Raspberry Ripple

Bittersweet.

Everything that involved Dax was bittersweet. His words, his actions and the way he carried himself – everything had two polars to it. Hot and cold. Push and pull. Good and bad. Sana hadn't noticed it until she revelled in how her day had begun and how her day had ended.

The unexpected date that Dax had whisked her on like a dark wizard who ruled her dreams had been nothing but ordinary—the exact thing she'd been craving. Dax and her both. She'd been thrilled. Of course, she hadn't particularly looked forward to the sudden grief and reminiscence that was bound to hit her when the day got over, like that of a brilliant concert ending, but she hadn't expected the bad news that awaited her.

When Dax had told her they wouldn't be seeing each other for a while, she'd thought it was terrible. But she had the littlest hope that she'd run into him somewhere or that she could convince him to sneak a meeting in her cook's husband's rundown mechanic workshop. The sudden news that he wouldn't even be in town nearly split her heart in two. She was so mad at him and even though she understood it was necessary, it was difficult to accept it. And Sana didn't know why but she felt a grim feeling in her chest. Of course, she trusted Dax's skills and ability but she couldn't help but feel afraid for his safety.

Clutching the rose in her hand, she made her way inside her house. The TV was on, Appa's favourite late night cooking show on. "Didn't open shop today?" he asked but she couldn't see him from where she stood. The high arms of the sofa only allowed a peak of his head as he lay across it.

"Yes. Had something to do," she said.

"I wonder what, though. I still remember your big speech when I asked you to not work on the night before Diwali," he said, his tone taking a teasing direction.

Sana knew he'd get back at her for that. She made her way to him and stood between the TV and him, hiding his view. "I get that you're in the mood to pull my leg. Ask away."

Appa smiled. He sat up slowly and tucked in his sweatpants-clad legs in a fold. He tapped the space next to her, gesturing for her to sit.

"While you interrogate me, can I get your famous hair massage?" Sana asked, suddenly feeling an ache in her heart to be closer to her father. She just wanted someone to comfort her.

"You meant it when you said you would never get too old for it, didn't you?" He chuckled as she took a seat on the carpeted floor, just below him. She removed the claw clip she'd put her hair in and let her hair loose.

When she moved into his house for the first time, he'd tell her he had a love-hate feeling on how independent she was. Because he'd yearned for a child, not as an heir but to satisfy his longing to take care of and raise one. Sana struggled with the idea of allowing someone else to take care of her while he struggled with the idea of not being able to. So, they'd compromised. She'd agreed on letting him oil her hair once a week and braid it before she went to bed since it was the one thing she hated doing. Her father was happy to do so. He learnt how to braid and he never missed doing it for her every week. They had hour-long conversations during the time and it became her favourite part of the week. It became their tradition.

But this time, there was no excuse of oiling her hair.

She just needed to be pampered.

"Is it a guy?"

"How did you know?" she asked.

He let out a laugh. "A father knows these things."

Sana rolled her eyes. "Don't lie. Who snitched on me?"

"Mayil. She told me she saw you sneak a boy in your room one night."

She turned to face him. "And you didn't bother to ask me about it?"