one, plus Austin could not take any leave for such a thing. He shifted to my house after marriage, which was again quite convenient for me. It would have been such a hassle to move. Specifically, when I had my working area set up there, ever since I took a two-year sabbatical from my teaching job, I had kind of holed up in that space, so much so, that I didn't go out at all for weeks.

Austin took charge of preparing breakfast in the mornings, and he was a good cook. I will give him that. Then he would go to work. He would get us takeaways for dinners and that was all the interaction we had every day. It was like living with a considerate flatmate. Plus, he was a fairly clean person, so it was more than what I had asked for. In the few months that I lived with him, it was nice except for some instances, which were also tolerable. Like his occasional corporate parties from which he would return totally drunk. Or the incessant calls during the rare weekends when he was at home. I rather preferred him in his office.

I was getting used to this life. I had actually started picturing us together. It wasn't that bad, living like that, until things turned upside down one day and I found myself sitting in front of a gangster, being held hostage in my own house.