Till death do us part.

More and more days passed. Time was growing longer, memories started to feel distant. His once constant stream of sms’s to my cell phone seemed to have finally died. I called him to know where he was or at the very least to hear his voice again. All I got was a voice mail every time I tried. That hollow space in my chest seemed to grow bigger and bigger as if I was punched right through my heart. Emotions always elevate metaphorical feelings to physical heights.

I finally decided to face the truth. I wanted to stop lying to myself. I decided to confront him, see and hear the truth for myself. It was the only way to put myself out of my denied misery.

Standing in front of his apartment door, I reached for the door-bell. But something restrained me from ringing the bell. Instead, I reached for the door knob and turned it ever so slowly as if it would buy me all the time in the world to embrace what I was about to walk into. The door was unlocked. As I entered, I heard muffled sounds from the bedroom across the hall.

A lot of emotions ran through my body- confusion, fear, sadness. But I couldn’t find even an ounce of anger in me; the righteous anger that my body should deserve to feel. As I walked towards the bedroom, I could hear his shallow breathing. Deep gasps of air that a body takes in when it is either overly excited or equally exhausted.

I stopped myself from jumping to the worst conclusion even before I could see the truth for myself. The fact was, I was just too much in love with him to assume the worst-case scenario even though the present circumstances did point towards a darkened direction.

Even as the door slid open, I took one look at the room, at him and at that instant I knew. There he was alone as ever, sitting on his bed, taking in deep-shallow breaths as he tried vainly to inhale out of the empty inhaler. I quickly grabbed the medication script by his bed side table and rushed out of his apartment. That’s when I saw it. The medical script contained complicated medicine names for the treatment of lung cancer.

I didn’t need more to understand the reason behind his recent absence in my life anymore. The reason was pure deliberate. As I ran back to his room, apart from the tears in my eyes, something else was showing: Determination.

I know he will put up a fight to push me away from his life. But I’m determined to stay with him till the end.

Tagged to : Three Word Wednesday, ABC Wednesday

Tomorrow

Today was yet another day- a boring, non-productive, sitting on the couch-listening to music-surfing the internet-watching random videos just to keep my mind occupied kind of a day.

Apart from the occasional bathroom breaks, I pretty much resigned to keep my rear end attached to the couch and my bespectacled-eye glued to either the TV or the laptop or the smart phone. Outside this geeky comfort zone that I had become accustomed to for the last few weeks, I knew that my life with all its regular responsibilities was waiting for me. But I decided to take a back seat again. What’s one more day of idle relaxation going to cost me? Nothing more to lose anyway, I thought.

I knew I had to pay the phone bill. I postponed it for later. I had a bucket full of clothes that needed to be folded and organized into the closet. I can do that later too, I decided. And that test the day-after? Well, there’s still one more day, I thought.

Somehow felt very comforting to know I could still postpone the things that I’ve been postponing from the last two weeks. As I contently settled on the couch to continue my lazy-a-thon, a saner side of my mind nudged me with a tiny warning: be prepared to face the consequences. But the very next second, I forgot all about it as my heart rejoiced with the fact and which is the solemn reason for my lazy trepidation:

There’s always tomorrow.

Submitted to: Theme Thursday whose topic of the week was of course "tomorrow".

Dear Diary Moments #1

Dear dairy,

I’ve grown out of writing from a book, all the way to typing my thoughts onto my laptop. No offence lappy, but I still love the classical method of actually penning down my thoughts into a book. I love the way a fresh page in a diary sounds when I turn it. The soft ruffling sound which the slightly yellowish page makes as I slide my hand up and down during the whole process of inking a part of my life, my experiences onto that page. Call me bookish, but I just can’t help feeling content when I’m writing something other than the usual class notes that I reluctantly take down every day at college.

But keeping an electronic diary does have its advantages. For starters, nobody can peek into my writings without a password to my lappy. I can go on typing anything I want here, anything I’m feeling. There’s no lingering feeling of getting into trouble. It’s usually my nosy brother who bothers me to this extent. Who else can have an unjustified access to a girl’s diary other than brothers!

Oh, this reminds me of those times. When I was 12(my god, already ten years apart!), well that was the age that I actually started with this whole diary business. I loved writing down whatever happened at school into a little diary that I had named as “Personal Diary of Neha the Spy”. Yes, I used to call myself as “the spy”. Silly, I know. But I loved finding out things. Very naive girl I was. In the process of finding out things about my friends, I became the carrier of the class gossips and other nonsense. I was new to the whole diary charade. I had a lot to learn about what to write and what not to write.

And I had never heard about maintaining anonymity while writing actual events referring to existing persons at my school. Let’s just say it was mostly about a guy in my class and how all the girls swooned around him as he was “oh-so-popular”. Word spreads pretty fast. I told my friend that I’m keeping a diary in which I write about the happenings at school. And she told her friend that I write about everyone in class, and she told her friend that I write a lot of bad things about some people in my class... you get the gist right!! Word not only spreads, it twists and turns the actual truth by a mile.

So my neighbour (a foe back then as he was a boy and just irritating as he had this nosy habit like my brother, to poke into things that didn’t concern him) and my classmate at school as well, was the spy sent by his other guy friends to steal my diary to know what all I had written about them. That was how my little brother was bribed to steal the diary for him for a price of a few chocolates. The little pest had no doubt seen me hiding the diary under my bed (I never thought 7yr olds would be so brainy, I had considered them to have an IQ of a snail!!).

But what my neighbour thought he had stolen was not my actual diary. Ha, give me some credit guys, I used to call myself “Neha the spy”, I wasn’t just going to sit blindly and let my precious diary get into the hands of some class guys now would I? I knew this day would come, and also I knew my brother was the only bridge between my diary and my neighbour. I had prepared a dummy diary just for this occasion. One day when my little brother was lingering about my room more than usual, I grabbed that opportunity and did some self-talking loud enough for him to hear and register into his little brain. I had talked out loud enough for him to hear as well as see me placing the very same dummy diary under my bed followed by: “I hope nobody finds this SECRET place, especially my BROTHER.” That was enough to keep the curiosity alive for the little brat. I knew he would have opened and inspected the diary the very next day. But being him, he wouldn’t have understood even a single word that I had written, because I had written some essays that I used to practice for my English class.

For the benefit of my dear neighbour friend who no doubt would be very disappointed and also I know how guys don’t stop until they get what they want, I had written some illegible nonsense about school, about the teachers and about the neighbour himself (I was bold enough to call him and his friends’ idiots). Well, that was about the nastiest things they could ever find me writing in my so called diary. And that put an end to their curiosity as they got what they wanted, which was very disappointing for them by the way and in the end, they let me be and stopped bribing my brother further.

And as for me, I feverishly continued writing in my secret diary, which I safely protected from falling into wrong hands. I’ve written a lot. None of those things seem interesting now, but I do enjoy how naive and innocent I used to be back then. Even now, if not innocent, I’m still a bit naive about the things that happen around me. But that’s just me. I like being like this. I let things happen on their own, I let troubles find me or sometimes, just run into troubles...Well, that’s a whole other story!!

P.S: There’s no big secret about what I used to write. The same old typical stuffs about school, home works, tests, crushes, jealousy etc. But over the years, the so-called foe (my neighbour) has become one of my best friends and the dude knows about everything I’ve ever said or written, he even knows what I’ve written over here extends the truth a lil bit!! :P  :P