Karai Nalladhu - Stains are good

 Eve: 👰‍♀️“Adam, you never understand our emotions. You don’t get what women go through.”

Adam: 👨‍✈️“And you never understand the love we express. You have your own guidebook and definition for love and expect men to follow it without instructions.”

After countless arguments, I found myself exhausted. I asked for a break—since I am not his girlfriend anymore, I couldn’t exactly ask for a break-up. So, I suggested not talk to each other for a while. There was a brief silence before he agreed (happily).

It seemed that men often seek silence from their wives. I was left feeling like I was the only one desperately holding our relationship. Damn, I had fought so many battles for this man, yet he doesn’t even bother to understand my emotions. I was hurt. 

For two days, my world seemed to crumble. I couldn’t focus on anything; I was slipping up in every aspect of my life.

“Don’t call him,” I told myself repeatedly. But, in a moment of weakness, I dialed his number.

He answered in a cool manner, as if nothing has happened between us. 

"You haven’t bothered to call me since this morning," I pointed out.

“True,” he replied. “But I answered your call right away. Not like you—who haven’t responded despite my multiple attempts to reach you over the past two days.”

“Damn your practicality!” I thought, but kept my frustration in check. I wanted him to come home, and have a heart-to-heart and solve the issues. But he insisted that discussing our problems would only make things worse. His practical approach to relationships was driving me crazy.

“How about we go for coffee?” He asked.

Coffee—where our love story had first brewed. Despite my lingering anger, I agreed.

When he arrived wearing the sky-blue T-shirt I had gifted him, I admired how handsome he looked. Maybe it was the distance that allowed me to perceive him differently.

We went to our favorite coffee shop, ordered our drinks(well the hot drinks), and sat down. Just as we were about to break our silence that lasted since few day, a pesky mosquito buzzed around. 

I watched with concern as the tiny mosquito landed on his right hand while he held his coffee cup. I pictured it like a scene from a Kollywood movie—where I would swat the mosquito, save him from a bite, and he would look at me romantically, saying, “Ah, that’s sweet.” 

But in reality, as I reached out to hit the mosquito, he lifted his hand to take a sip, and I swat the coffee cup accidentely. The effect was the opposite of what I intended. Hot coffee splashed across his T-shirt, staining it entirely and causing him to shout in pain. Yes, it was damn hot, as they had just served it.

“Oh no! I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear!” I pleaded, as the surrounding crowed stared at us. 

He rushed to the restroom to rinse out his T-shirt, but the stain was still visible. 

“My favorite T-shirt spoiled,” he said, biting his lip in frustration. 

“It wasn’t intentional!” I repeated, 

“Just be quiet for sometime; it’s burning,” he said, clearly upset. 

We left the coffee shop and headed home, leaving our unfinished coffees behind, along with the strains of our (my) emotional pain.

Once we reached home, I asked him the T-shirt, promising I would wash it by hand.

I carefully soaked his T-shirt in hot water, scrubbing away at the stain with hope. To my surprise, the stain began to fade. 

I showed him the now—clean T-shirt, and our eyes met with surprise smiles.

Not only did the coffee stain disappear, but the tension and our earlier argument seemed to vanish as well. However, when we noticed that his Jeans had also acquired a coffee stain, I attempted to wash them with the same care. 

To my dismay, the stain stubbornly refused to come out. That’s when I realized—the T-shirt was the wrinkle-free, stain-resistant fabric that made it so easy to wipe off the stain.

He added, "Men are like this T-shirt—we don’t hold onto any dirt. We let things roll off us easily. Women, on the other hand, are like these Jeans; they tend to keep a bit of the stain, holding onto things a bit longer.”

And hell, the Fight continues... 

Second Chance: Chapter 1 - Clash on the Court

      Chapter 1 - Clash on the Court

Click here to Read Prologue 

Few Months before…

In a cozy city apartment, the morning sun filtered through the balcony, illuminating an old photo album on the wall. The image depicted a happy couple in their twenties, radiating love on their wedding day. Yet, as the story unfolds, the bedroom reveals a different narrative.

Karthik, a dynamic man in his mid-thirties, radiated charm as he hurriedly prepared for the day; his wet hair, tousled from the shower, the stubble on his cheeks gave him a rugged charm. With effortless grace, he grabbed a sports tee from his wardrobe and slipped it on, highlighting his energetic physique. His captivating smile, magnetic eyes, and perfectly styled black hair seemed to possess a gravitational pull, effortlessly drawing people in.

Kavya, his wife, dressed in a black sports t-shirt and carrying a badminton bag slung over her shoulder, entered the room, her expression a blend of anger and frustration as she confronted Karthik. 

Her posture spoke volumes about her confidence. Slender with long, glossy black hair tied back in a ponytail, her captivating deep brown eyes drew others into her gaze. Her charming dimple enhanced her charm, adding a touch of sweetness to her presence.

‘Karthik, the match starts at 7:30, and it’s already 7. If you are not interested, you should have informed me during registration.’ Her eyes locked on him while she crossed her arms.

Caught off guard by his wife’s sudden outburst, he looked at her with a puzzled expression.

‘Why would I wake up at 6 in the morning if I’m not interested?’

‘You woke up, but you were in the bathroom for a long time, glued to your mobile,’

That’s men’s time,’ he said, smoothing his hair with gel. ‘And you wouldn’t understand,’ he added, glancing in the mirror.

His inner thoughts echoed. ‘It’s just a friendly tournament at our apartment, not an international match. Why does she always create a scene out of nothing?’

She stormed off with a slam of the door, leaving him behind in a rush. He hurriedly grabbed his shoe, dashed towards the lift, his breath slightly laboured from the morning’s frantic pace. 

Inside the lift area, Kavya stood alone, anxiously checking her watch as time passed. Just as the elevator doors were about to shut, Karthik’s last-minute press of the open button caused them to reopen.

As tension mounted in the confined lift space, Karthik stepped inside hurriedly, saying ‘Whew, just in time!’ and winked at her. 

The door closed behind him, sealing the unease between them.

Exiting the lift, they walked down the corridor, their footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. Reaching the parking area, Karthik headed for his bike, only to be struck by a sudden realization.

‘Oh no! I forgot my bike keys at home,’ Kavya looked at him, her disbelief palpable.

‘Seriously? I knew you would rush back for your helmet again.’

He rushed back to their apartment to retrieve the forgotten keys, leaving her to wait impatiently.

♥

Arriving at the badminton court, Kavya began her warm-up routine, and Karthik joined her, teasing, ‘I must say, no warm-up needed for you. You are already warm with your anger, just like a steam engine.’

She let out a light smile, trying to shake off the tension from earlier. 

‘Ah, my wife finally smiled,’

Just then, the organizer approached, ‘Your match is next. Are you guys ready?’

They nodded, but as the match began, their coordination seemed off. They both missed shots, each assuming the other would take them.

‘That was your shot, Karthik!’ She blamed him, frustration evident in her voice.

‘No, that was your shot, Kavya!’ his tone mirroring hers.

Frustration crept in as they continued to struggle on the court. The referee reminded them sternly about the seriousness of the match.

‘Guys, this is a knock-out match. Can you play a little more seriously?’ the organizer reminded them.

With a shared glance, they switched sides, but their gameplay remained disjointed. As the match progressed, their communication faltered, leading to more missed opportunities.

‘Game ball, Score - 21-5,’ the referee announced.

The shuttle reached Kavya perfectly, giving her a clear chance to score. However, in a moment of anger, she hit the shot into the net, sealing their defeat. 

Disheartened, she stormed off the court, grabbing her bag. 

Kavya watched as the organizer approached, shaking his head at their performance.

‘I can’t believe you guys were the tournament winner’s last time. Clearly, the issue was lack of sync and coordination,’ the organizer remarked before walking away, leaving them to contemplate their disappointing performance.

Karthik observed Kavya slumping onto the steps, her expression a masterpiece of disappointment. He mused, sensing her mood.

‘If I talk to her now, she will bombard me with non-stop blame. If I don’t, I will get a double serving for not convincing her. Ah, the dilemma,’ He thought he would better deal with it now and sidled up to her.

‘Leave it, Kavya. Let’s focus on the next tournament,’

‘I’m not upset about losing this tournament, It’s just...’

Surprised, he waited for her to explain.

‘Did you hear what the organizer said? We lack synchronization and coordination!’

‘Well, you know how it is with organizers—they say some random stuff. Let’s not take it seriously.’

‘But what he said is true, Karthik.’ Lost in thought, she gazed into the distance. ‘It’s not just about our match…Our lack of sync extends beyond the court.’

He got straight to the point, replying firmly, ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions based on one match, Kavya.’

‘But, don’t you think that game reflects our relationship?’ she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

Feeling a surge of irritation he replied, ‘For heaven’s sake, can you stop dragging this match into everything? We are here to play, not to psycho-analyse our relationship on the court.’

‘See, I’m trying to express something, but you are not understanding. This sync issue reflects in our lives as well.’

Karthik, maintaining his stance, replied, ‘I hear what you are saying, but I don’t agree. Our game and our relationship are separate things. Let’s leave the deeper discussions for another time, please.’  

He looked at her firmly and added, ‘Can we leave now?’

‘No, I can’t keep postponing anymore,’ She continued, ‘Perhaps it’s a sign that we need to take a step back and reevaluate our relationship.’ Her words trailed off, filled with introspection and underlying concerns.

‘Sh... She’s bringing this up again,’ he muttered.

‘Karthik, maybe it’s time for us to consider moving on,’ Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, her words with the weight of years of unspoken pain.

Kavya had tried to resolve their issues, to bridge the emotional distance that seemed to widen with each passing day. But her efforts had often been met with indifference or temporary fixes, leaving the wounds unhealed. 

It wasn’t just about this particular argument or incident; it was about the accumulation of unresolved emotions and unaddressed issues that had been festering beneath the surface for too long. She had reached a breaking point, where the constant struggle and pain in their relationship had become too much to bear, overshadowing any hope of making things right.

Karthik was taken back by her emotional statement. His mind raced, trying to process the gravity of her words. 

Fifteen years of marriage, filled with happiness and challenges, flashed before his eyes. While he acknowledged that the initial spark had dimmed over time and there were misunderstandings and gaps in their connection, he couldn’t fathom using that as a reason to give up on their relationship.

‘Let’s discuss this further at home, not here,’ he finally managed to say. 

He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, his own emotions a mix of confusion.

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