I was thinking of a Chinese place, across the road. They serve excellent food. And the ambiance is soothing. It would be a perfect place. I looked at my mobile. He hasn’t replied yet. Is he still angry? No, he always comes around. And also, it wasn’t a big deal. But I will make it up to him. It went too far this time. But I will surely make it up.
Five calls. Seven messages. And he hasn’t replied yet. Sometimes, I feel he does it on purpose. He knew I had planned for this dinner. Still he is not replying. I will not call him. If he expects me to come begging to him then he is mistaken.
He hasn’t called back. He always calls back. It’s been four hours since I pinged him. His whatsapp last seen status shows that he was online only a few minutes back. Did he really mean to end this relationship? Was he serious? No. We had fought before. We always made up. We are meant to be together.
He has left me. And he didn’t even meet for the last time. How could he do it? I would have apologized. I was really sorry. Still, he left me.
I didn’t know separation would feel like this. I feel like dying. I feel like the air is twisting in my throat, its fingers tightening around the windpipe, cutting off the air supply. I want to die.
It’s been three days since he left me. It’s been three days since I have shut myself in this room. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to feel the sunlight on my neck. I don’t want to see the people. It reminds me of him. Everything reminds me of him.
I went to the park today. The evening air was refreshing. It felt good to breathe in the fresh air, to walk on the green grass, to smell the colorful flowers. I should go out more often. I should try to survive.
They all looked at me with pity eyes. My friends, my parents, his parents. The poor girl, they must be thinking. I have to keep a straight face. I cannot be weak. I saw his picture. He was smiling. For a second, I felt I should run back. I closed my eyes and sat on a the nearby couch.
I opened my eyes. Not facing it was making it more difficult. I had screamed and ran away when I had first seen his body covered in a white sheet. It was his funeral. They had tried to stop me, but I kept on running, away from that place, away from everything that was his.
I had ran for long, first to a crowded street, then to my home, and then locked myself in the room, and cried till my eyes were red with tears, and then till the tears had stopped, as all the water in my eyes had dried up.
But I can’t run anymore.
His mother took my hands and we both went up to him, to his portrait. I was at his home. Many of his friends and relatives were there. I saw him in the frame. Then felt like running away again. But I didn’t.
We put flowers there, near his portrait. Her mother kissed my hands and walked away. I know she was crying. I was crying.
It’s been a month. Now, I have resumed office. I am carrying on with my life now. I am keeping myself occupied. He would have hated, seeing me sulking. I can’t change things, but I can accept. I can move on.
His memories keep me going. I read his letters. I read his messages. I try to remember everything about him. I am writing those memories now in a diary. He always used to say I should write.
Everything has become normal. Everything is moving on in my life. Just that it takes an effort to smile now. But I’m trying. I’m trying to move on.
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