Rian sighed, leaning into her palm in a quiet demand for her to continue stroking his hair, one with which she complied without delay.
He picked his words judiciously.
“There were a lot of attempts made to ‘fix’ me when I was young. Tutors came and gave up. I was angry for a lot of it because I feltstupid. I didn’t know how to make my brain work. I felt like I wasn’t capable of the most basic things for a long time. Nanamma started doing art with me to see if that would help me concentrate. Muggu. First with chalk, then with rice powder.”
“Muggu?”
“Like, rangoli, but plain,” he explained.
“Oh,” Aditi exclaimed, nodding in understanding. “We have that too. Kolam, in Tamil. We have it on the ground, just outside the threshold of our house.”
Rian acknowledged that with a tilt of his chin.
“The geometric nature of the designs helped me figure out patterns,” he admitted, his mind going back to the days when, as a young boy, he would sit in the backyard with his grandmother for hours, drawing intricate motifs on the cool earth. It was the first time he had made something beautiful that had given him a sense of accomplishment. “That made it better. For a while.”
“What happened after?”
“My mother happened. She sent Nanamma away.”
Maybe it was just in his head, but he thought he felt Aditi stiffen.
“Then?” she asked.
“I was left to fend for myself for long periods. Eventually, I found myself in the kitchen. Nanamma would give me instructions over the phone sometimes to get me started, but I didn’t have to follow any specific rules. I could create things however I wanted. I’d watch our chef and retain things I didn’t think I would. I felt free. Like being me wasn’t so bad.”
Aditi’s thumb kept stroking his forehead, his nose, wherever she could reach, wordlessly comforting him.
“It took me a while to figure out how to work with dyslexia,” he confessed. “But I did. I found people to help me as I got older, worked through what I could and found alternatives when possible. Technology helped. Having a PA who knows how particular I am about reminders, who understands my need to be obsessivelyorganised with my schedule—that helped too. My mother was surprised that I amounted to anything at all.”
“Let’s not talk about your mother,” Aditi requested, her smile tight. “I feel the urgent need to introduce my fist to her nose every time you mention her.“
“I didn’t think you were a violent person.”
Small palms cradled his jaw, lifting his face to hers.
“When someone hurts the people I care about,” she announced, her tone utterly serious, “I tend to not like them very much.”
Rian couldn’t think of a response, feeling the warmth of her words flush out the toxins from his altercation at the clinic.
“Do you know I admire you a lot?” Aditi said, one tiny finger casually tracing his eyebrows and pressing along pressure points that made him close his eyes in relief. “Especially after what you told me, my admiration has only grown.”
The gentle ministrations of her fingers along the edges of his temple had him feeling like she was pouring a soothing balm over his hurt. “I hope you’re not pitying me, Doc,” he murmured, wanting her to never stop touching him.
“Of course not! Look at you. You have a flourishing career and a bright future. You’re one of the most desirable men on this side of the country. I don’t pity successful people. But I do appreciate how hard you must have worked to overcome the challenges you had.”
His lips quirked automatically. “You called me desirable,” he said, lashes fluttering open to see that she was smiling.
“I also called you successful.”
“Good way to balance the compliment."
A huff of laughter escaped her. “It may seem silly, but I’m proud of you.”
“That’s not silly.”
“No?” she confirmed, biting her lower lip, looking surprisingly unsure. “I didn’t want to come across as patronising you.”
His hold on her waist tightened. “It felt good to hear it.”