The Conundrum of the heart

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Image result for wolves moonlightThere are days when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. There are days when the world is so silent I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears. There are days that I just breathe, just that. There are days that I cannot muster enough courage to get out of my bed and face the world. There are no monsters out there, just my fears. Yet, some days I can’t face them. So I lie awake, staring the ceiling that tomorrow is the day that I will face my demons.

It is not the world that scares me. It is me. It is who I am and who I want to be and the distance between them. It is my fear of these sleepless nights that scare me. The world is cold and dark but I hate the sun so much that I prefer it when I chill to the bones. I walk alone on these paths, not knowing where I am going. But if I don’t know where I am going, any road will take me there.

The world is too large and too small at the same time. Some days I can’t breathe because there are just too many faces and some days, I feel like I could yell for hours and no one would be around to listen.

I wish I was a child again, dreaming about what lives above the clouds. My shoulders light without any weight. These mountains I carry, I was just supposed to face. The world is heavy and sometimes I fear too much. I look around the faceless men guessing how they walk without feeling the weight; I ask some too. They say, “You’ll get used to.” Or I won’t, I say. But either ways I got no choice.

I have too much to do and far too little time.  It is not death that scares me, it is being forgotten. Everyone dies, the point is not to live forever but to create something that does. The responsibility of creation, the drive to create has captured me.

These thoughts that plague my mind at three a.m are what scare me. They scare me because they are too honest, too real. I wonder if I am ready to face them. Ready to face who I am and who I want to be.

Sometimes I am and sometimes I am not. But mostly I want to be. Ill trudge across this hill, only to find a mountain. Sometimes I’ll give up but mostly I will try not to. There are days that I will lose, there are days where I will be defeated but the memory of the victory shall keep my fire alive on those nights.  The world is dark but all got to do is find some logs and light them to fire. Then it’s not so dark anymore.

“The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire” – Ferdinand Foch

Braveheart

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I attended this talk recently that spoke about being Brave. As I looked around the room, my heart thundered with the realisation of the stories resonating within me, I saw the faces of the people; their eyes said the exact thing that I am sure mine did – their eyes said the stories of the moments where they were brave.

Being brave is not about fighting off the attacker, who is trying to harm you in a dark alley, it is not about starting a protest to stand up for all that is wrong in this world – those do mean being brave but that is not all that bravery is.

It is about those moments where you are petrified to get out of bed – because the thought of facing the world crushes you – but you find the strength within to do it anyways. It is about the moment where all you want to do is curl up in a ball and cry but you plaster a smile on and go about your day.

It is those moments where your heartbeats loud enough for it to be deafening in your ears because you are afraid of rejection but you find the nerve to go and talk to someone. You are brave.

You are so brave and you do not even realise it. We all are fighting our battles, and we do not ever speak about it. If you have anxiety, like me, sometimes the tiniest things can be a task. Like, having a conversation with your roommates about something that is bugging you, or spending a little extra money on something that you really want.

When the world is closing down around you, and darkness is spreading from within sometimes all you want to do is breathe. Just one tiny gasp of air to remind you while being alive is the greatest feeling ever but sometimes the universe denies you even that.

As I am sat here – clouds fluttering outside my window, my throat parched but my knees too weak to walk to get water, my head heavy and my heart thundering – my mind wanders to the time when I did not feel this way. I wonder how easy it is for those who do not crumble from the weight of their sorrows and how their oceans within stay calm. There has been a raging storm inside me for as long as I can remember and I have been floundering to keep my head above for as long as my memory allows me.

All these thoughts flicker as I look around the room – their eyes lit up with a thousand stories waiting to burst out – that I realise for the first time in a long time that I am not alone.

We are all drowning and I know that is not exactly pretty or optimistic but a wave of peace washes over me; basking in the knowledge of the fact that atleast I am not the only one drowning.

The weather sure is a little stormy nowadays but what can I say; we are all bravehearts. We can handle a little thunder and lightning – it ain’t anything we are not ready for.

“The final forming of a person’s character lies in their own hands” – Anne Frank

Mind over Matter

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What is this pain we feel inside ourselves?

What are these bags that we carry above our heads?

Why does it hurt this way? Why do my bones shake so?

They say it is mind over matter, that to think it is to feel – but my own thoughts betray me – sometimes rightfully so. I can’t think about anything else apart from how I feel, and I can’t feel any way else because I can’t think. What is this vicious game life plays, this endless circle of torment.

I wish I could scream, louder than my voice could ever allow me. I wish I could jump, without having the fear in my bones.

I want to tell you exactly how it feels to be me, but there are no words complicated enough to justify it.

I do not want for anyone, yet this whisper inside of me dies of loneliness. There are no words to describe what it is to be me.

I know what the world would say, that everyone has it hard. That everyone has struggles. But if everyone feels the same way I do, what is even the point of it all. There is no point in going on if everyone weeps in the dark. There is no hope to be longed for.

I want to yell at everyone to get away, after they have backed into the corner but this darkness inside me demands to be held. This is confusing at times, and I want to know that it does get better but lately, I have been losing that hope.

I hope for my sake, that it returns but I am not too sure anymore.

My heart races as I write this, and my eyes weep for the death of me – the death of my childhood, the death of the light.

I wish I could start afresh but I am not sure anymore.

 

“Loneliness is a sign that you are in desperate need for yourself” – Rupi Kaur

Away from the shore for 182 days

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It has been 6 months now that I have moved away from home. Temporarily, sure but away nonetheless. This new land has been rather different. Kind, taught me a lot, and changed me fundamentally, but unfortunately cold. The life here is cold. Not warm like it used to be. The smiles are there on their faces but fleeting.

I realized a lot of things in this past year, but what was the most pivotal was I realised who I am. I realized I had been lying to myself and to people around me – not knowingly – about what I wanted in life. To earn money, travel and put my career first. I realised how silly I was being. The thing that mattered to me the most, was something I had to put first. I had and have to put my happiness first.

It is a hard path any person who moves away chooses. We choose to put ourselves through this, this loneliness and pressure. But it is also so rewarding. You meet people you never thought you would, you realise what is out there. You come to terms with the fact that, everywhere people are struggling. This isn’t a pessimist in me talking, it is the realist. People are struggling everywhere, their struggles are different but not absent. We have to stop with this idealism that certain places live the perfect life or that certain people do. No one does. You just have to find the life that is worth struggling for.

I wish I could say that this past year was the hardest year of my life, I would be warranted to. But I know although I struggled, I emerged stronger which doesn’t make me think of it in a negative light.

People will leave, especially if you do not want them to and it will hurt. But it is ignorant to think that when people promise to stand by, they will. Some do, but probability sways towards those who don’t. People are like homes, you have to go through a lot of houses to find one that is home. You can’t assume that every house will remain yours forever. It will make you cautious to take more time with the next one. To take more care into investing into it.

Distance is a funny thing. You learn what matters to you because what doesn’t simply disappears when you’re that far away. It helps you evaluate, and it has a peculiar way of making you have a hard look whilst being objective. The only question is do you disappear with it too. You cherish the things you never thought you would, and you are surprisingly fine with things that you thought would make your head implode.

Is it so wrong to leave, with the purpose of finding out if you want to come back? But what if you have nothing to come back to because you left? What if you leaving, made the choice for you. I wish I could tell you that it is easy, that everyone should do it. That everyone can survive it. It rips your soul into fragments but that’s the beauty in it. You understand your true strength, how much you can endure. It makes you fall in love with yourself and isn’t that what everyone wants at the end of day.

The funny thing is, everyone talks about the new place, the changing of habits, of accents, all of that being difficult, the biggest thing that changes is you. You gain a strength, to be content within yourself, by yourself, of yourself.

It has been 182 days on this journey and for the first time in forever I am looking forward for the next hundred. I have finally begun to swim instead of flailing my arms, and for now, I’m okay with being so far away from the shore.

“Life isn’t about finding yourself, but about creating yourself” – George Bernard Shaw.  

Peace

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“Forgive others, not because they deserve it but because you deserve peace of mind”

Is peace an emotion or a feeling? Is it temporary or permanent? I haven’t felt at peace in a while and now I’m beginning to feel it again.
The thunderstorms within me are calming and smooth sailing has begun once again.
But do you wanna know a little secret? A person once told me, never chase peace because the farther you chase it, farther it will go away.
It comes to those who deserve it, when the time is right and the universe is falling into place.
All you have to do is keep your doors open, and embrace it with both your arms and then maybe, just maybe, it will last more than a fleeting second.

Pt 2 of the emotions series – Let’s nautanki. 💜

Happiness

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Happiness is a choice, cultivate it” ~ Elbert Hubbard

There is black and white, and then there is the grey. There is the yes and the no and then there is the maybe. If there is a happy and sad, there is the mid way between that too.
Our world’s changing rapidly, and more often than not there is a pressure to be happy and we crumble under that pressure. Ironically, the pressure to be happy all the time is what keeps us from being happy. It’s a conscious choice, one that we have to make. One, that we have to be ready to make.
And if you’re not ready to, then that’s alright too. It’s a tough road, facing the darkness with light and if someone has not told you this earlier; then let me be the first one.
It’s absolutely alright to take the easy road.
One day, you’ll be ready to make the choice to work on your happiness, and I hope one day happiness is not a choice anymore, it’s a habit. For you and me both 🙂

Pt 1 of the emotions series – Let’s Nautanki.

Let’s get Pizza

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Pizza. A 5 letter word that is renowned globally for bringing every teenager to their knees. But, did you know that this 18th century delicacy actually tastes widely different in different parts of the world. It’s kind of like how Maggi is to India, but on a more global scale.

You come to India, you would find the Butter Chicken Pizza at Joey’s or the Pav Bhaji deep dish at Light House Cafe but if you would go to Naples, Italy (the birthplace of Pizza) Pizza would often be a focaccia bread with basil and homemade mozzarella and maybe a few slices of tomato. It wasn’t until 2 years ago that I realised the meaning of how the same food has such widely different interpretations and meanings assigned to it.

In 2015, just after my 12th boards, my parents had kindly approved and gifted a solo trip to my dream destination and possibly the greatest pizza heaven on the planet; New York City.

Renowned throughout the world for its signature style thin crust pizzas, New York City is synonymous with good food and more importantly beautiful pizzas. These delicacies not only look delicious but are a staple part of every New Yorkers diet.

Dominoes in India has its usual pizzas but the largest size available is 12 inches. Seems large enough right? But the average New York pizza is nothing less than – wait for it – 18 inches. I mean it’s so large that you cannot even pick it up without tearing it. This is where is signature New York style of folding the pizza, almost to a cylinder and then eating it strives from. Pizzas over the pond, are often referred to as pies too.

My 17 year old self with a slightly unhealthy obsession with food decided to do what I suggest everyone should do. A self-designed and guided Pizza Tour. Now, there were some really bad ones too but I had two weeks’ time to figure out which was my favourite pizza in the whole entire world.

Beginning with Grimaldi’s, possibly the most renowned of all pizzas, it is as old of an institution as it gets. Located at Brooklyn, you would have no problem with finding the location of the place. Simply, follow the line. Imagine this, an old colonial style building with high arches. Indoors are full of Old Italian uncles who are rolling out dough, amidst crowd and an arcade of conversations. The smell of tomato and basil hung in the air, and the small narrow passageways with every inch filled with tables, almost forcing you to be closer, be warmer and eat more. Conversations will go on, and the pizzas will keep flowing. The pizza is by itself delicious. I personally had the original, a large New York style thin crust pizza bubbling with cheese and basil and tomato. The crust is charred and crispy from the coal ovens and one thing is guaranteed, if nothing else. It will be hot. Hot enough that it will burn your tongue for the rest of the day – not that I experienced that or anything – and it will be delicious.

I mean it would almost be ironic with a name like Grimaldi’s to not have good pizza. That’s the thing about this city, it has almost everyone from around the world, and so many of them that when one calls themselves Italian, they better be really really Italian.

But surprisingly, my favourite place was none of the hits. Located extremely close to NYU, in lower Manhattan, there is small shop house popularly known as Prince’s St. Pizza. Want to know why? Because conveniently so, it happens to be on Prince’s St. Almost opposite of how Grimaldi’s is, Prince’s St Pizza is small and unassuming. It has just 4- 6 counter seating high chairs and 90% of the restaurant happens to be behind the counter, occupied by 4 large wood ovens and then the front counter has trays of hot, fresh pizzas serving the typical New York style pies. But they also happen to have a house special, a square pizza.

So here I was, a rather awkward 17 year old kid, with a bag pack on my back and meekly going and asking the rather robust Italian lady behind the counter what her special was. I remember her, tipping her glasses towards the end of her nose almost to assess me probably wondering who was this random kid asking her her specials, she probably hadn’t been asked that in years – in hindsight it was probably my accent. But as I said, this place wouldn’t be found any travel guide, but is nothing less than popular. It is every local new yorkers top 10 best pizza place.

The pizza itself is very different from Grimaldi’s and it’s because of the sauce. Where Grimaldi is all about the mozzarella and dough, Prince St. is all about, and I mean all about the sauce. It is so saucy that it is messy. You sit there like a slob on the wooden chairs and with sauce dripping at your chins, but can I just tell you one thing. No one minds that at all.

See the thing is that a lot of times, travel and food kind of merge with each other. The food and cuisine of a place tell you so much about the people. The Ban Mhi in Vietnam is an excellent reflection of its French heritage. Pizza is the same, but they stand for the place they are made at. The quirky fusion pizzas at Mumbai symbolise its youth and energy, just as it is becoming used to being cosmopolitan and multicultural. But the traditional pizzas at New York you would think would contrast its persona, I would disagree. New York is old, it’s so cosmopolitan, and it has been multicultural for so long that traditional has now being its one chance to maintain a semblance to sanity. Almost as if it wishes to remain traditional so as to not lose itself.

The pizza is just like that. Traditional yet complex. Ever evolving and ever changing. You can mould it to your tastes but at the end of the day it is just a pizza. You just have to find the one that you love.

“You can’t hurry love or pizza. Especially pizza” – Snoopy

The whimpering heart.

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There was once a little boy who asked his mother, “Why do people hate?”

To which the mother replied, “They are sad within themselves and they lack the courage to own upto their hollows, so much so that they start blaming the world for not filling them up”

Image result for thunder

It is easy to hate, it is even easy to like. Love is also easy sometimes, but its all momentary.

Love fades away and all that remains is familiarity. We cling onto the known because we fear the unknown so much and then we cry that our lives lack novelty.

We hate because it is familiar, faults glisten like a diamond in the moonlight – easy to point out and embrace – but we forget that the others practise that too.

You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things that you do not want to feel. We try to hide our feelings but we forget that our eyes speak.

There are wounds we carry that are far deeper than any other wound, far more fatal than any hurt that bleeds. We need to heal. Not as people, not as a group but as an individual.

There does not have to be a great reason for us to carry hate in our hearts, that is our purest misconception. We do not have a war, we do not have a plague but that does not mean that we do not hurt.

Deep down inside, we are all the same. We have always been the same and we all feel the same.

The primary cause of unhappiness is rarely the situation, it is more often than not your thoughts about it.

It is easy to follow the bandwagon, it is easy to pretend to be hollow. But we are not, you are not. We feel, and we hurt. Once you allow yourself to feel, that is when you can begin to heal.

Embrace yourself, the good and the bad – sometimes there will be more bad than good – that’s how much pain you have swallowed. But once you have accepted that, once you truly know who you are, there will be no space for hate because you would understand that there was no reason to hate at all.

Ernest Hemingway once said, “The world breaks everyone, and then many are strong at the broken places”

That is who we need to be. Being broken doesn’t imply permanence, we stick to it because it is familiar. We need to change that. We need to heal.

 

“When I am silent, I have thunder inside” – Rumi.

Eternity of Free-falling

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Life is an abyss and you’re falling. It’s deep. It’s endless. Atleast it feels so.

There are moments when you feel that you’re falling harder than you were. There are moments where you think you can feel the milliseconds tick by. It’s fast but yet it’s oh so slow. That’s the thing about speed, its relative. Have you ever fallen from a height? You do not know what speed you’re falling at, whether it’s quick or slow because there is nothing to measure it against.

 

If you just fall, like we are falling right now the speed just fades away. All there is, is you and the abyss.

Abyss is such a scary word though. It seems alone and dark, without an end. But it is so much more like our lives than we think. Our lives are not alone and dark, they are simply misunderstood.

Life is misunderstood.

We all are so absorbed by the thought to pretending to be struggling that we forget that we are not. We all have blinders on, running. Running quick and hard to finish the race. To reach the finish line that we do not realise that no one else is even running the same race as us. It is only you. You can take your time, without killing yourself and just simply finish the race on your own terms.

We are constantly trying to win in something that is not a competition in the first place. In the end, we get tired to falling and forget that the fall is all there is. There is nothing more.

Those tears that soak your pillow at night, those voices that yell in your mind, those unspoken words scribbled away in a diary somewhere and that reflection in the mirror looking back you without a smile. Stop.

This is not your fight. This is not anyone’s fight. This is not a fight at all. Wake up and breathe, just that; hear the birds chime and smile kindly at a stranger today.  Go pick up the bucket list the 10 year old you wrote – and if you never wrote one, write one now – dream the impossible and make your heart giggle with excitement.

Live life. That is what you’re meant to be doing, not run in the race.

Be who you are and not what the world wants you to be, and someday who knows, you might just start to enjoy the falling. Like I said, Life is an abyss.

 

“A ship in the harbour is safe but that is not what it was built for” – John. A. Shedd

The Doll House

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There was once a pretty doll who lived in a pretty house. The house had all the amenities and was luxurious. The doll was dressed in the finest clothes and well taken care of. Just outside of the doll house, reality changed. A girl, no older than 15 – once prettier than the doll- stood there with eyes withered in pain. Her clothes ragged and her hair torn, due to her ripping it out from the scalp.

Her walls had scratches and her broken bloody nails held evidence of paint. She sat there, rocking back and forth on her heels yelling for the voices to stop. The laughter chanted in her ears, almost taunting her to call for help.  There was just one voice today, she was thankful for that much but she was just so tired. It was not lack of sleep, her medicines ensured that much, but even those few hours of wakefulness were enough to cause bags under her eyes.

The laughter cackled like the thunder, and she flinched at the proximity. The dried up tears itched at her face and soon the voices increased.

“Look how sad she is”, one said.

“Come her little one, come here little one, come here little one” , the other said.

“Come where?” she wanted to ask, but she knew better.

The clock struck 5 pm now.  The tell tale signs of the cart being wheeled in, were heard.

The large doors than once were always opened, were always bolted from the outside now.  The woman walked in, with a bottle in her hand and a plate of food in other. The woman smiled at her warmly, but all the girl could do was stare back.

The people appeared behind the woman as usual, but she knew better than to open her mouth about it. She did not want to be subjected to those extra medicines again.

She once believed, believed in getting better. Not anymore. Those faces made crude gestures as the woman tried to feed her, her food. She sat there, silent and just eating.

She was just so tired.

The woman grabbed her a glass of water, but she knew it was not just water. But, it made her sleep and gave her relief. She was thankful for it.

After drinking the liquid, the woman walked away with a promise of returning. The girl, just looked at her bed and went to lie down on it knowing very well, that she will be sleepy soon.

Today it was different though. Those people did not disappear.

She looked at them with apprehension, ignoring them and waiting for the medicines to take effect. Nothing happened. The walked closer. They laughed. They chanted.

“Now. Now. NOw. NOW”

One of them screamed, almost beast like. The girl was afraid now. Never had they come so close. She closed her eyes tight, deciding that if she stopped looking at them, they would stop. They moved even closer now, their eyes hollow and dilated. Their bodies scrawny, and their clothes ragged.

Their chants almost a whisper now and she shut her eyes tight. Almost as if they were fading into the air. A sigh of relief was heard from the girl, and then she could feel their arms around her. She screamed.

 

 

 

 

Valkyrie

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VALKYRIE

It was a warm summer’s night in downtown New Orleans. In the suburban part of town, in a decent sized three bedroom apartment, all that could be heard are the loud snores of the pet Labrador. Anna and Natasha slept soundly upstairs as their three year old muttered gibberish in his sleep, in the next room.  The clock struck two am just as Natasha’s phone started buzzing.

Waking up in an instant, she answered the call. “Valkyrie, you are commissioned. Meeting point Street 12. You are expected to arrive within 5 minutes.”

Anna rolled over, “Everything okay honey?”

“Remember all that stuff I taught you about personal safety years ago. Remember that. Please. I have to go”

“What! What do you mean you have to go? I thought you quit your job, whatever that was. We have Henry now. You can’t just leave!” She was hysterical by now.

While Anna spoke, Natasha retrieved her emergency bag and dumped a few clothes in it.

“They wouldn’t have called me unless it was important. I wouldn’t go if I could avoid.”

Flinging a leather jacket over her shoulders, she walked upto Anna.

“I love you. Don’t forget that. Contact Issac if you don’t hear from me in a week or if something happens. You can trust him.”

Kissing her forehead, Natasha left. She could hear Anna’s confused yell behind her. She quickly peaked into Henry’s room and captured his sleeping form in her memory. She hoped that she would see him grow up but given her line of work, she knew luck wasn’t in her favour.

Her form was nearly invisible in the dark of the night as she quickly reached her destination. A black range rover was parked there. She opened the car only to find her old friends there. “What are you’ll doing here?” she asked to Johnny and Garim.

“We need Valkyrie. We need you back in”

“John, I quit four years ago. I don’t do stuff for the league anymore.”

Garim just chuckled. “Nat. It’s serious. Plus, who are you kidding. You can’t possibly be satisfied with your doctor wife and home life. Being a spy is in your blood kiddo”

“My life may not be perfect, but atleast I chose this.”

“I can’t talk to her Garim. You try” Johnny said with an exasperated sigh.

“We need your help. It’s Mykonos”

The name caught Natasha’s attention. She owed Mykonos her life. They were squad partners and he had saved her life on multiple occasions.

The league that they worked for was a covert agency under the UN that kept tabs on all possible terror cells. Their job varied from simple undercover operations to assassinations. There was just one rule, if any spy went missing while on an operation, the league will cease all search operations post 2 months. They were presumed dead after that period.

Mykonos had been gone for three. Garim, Johnny and Nat and Mykonos were all a part of the same team. Garim was the most senior. He had been in the business for over a decade and he was one of the best in the League. That’s why when the League stopped its efforts for Mykonos, they had to take matters into their hands. The job was not a two person job and that’s where Valkyrie came in.

Mykonos was last seen at Astana, the capital of Kazakhistan. He had been sent there to keep an eye on a diplomat who had been suspected of supplying arms to terror outlets.

“So Nat, Valkyrie is in?”

She didn’t have much of a choice. If she could save her friend, she would.

“I don’t have any gear. “

“That’s alright. We guessed as much. We got you some.”

Johnny handed her some guns and other ammunition. They also handed her a transmitter and some other gadgets.

On their way to the airport, Garim asked her, “Natasha. We got you covered but you think you are physically upto it?”

Nat knew what he was asking. When she was a part of the League, they were kept in the fittest of the shape. Obviously it was a part of the job. But because she was a part of the League for so long, the exercise regime had become a part of her. So, she had continued with that even after quitting. She was 36 now, and it had been over 4 years since she had quit. But still she was proud that she felt confident enough for this mission.

“Yes. I am ready.”

The flight was over 10 hours, but those hours flew by. As they landed in Astana, they met their source.

A lanky 16 year old teenager named Nikos, who was a tea vendor. He had information about the kidnappers. When Garim had a local friend look around for Mykonos, he came across this kid. Nikos was a tea vendor near the kidnappers. And they bought tea from him and sometimes had it delivered to them. Being his curious self, Nikos once snooped around. That’s when he realised about Mykonos. He agreed to help Garim, in exchange for money.

The only glitch in this was that, Garim had found Nikos only two weeks back. It was far too late to persuade the League regarding the rescue operations. That’s when they decided to take matters into their own hands.

Once they met Nikos, he led them to the outskirts of the city. It was a complex of small buildings. They seemed abandoned and a few of them were also only constructed half way.

“There they are, in the first one. They hold the white man underneath the sewers.” Nikos said in a heavy accent. Garim handed him some money and he was on his way.

Turning to Nat, Johnny said “You ready kid. Not getting rusty are you?”

“Ha ha. You wish old man.” Natasha felt at ease here. A part of her recognised this situation as home. She was no longer Natasha, the house wife with a wife and kid. She was Valkyrie. One of the protégés of the League. She was one of the youngest recruits. She had a career. But then she fell in love and she wanted to have a life. That just didn’t go with her line of work so she quit.

They glided nimbly across the floor. The blueprints that they had seen earlier, mapped in their heads.  As they had expected, at the ground floor they were met with two armed guards.

“Ay! Tok,ta” (Aye, stop!) , one yelled “Tok,ta nemse tusiredi” (Stop or I will shoot). The other yelled. Garim had shot them both to the ground before they knew what hit them. Natasha realised that they didn’t have much time left. These two would have definitely alerted the others by now.

Soon they reached the basement area where Mykonos was being held. Natasha shot at atleast 4 guys, on the way here. The first bullet almost made her jump but then she realised where she was. This was a job. This was what she had trained for, and this was probably who she was.

As soon as they reached the basement area, they could see Mykonos clearly. He had definitely seen better days but 3 months under captivity, they couldn’t expect anything else. Natasha whispered, “Cover me” to Garim and ran to Mykonos. She rushed to the pole where he was tied and took her pocket knife and cut the ropes and zip ties. “You’ll be okay. Hang in there”

BANG! A shot went off behind her and the man fell besides her. They were running really low on time now. If they did not get out of this place within 2 minutes, their chances were next to impossible.

She hauled Mykonos up and practically carried him to the exit. With more bruises and cuts and atleast a few broken bones, Nat could see that Mykonos had a long way to recovery and that was if they reached home. With Garim and Johnny covering Nat and Mykonos, they trudged their way to the exit. The League was definitely not going to be happy cleaning this mess up.

As soon as they got out and into the car, they rushed to the airfield. Johnny could fly a plane so hopped into the cockpit and took off. With Nat, Garim and Mykonos strapped in, as soon as the plane was in the air the first priority was to get Mykonos okay. They began to assess his injuries and started treating whatever they could with the help of the medicines at hand.

He definitely needed serious medical attention but that had to wait until they got home. For now, they just had to wait.

“Valkyrie is here to stay?” Mykonos’ hoarse voice asked her.

“I have a family. I can’t. This was a one-off” She wasn’t sure if she herself believed what she was saying. Which part of hers was real? Valkyrie or Natasha. One was given to her, and one she had chosen.

As soon as they landed, the League had met them. They de-briefed them. Most of them were quite shocked at Natasha’s presence. But when they realised that Mykonos was alive and well, they decided to just suspend Garim and Johnny for now. Mykonos was taken to a private facility and taken care of.

It had been 6 days since she had left home, and Garim was dropping her off.

“Say hi to the wife and kid, will you?”

“You can come in. You know that”

“Nah. Plus I’ll see you around anyways. Once you’re in. You’re never really out.”

Ringing the doorbell, she called over her shoulder. “Vacation’s over I guess. See you soon”

Just as she entered, she was tackled with hugs. She wasn’t only Natasha or Valkyrie. She would be lying to herself if she said she was one of the two. She was both.