Differences

DifferenceDifferences

 

“Isn’t it grand?” he asked her, voice bubbling over with obvious excitement.  Aisha looked at the painting, trying to make some sense out of it but failing miserably.

 

‘It’s just a bunch of dots and lines.  how could it mean anything?!’ she thought miserably.

 

“Yes, honey.  It’s very beautiful!,” she exclaimed, feigning understanding and amazement.  She hoped he would just get on with his monologue about the work of art’s meaning like he always did.  It was going to be boring, but the sooner he was done describing the picture, the sooner she could get to those checkbooks.  They needed to be balanced after all, balanced and rechecked.

 

When all she got was her husband’s silence, however, she began to grow worried.  She glanced at her husband, only to see him looking at her with an expression that was akin to disappointment.

 

“You don’t have to pretend, Aisha,” Kumar looked away, not really liking the fact that his wife didn’t understand much about art.  She was a no-nonsense girl, excelling in mathematics and all the other things he thought were a waste of time.

 

He, however, liked – loved – art.  It was an integral part of his life; one that she, sadly, didn’t think was worth her time.

 

It was all rather frustrating.

 

Silence – thick and heavy – stretched on between them, neither of them willing to break it.

 

Their relationship was falling apart.  He knew, she knew, they both knew.

 

It was hard to imagine that, just last year, they were the hottest couple in town – Jack and Sally, Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet!  They were inseparable!  Well, until they realized they had nothing in common.

 

Unfortunately, by the time they realized this, they had already tied the knot.

 

“I – uh – I’m going to go to the study, Kumar.  I have some work to do.”

 

“Ri-right…,” he stammered, not really knowing what to say to her.  Instead, he just watched her walk away, feeling a twinge in his heart that he couldn’t quite describe.  Sighing, he went to his own study, the one he had converted into a studio, and started painting.

 

They stayed like that for the rest of the day, apart.  Each doing his one thing, each caught up in their own world – worlds that excluded each other.  They both had to wonder, though, why he was painting a picture of her and she was balancing his checkbooks.

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