As she walked down the empty path, oblivious to the drizzle around her, lost in thoughts made up of myriad moments, all revolving around him, causing painful emotional convulsions and pale mirages; she suddenly remembered that tomorrow would be his birthday. A mere six months back this would be a cause of silent happiness, silent because she could never let him how she felt, even though she knew it was a lame attempt because he already knew.Theirs was a relationship of ironies, paradoxes and contradictions. It went beyond love and was nurtured in silences. Silence bound them together, since neither would speak while the other could listen. It was only in corners of a heavy heart that such feelings found utterance. Pain and love go hand in hand, destined to be apart and forever to be enveloped in mists of tragedy; this is what she truly believed. She wanted him to go away forever, from her memories, her tears and from that emptiness she felt when she tried to sleep each night. She had finally expressed her love for him but with an act of betrayal so pure that only love could match it. With each harsh word that she had spoken, it was love that was expressed. A wounded dear's helplessness in its inability to live life, a woman's tears reflecting her own helplessness to love, freely and fearlessly. What made it all the more unbearable was the knowledge that he wasn't fooled, in fact couldn't be fooled. She had to forget him for the sake of her sanity, pluck him apart as coldly as humanly possible. Burn every memory doused with his love. Refute those advances of long past moments draped in illusions and possibilities. She often thought of moments spent together, with loving glances and unsaid words. He had awakened the woman in her and for the first time in her life, she had felt alive. She could feel love and happiness pulsate silently, forcefully in her veins, strengthening her heart, melting the icy contours that had always surrounded it in fear of getting hurt. But she had hurt him, intentionally with the clear purpose of an assassin who knows its mark and feels no remorse for its actions. She had finally killed the love inside him or so she desperately tried to believe.
She walked on, haltingly, chewing her lower lip, occasionally biting her nails, an act of intimacy he shared with her. In the looming shadows of the wet streets, a neon light shone brightly, almost in an obscene way, challenging the very stillness of the street. She looked up and saw TATA SONS written brightly, the light behind SONS was dim and TATA stood out majestically. Only if Birla was written next to it, wouldn't it complete the beauty of their goodbyes? It was a private ritual of sorts, cryptic to the world around them but a purity which made sense only to them. They shared quirks as motifs of passion, dissolving beautifully into their words and gestures, almost like a private language of love too intimate too be understood by the world. Her limbs ached as she walked on but she welcomed such aches, she liked to believe that she was being punished and her sins were being atoned. The worse ache was the one she felt in her heart, a song of lament, whenever she heard his name. He was hers and even his very name uttered by someone else was sacrilege. Each night brought back heady memories of past and a curious emotion welled up inside her. It was an amalgam of pain and love, an unfulfilled orgasmic tragedy that failed to find utterance each time it sought to. She had hidden secrets from him, letting him live in his castles of illusions but she did not know that he knew about her past as well as he knew about her future. He saw through her completely, those large dear-like eyes filled with sadness and sorrow. He knew, she never wanted to believe it but he did know everything about her. Such was his love, it took in everything, patiently and gently, almost like her father who was her pillar of strength. He too was special but she had to do what she did, she had to let him go, she had to make him let go of her. There was nothing noble about her love. Such was the illusions she made up to sustain her sanity.This was her love, pure cowardice fused with betrayal, projected as grandeur of surrender and sacrifice, something she had never truly understood.
As she walked back home, her bed of sorrows awaiting her, she realized that loneliness is a faithful companion.
