2 June 2015

A True Fiction!

It was a stifling hot summer day in Delhi and being indoors the whole Sunday, made my body ache. I stepped out, it was around 8 o clock and yet it was so hot. I looked up and spied the moon, it was yellow and pale. I was at once transported to her, to Mumbai.

The waves were crashing into the boulders in high tide. The air was salty; the wind was tearing at her hair. I close my eyes. I am at our usual spot. I had known it would be a long time before I got to see her again, so I had taken a long look at her that evening. Her soft curly brown hair was tucked behind her ears, her face tilted to one side as she listened with intent when I told her about my new job. Her eyes were always so expressive. I could see she was worried with the thought of our impending separation. I could feel her fingers search for my hand, as if reassuring herself I was still there with her.

Our friendship had snowballed into a romance almost instantly. Our conversations on almost everything and anything just carried on and on. Everything was so exciting! Each day was an adventure. A discovery to be made about something new about each other. Everything was “ours”, the monsoons, the mushy romantic songs, the orange ice lollies, the roasted corn on the beach at sunset. We held hands in the yellow black cabs, giggling and blushing to hide from prying eyes.But then I had to leave.
Goodbyes were said quickly. I told her I would visit as frequently as I could. She didn't reply but looked away.
When her brother’s call came, I instantly knew something was wrong. She had been on her way to collage; the driver didn't see a young and beautiful girl ran across the road. He didn’t get time to brake. How many times I had told her to cross at the traffic signal and not ran across the busy road in front of her house.
The rest was a blur; I don't remember much of anything else after that, except the pain! The ache just doesn’t go away. It’s been two years now but not a day goes by without some reminder of her. What I miss about her? I miss our conversations, I miss her voice, I miss her eyes, and the way they light up when she sees me. She called me Babu, I hated that name then, but now I long to hear it, just one more time.

Time has just stood still for me. I no longer listen to music. I no longer visit Mumbai. I dread looking at her photograph. For the world I am alive, but there is something dead inside me. For the world she is dead, but she is still alive inside me.

Written for IndiSpire Edition-67 #MissMe Theme

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