His dark brown eyes glitter with the beginnings of tears, yet he’s still glued to his phone, as he grasps it as if what he is seeing is his death sentence. I watch uncomfortably as my brother’s lashes grow wet and heavy, till a single tear traces its way down his cheek.
“Trishna!” he whispers desperately, his gaze not wavering from the object he’s clutching so tenderly. “Yes, brother?” I stare sadly at his his yellow framed glasses that mirror, in a soft, clear, reflection, the tragic news he’s just been delivered, via his phone.
It’s hard to believe he’s not my little devil anymore. Our once legendary fights and wrestling matches that always seemed to be the subject of any family discussion have paved way for more civilized interactions… I fondly recall the biting, kicking, screaming and yelling we carried out, the entertaining scenes we provided our relatives with. But with age comes wisdom, and more importantly, shame… Mature we were, in many ways, and love stepped out from behind the curtains, where it’d been hidden all those years.
But now, its agonizing to watch his teenage travails. How many heartbreaks the poor boy has had to go through! He’s given up on love completely…