CHAPTER IV THE NOISE INSIDE
The house was too quiet.
In the stillness, Ishaani sat on the edge of her bed, her elbows pressed into her knees, staring down at the floor as if it might split open and swallow her whole.
What am I even doing?
The ache in her chest morphed into something viscous, a suffocating amalgam of anxiety and longing. Before her mind could tighten its grip, she fled toward the home gym, that Amaya di had championed years ago for "health reasons," only to abandon it right away.
The familiar scent of metal and musty air enveloped her. The fluorescent lights overhead, casting blurred shadows that flickered across the walls-a dim reflection of her own scattered thoughts. The punching bag hung like a silent witness, its leather surface worn and cracked but still resolute.
Ishaani pulled her hair into a quick bun, slipped her gloves on with a sharp snap, and hit play on her playlist- MAD by Renee Rapp- not ideally a boxing themed piece, yet would be perfect to squeeze out pent up aggression.
She began with jabs-short, precise strikes, as if she were trying to pierce through the layers of her own guarded heart.
THUMP!
THUMP!
THUMP!
FUCK....
"Enough!" she gasped between swings, sweat dotting her collarbone, her breath turning ragged. But with every swing, Tara's name rang louder, drowning out her reason.
The door creaked open, but the sound was swallowed by the storm inside her-a wild thing that refused to be tamed. She could try all the elixirs in the world, yet the fever of Tara Kapoor would never die down.
"Bro, if you hit that bag any harder, it's filing a complaint," came Sparshi's teasing voice, half-laughing, half-impressed.
Ishaani threw one last punch, relishing the cathartic release, then turned to wipe the sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. Behind Sparshi stood Saarakshi-identical in features, yet embodying a serenity that seemed worlds apart.
Leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, she was the calm in Ishaani's tempest.
"What do you two want?" Ishaani muttered, yanking her earbuds from her ears, the remnants of music still thrumming in her veins.
Sparshi grinned wide, a mischievous spark in her eyes. "To witness the national-level obsession you have with your so-called Tara di, transform into cardio. I mean, who needs therapy when you can just lick that-"
Saarakshi smacked her shoulder. "Finish that sentence and you're walking home."
Sparshi feigned innocence, "I was going to say fantasize about victory," the wounded tone floating in the air between them.
"Sure," came Saarakshi's retort, laced with a knowing smirk. "Victory-that's what you call unrequited love these days."
Ishaani groaned, the lump in her throat rising again. "I'm not in love with her. She's-just forget it."
Saarakshi's voice softened, cutting through the tension like a gentle knife.
"Ishi, if you keep pretending it's nothing, it'll eat you alive.
" Saarakshi looked through Ishaani, as she dissected her feelings open, with the tender eyes of a deer- solely aspiring happiness and liberty for her friend.
"Even if you find someone else later, this doesn't just disappear because you want it to.
" Ishaani just looked at her with those orbs deep in thought and the embodiment of melancholia.
Sparshi plopped herself onto the bench press, arms thrown up in mock surrender. "Wow, Dr. Phil, tell me more about emotional digestion," she quipped, a teasing glint in her eyes.
"Shut up," Saarakshi shot back, rolling her eyes.
Ishaani leaned onto the bag, breathing deeply, as the bass in her chest began to settle. "I just need to focus on the match. That's all." The emphasis on "all" felt almost desperate, a flimsy shield against the truth.
"Right," Sparshi chirped, bouncing back to her feet. "Because punching other people is totally a cure for yearning. Ten out of ten psychiatrists recommend."
Saarakshi smirked, "Let her train. Who knows, maybe she'll hit you next."
"Jealous," Sparshi pouted before turning serious. "Anyway, come on. Mumma said to behave at dinner."
They left the gym, laughter and jabs intertwining, a lively banter that was always a balm against Ishaani's turmoil.
She trailed a few steps behind, the towel draped around her neck offering the slightest comfort.
Yet as she stepped through the doorway, the sharp aroma of coffee hit first-bitter, rich, stirring memories and murmurs of love and laughter.
Vedika and Tara stood in the bustling kitchen, the air thick with the intoxicating aroma of gourmet spices and fresh ingredients.
Vedika was meticulously plating a dish, it could've graced the tables of Michelin-star establishments.
Meanwhile, Tara-leaning against the counter, radiating an effortless charm in her crisp shirt-could have been a work of art herself, each wrinkle in the fabric somehow intentional and striking.
"Look who's alive," Vedika remarked, her voice brightening as she noticed Ishaani entering the room. "The twins, and our resident boxer."
Ishaani's heart stumbled at the sound, but it was Tara's response that sent a surge of heat to her cheeks.
Tara's gaze flicked up, momentarily locking onto Ishaani's bruised knuckles.
The lingering look felt like a spotlight, illuminating the war-torn canvas of Ishaani's heart-each bruise a reminder of the weight she carried, both in and out of the ring.
Sparshi, caught up in her own excitement, burst forth. "Actually, our champ here has a match coming up! Big one! I dunno, she thinks,If she wins, maybe Tara di will finally-"
But her words were hastily smothered as Saarakshi clamped a hand over her sister's mouth, eyes wide with panic. "-WILL FINALLY," she proclaimed with an exaggerated cheerfulness, "let her rest because she's training too hard! Right, Sparshi?"
"Mmmph mmph," came Sparshi's muffled agreement, her spirit untouched by the interruption.
Vedika arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge dancing in her eyes. "Let her rest, huh?"
Even as the banter flitted through the air, Tara's smile deepened-the kind of smile that held secrets, the kind that hinted at understanding.
Emitting acknowledgement that she realized the intention behind the words yet for the pathetic convenience of others, she'd decided to stay silent "A match?
That explains the noise I heard earlier. "
Her voice was a calming balm, but her eyes... they bore the weight of something deeper, a connection that both thrilled and terrified Ishaani. They assessed, softened, and then flickered away, leaving Ishaani's pulse racing in their wake.
"yeah," Ishaani murmured, her voice barely a whisper, wishing she could dissolve into the cool, reassuring tiles beneath her feet.
Sparshi finally managed to escape Saarakshi's grip, her enthusiasm radiating like sunshine. "You'll be great, champ. Punch responsibly. And if you win, drinks are on me!"
"You don't even drink!" Said, Saarakshi, as she swatted at Sparshi's head.
As laughter erupted around the table, Ishaani remained tethered to the moment, caught in the gravitational pull of Tara's smile. It wasn't just a smile; it was a dazzling spark, a shot of electricity that crackled through her veins and sent her thoughts spiraling in circles.
When Vedika finally started ushering everyone toward the dining room, Ishaani lingered, her heart a storm of turbulent emotions.
Tara was at the sink, rinsing a cup, her back turned and hair cascading like a dark waterfall, catching the kitchen light as though she were a siren luring Ishaani to the depths.
With each swirl of the water down the drain, Ishaani felt her thoughts slip away-endless, circular, and relentless.
"Get out of my head," she whispered, hoping to banish the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her.
Tara turned, her expression curious. "Did you say something?"
Ishaani's heart raced. She forced a grin, one that felt more like a mask than a reflection of her true self. "Just... psyching myself up for the match."
"Good," Tara replied, unbothered, henceforth showing her true colours- the careless mean bitch everyone portrayed her out to be. Too pretentious and too busy to love, or even care.
But Ishaani found herself suspended in an emotional trench, caught between the anticipation of her impending match and the unexpected complexity of her feelings for Tara.
If only she could.
The locker room smelled of sweat and sharpened metal, underscoring the tension that clung to Ishaani Rajvanshi like a second skin.
She sat on the bench, her gloves half-laced, betraying her unease as her knee bounced like a ticking bomb desperate to detonate.
Her reflection in the locker mirror was a haunting sight: eyes rimmed with dark crescents of sleeplessness, jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone.
It wasn't the prospect of losing that struck fear deep within her. No, it was the anticipation of feeling too much, of being swept away in a tidal wave of emotion - exactly like last time.
Her chest throbbed, an ache that bore memories of Tara - of that low, dangerous voice that made the air between them shimmer with electric tension.
Tara was a force of nature, a wildfire with an unnerving calm that left Ishaani both tenderized and raw.
Her presence was intoxicating yet terrifying, like standing too close to lightning: a kiss from the storm or a fatal jolt - it was impossible to tell.
Weeks of training and textbook lessons had pulsed through Ishaani's days like a lifeline, each sleepless night stretching into oblivion, but no amount of exhaustion could drown out the phantom of Tara's memory.
Every time she wrapped her hands in tape, it felt less like preparation and more like binding a ghost she could neither confront nor exorcise.
As she paced, her breath came in shallow bursts, the door suddenly slamming open with a force that snapped her from the depths of her spiraling thoughts.
"Jesus, Ishaani, if your anxiety had legs, it would've run a marathon by now!" Nayonica's voice sliced through the air, sharp and loud, a grounding force that tethered Ishaani back to the present.
Nayonica Sen was a hurricane of a friend, fierce and wild, yet somehow always managing to be the lifeline that pulled Ishaani out when she was drowning in her own mind.
"Shut up," Ishaani muttered, pacing still like a caged animal.
"No, you shut up," Nayonica retorted, her grip tightening on Ishaani's shoulders, her gaze unwavering. "You're doing that thing again - the catastrophizing. You think everything's over if you don't win this.
"I'm not-"
"Yeah, you are," Nayonica interrupted, her eyes piercing. "You get that look. The 'I'm a tragic heroine in a Victorian novel' look. Snap out of it. You're not dying. You're fighting."
Ishaani couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped, a moment of levity amid the heavy air. "You're very poetic today."
"I'm just very done with your self-pity," Nayonica fired back, though the warmth had seeped into her voice. "You're good, Ishu. Not just because you're strong, but because you don't stop. That's what scares them. That's why they'll talk - but you? You show up."
A stillness resonated in the room, a silence that felt thick and suffocating, until Ishaani let out a sigh that felt like surrender. "You sound like a self-help audiobook."
"Good. Maybe I'll start charging you for therapy," Nayonica smirked, but her gaze softened when she noticed Ishaani's trembling hands tightening around the tape. "You've got this, okay? The rest-" she gestured vaguely toward the universe, "-the rest can wait."
But before Ishaani could respond, chaos arrived.
Sparshi and Saarakshi Malhotra again - the infamous twin tornadoes - burst into the room, a pair of hurricanes clad in matching eyeliner and reckless abandon.
"Look at our tragic protagonist, plotting world domination! Sitting here brooding like she's auditioning for a boxing-themed Netflix drama-" Sparshi's mouth ran faster than her thoughts.
"Shut up," Saarakshi said flatly, her focus unwavering. "She's focusing."
"Focusing? She's spiraling!" Sparshi shot back, her grin infectious. "Two different sports, you know?"
Ishaani groaned, her frustration bubbling over. "What are you doing here?"
"To ensure you don't die," Saarakshi replied with a straight face.
"To make sure if you do, your obituary is funny," Sparshi added, winking.
Nayonica facepalmed, exasperation and affection mingling. "You two never changed."
Sparshi plopped down on the bench with a dramatic flourish. "You know, Ishu, I've been thinking-"
"Dangerous start," Saarakshi quipped.
"-maybe this whole boxing obsession of yours isn't just about the sport. Maybe it's a metaphysical coping mechanism for your raging, unresolved crush on Tara Di."
Ishaani froze mid-lace, her heart thundered in her chest, a riot of confusion and fear. "Sparshi."
"Oh, come on!" Sparshi teased, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "We all know it. You used to look at her like she was the last glass of cold water in hell!"
Saarakshi sighed, a softness in her voice that sliced through the tension. "She's not wrong."
Ishaani's gaze dropped, voice sharp as glass. "It's not like I asked to-"
"To fall?" Saarakshi's words were gentle yet firm. "Yeah, but you did. And you're still falling, Ishu. You need to figure out if you're gonna hit the ground or learn to land. Remember what I said yesterday."
The silence thickened, a razor's edge of pent-up emotion slicing between them, until Sparshi broke it with a laugh. "Anyway, emotionally repressed monologue aside, can we please get this show on the road? My popcorn's getting cold."
Ishaani glanced around at her friends - a wild, chaotic family woven together by love, laughter, and this chaotic world of boxing.
She felt the grip of her past loosening just a little, a promise of strength blooming amid the uncertainty.The bell shrieked - a harsh, metallic wail that pierced through the low hum of anticipation, setting the scene ablaze with tension.
Ishaani's boots thudded against the mat as she entered the ring, each step heavy, deliberate, like a drumbeat heralding a battle.
Beneath her feet, the floor vibrated subtly, or perhaps it was just the relentless pulse of her own heart, racing in sync with the chaos swirling around her.
Her opponent loomed across the ring, tall and broad-shouldered, gloves raised and smirking-an assurance that this would be a thrill, a game to relish.
Ishaani never bothered her pretty little mind with the surge to learn their names, just faces. ...occassionally.
Ishaani rolled her neck, releasing a tension that coiled tightly within her. She exhaled slowly, like a drawn bowstring, ready to release its arrow. Her fingers flexed within the confines of her gloves; nerves thrummed beneath her skin, poised to snap or spark with every movement.
Then, her gaze found her - Tara. Sitting in the second row beside Vedika, her frame was still as a statue, gaze unwavering, as if shielding a universe of secrets behind those radiant eyes.
Illuminated by the fluorescent overheads, her hair formed a soft, warm halo, an ethereal glow in an otherwise unforgiving arena.
Tara's expression was enigmatic, a placid surface concealing tumultuous depths.
She wasn't cheering; she wasn't smiling.
She merely watched, weighing every moment, every blow.
Ishaani loathed how her breath hitched at the sight of her, how the atmosphere fizzled with unspoken connection, tightening like a vine around her lungs.
The bell rang a second time, sharp and urgent, snapping her back to the moment.
She barely registered the motion-lightning struck in the form of a punch.
Time slowed. The world narrowed to a singular, visceral focus.
A fist surged toward her; she ducked.
Another followed, and she blocked it, adrenaline surging-until the third found its mark, a brutal connection to her jaw that sent a jolt of pain crashing through her senses.
Ugh! The taste of iron bloomed in her mouth as she staggered slightly.
The crowd gasped, a mixed chorus of pity and thrill, and she spat, crimson glimmering against the mat.
She grinned, defiance gleaming in her eyes. Too early to gloat, sweetheart.
She swung back, a clean right hook-only to meet empty air.
Her opponent, quicker and sharper, landed a hit to her ribs, followed by another merciless jab to her shoulder.
Ishaani stumbled, breath hissing out of her as pain lanced through her side-a sting that felt all too familiar.
She'd danced this dance before: cornered, bruised, underestimated.
The time slowed down for the rebel of the Rajvanshis
PUNCH!
DUCK!
COUNTER!
JAB!
Her opponent sneered, a wolfish grin stretching across her face. "You sure you're supposed to be in here, princess?"
Ishaani straightened, wiping the blood from her mouth,a grimace forminng almost instinctively, one she did her all to well to suppess. "Keep talking. Helps me aim."
With a roar of determination surging through her veins, she launched herself forward, feinting left before delivering a swift strike to the right-her glove thudding against the girl's abdomen, solid and satisfying.
THUMP!
The other girl wobbled, caught off guard, but quickly regained her stature, twisting like a viper ready to strike.
Ishaani was shoved back against the ropes, the unforgiving metal biting into her spine, cold and merciless.
Aagh! Ishaani was nothing more than a bare ragdoll in the ventures of her own mind, with the way she was thrown about.
"Guard up, Ishu!" Nayonica's voice rang out through the fog of the crowd, followed closely by Sparshi's spirited cry: "PUNCH HER FACE OFF!" Classic, she thought, a fleeting smile cutting through the haze.
The next blow soared in low, and Ishaani barely dodged it, sweat stinging her eyes as her breath became ragged and harsh, echoing like thunder in her chest.
Focus.
Breathe.
She fought to silence the thoughts that threatened to unravel her, but Tara's face-calm and composed-etched itself onto her mind. And just like that, her composure slipped, inviting another hit.
THUMP!
The world spun in a blur of color and noise.
She fell, catching herself on one knee, the referee's voice distantly registering as a chorus of cheers and jeers echoed around her, a cacophony of desires-some yearning for blood, others crying for mercy.
The mat felt solid beneath her, grounding as she took two steadying breaths,
IN AND....OUT
HUFF!
Heart pounding. She locked eyes with Tara through the fray, a figure who remained a constant beacon amidst the chaos.
You will never realize the tether you've impersonated, as in my hurricane of a life, Tara di.
That moment, that flicker of tension in Tara's posture, ignited something primal within Ishaani-a spark that sent her rising like a phoenix from the ashes. She knew she couldn't stay down, not now.
Her opponent, laughter bubbling in mockery, taunted, "Oh? You done?"
"Not even close," Ishaani replied, her voice steady, embodying a resolve that swelled within her, undeterred and fierce.
And then, like a storm unleashed, instinct took over.
Her movements transformed into poetry-fury clad in grace.
She weaved left, then right, blocking, countering, dodging with agility that came as naturally as breathing.
Each response was instinctive, a manifestation of every moment of repression, every unspoken word pent-up inside her.
SHE SWUNG!
LEFT THEN RIGHT-
COUNTER!
JAB!
The onslaught was relentless. A sharp glove cracked across her opponent's cheek - once, twice - a blur of punishment. The crowd erupted, a living tapestry of excitement, but amid the chaos, the other girl managed to land a brutal hit against Ishaani's ribs.
UGFFFF! Ishaani knew this one was on the solace of breaking her.
Pain sliced through her-an involuntary gasp escaped her lips as she faltered, a fleeting moment where her knees trembled under the strain. Almost buckled. Almost.
But she stayed up. She always stayed up.
Her vision pulsed, darkening at the edges, but through that disorienting light and roaring sound, a voice crystallized. "C'mon, Ishu!" Vedika-always by her side.
Yet her gaze was drawn to Tara yet again.
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat that felt like eternity, and in Tara's gaze, Ishaani swore she saw something flicker-a breath of vulnerability that could have been fear, or anger, or perhaps something deeper.
Something precious that she shied from as quickly as it appeared-care.
Her throat tightened, adrenaline coursing through her veins as if igniting every dormant fire within. Not in front of her. She pushed the thoughts back firmly. Don't get beaten in front of her.
With renewed vigor, she faked left, the opponent swallowing the bait. Ishaani twisted, pivoting sharply, her glove slammed hard into the girl's jaw, a cathartic release of pent-up emotion-followed by another, a body shot that spiralled her opponent to the mat with a crash.
The bell rang-the end of the round-the crowd erupted, an explosion of noise that almost drowned out even her own heartbeat. She was shaking, both from the pain that coursed through her and the disbelief that she had momentarily silenced the storm within.
The referee raised her arm, the signal of victory, and the noise swelled like thunder.
But in that moment, everything faded around her as she focused on one singular figure-Tara, standing amidst the raucous applause, her hands coming together with small, deliberate claps.
Her eyes softened, and in that instant, Ishaani felt a wave of warmth-a rush of something monumental sparking between them in the fray of chaos.
And just like that, Ishaani knew she would fight on-not just for herself, but for the connection that flickered in that moment, hot and bright, urging her to reach for more than just victory.
Because victory, for now, it was enough.
Applause. Small, deliberate. Tara's eyes didn't soften for a split second, remained sharpened into composure.
And that was enough to undo her. She has issues- immense ones.
Because it meant Tara had felt something. Even if it was bitchy pride. Even if it wasn't the kind Ishaani wanted.
Her knees gave a little.
Nayonica caught her before she hit the floor.
"Hey, hey- breathe. You won, Ishu."
Did she?
Because the victory felt hollow.
Especially when a boy's voice from the stands cut through the chaos - nasal, mocking:
"Cheater saali (Cheating bastard)! Doesn't even know basic rules! Must've bribed the ref!"
The laughter that followed was ugly.
Vedika turned, jaw clenched. But Tara - Tara's eyes darkened. The air changed.
She stepped forward - slow, precise, the way predators do before they strike.
"Excuse me?" she said, voice even. Lethal. Eyes narrowed to slits mirroring a sharpness so orchestrated to mtch that of a guillotine.
The boy froze mid-chuckle. "I didn't even mean it, just a joke bro. chill-"
"Oh, you didn't?" Tara's tone dropped an octave, venom wrapped in silk.
"Joke are supposed to be bloody funny, not atrociously sounding like a smelly sewer breeding mosquitoes -alike you.
" Even the boy's friends avoided eye-contact.
Neither he had a comeback strong enough, nor his pack of rats.
"Wasn' a joke, because from where I'm standing, it sounded like you had something to say about a woman who just bled her lungs out for her sport.
" The boy looked down as Tara saw red sliding along his face and neck.
Was it anger or embarrasment, she neither waited to understand, nor fiddled for.
"Tara, don't waste time on rats-" Vedika tried, but Tara raised a hand.
"You don't get to talk about her," Tara continued, voice now slicing through the gym. "You don't look at her, you don't whisper about her, and you don't breathe in her direction unless you can throw a punch better than she can."
The boy muttered an apology. Tara tilted her head, smiling that terrifying smile that wasn't really a smile.
"Good boy."
And just like that, silence spread.
Ishaani, still half-leaning on Nayonica, watched her - watched the way Tara's chest rose and fell, the flicker of something human behind her eyes.
Watched her turn to Vedika and murmur, softer now, "No one gets to insult my baby sister."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Baby sister.
Not fighter.
Not equal.
Not the girl whose heart she unknowingly held hostage.
Baby. Sister.
Ishaani looked down at her bruised knuckles, at the blood staining the tape, and laughed under her breath - the sound aligning with a certain sort of raw and broken.
Because of course.
Of course that's what she would always appear to Tara.
And Ishaani, bruised and breathless, just smiled - that tired, broken kind of smile.
Because what exactly was she looking for?
That Tara would look at her and see something else?
Someone more?
Foolish. Always foolish.
The ref lifted her hand in victory. The crowd roared again. But Ishaani couldn't hear any of it.
She just looked at Tara -
and wondered why winning still hurt so much.