She came rushing home from college in tears. She had been calm and collected all day but at the bus stop she had seen him, the bothersome part was, with another girl.
He had waved to her and she had weakly returned it and turned homewards. Her mind and heart was painfully clouded with thoughts and scenes playing over and over again. Bitter thoughts and scenes. Didn’t she matter to him? And why was he talking to that girl so intimately, laughing with her, giving her his attention-it’s not fair! These questions pounded her head so much that she had a headache coming, a splitting one.
Reason was there to a side trying to calm her, telling her not to read too much into it, for he was always friendly and charming to everyone. And flirting was something he loved to engage in, for it gave him some power, but that was that, tomorrow he might not glance in that girl’s direction (all part of his plan) and he might be hers again. But, she did not wish to listen to reason, for listening to it had not gotten her anywhere or rather him. She was still stuck where she was 3 years ago, standing away and gazing, occasionally coming close but not so close as to touch him where it mattered-his heart.
She entered her house and announced to whomever it concerned that she had a headache and did not wish to eat. Then she went to her room, banged the door shut and fell on the bed weeping. When she drained herself she realized she was hungry; but she couldn’t go downstairs looking like this! With her face all blotchy and red! No she had to have a bath, it would help her relax and unwind.
While at the bath she made a decision that she would destroy all tangible reminders of him, all memories of him. And she would get herself out of his spell. She would meet other guys and make an effort to know them and probably it would help her be at peace. With her mind made up she finished her bath, changed and rushed downstairs for lunch.
After her meal she returned to her room and shut herself, albeit quietly. She proceeded towards her black box-where she kept her treasures-birthday cards, chocolate wrappers, bus tickets of important occasions, posters of fests, and his reminders. She pulled them out one by one and kept them aside-an old pen; which she would give to the maid servant’s daughter, some old flame sheets, astrological connections, and the most embarrassing, a sheet with his name in blood. Now, it’s best not to get the wrong picture, she didn’t have any remote masochistic tendencies but had a friend who did and who wrote her boyfriend’s name in blood, very frequently. So one day, while playing a game of volleyball with him she hurt her leg and blood oozed out. She disregarded it then, but when she returned home and saw the blood still fresh she decided to write his name with it. Oh, how her cheeks flamed as she looked at it! She had never felt so stupid. She resolutely gathered all the sheets and went outside the house and set fire to it. As the papers burned she felt herself becoming steadily calmer and happier, like something heavy just lifted off her.
She felt so fresh! It would be a shame to sit at home when the weather was so beautiful. She decided to go for a walk. And with her mind made up she wore running shoes and set off for the nearest jungle trail. The breeze was singing in her ears, the trees were lazily swaying their branches, everything looked so calm, and it mirrored her mood. Just then, somebody’s hand touched her shoulder and she turned startled. It was him.
He cheerily said hi and began talking as though a conversation had been going on from some time. When she had gotten over the shock of seeing him after the day’s resolution she chatted with him as usual and it was by far the best day they had spent together. Later towards the end of the stroll he confessed that he had no intention of coming out for a walk but when he saw her breezily walk past his house he decided to join her.
When it was time for her to head home he said bye and shook hands and then stood talking to her for some time. There was nothing to read in his small talk except, that he never let go of her hand through the whole conversation.
It was night; she was in bed thinking about the day’s happenings. As she was falling asleep, she smiled to herself, as the memory of his face came to her.