I met him when I was twenty-one. Four years passed since I left him… It was just three months of relationship. I could still draw his smiling face, his seraphic eyes that I always remember as two cups of pristine honey, glittering in every glimpse. I still feel his caressing like the petals of a soft rose.
His last sight on me bore such a gravity that I wanted to throw off everything and return to him. But I couldn’t give a try. I left him… He might have felt like being forsaken. Those words we spoke, the time we spent, the kisses we exchanged (some kisses were more than mere exchanges), all would have been haunting him. I made a welt on his heart, I knew. God!… I never wanted it. I was ready to bear the pain. I had been selfish! I did not think if he could bear the same.
The scene keeps replaying from my intangible memory. I did not utter a word about my leaving. He understood it as passively as pain seeped in him and tears brimmed wetting his lashes that spiked out portraying his eyes like two radiating red suns. His face was firm. A plain picture of anger and disappointment, with shades of pain spreading its roots all over his brows and forehead… Neither of us uttered a word. I could not see him. I did not see him. I turned my eyes away. He stood barely looking at me. He should have thought of myself to be ruthless to move even after knowing his reluctance and unrelenting love. He could not bear much of it. He moved out of my house and kept staring at my doorstep with the same red eyes.
It was agonising to pretend like ignoring the pain. I tried, but to control is pretty much a toil. I was too drained to toil. I was about to leave. He refused to look at me. He stood rigid. His feet rooted, eyes fixed and face neutral. He never wanted this. He was unaware of the fact that our relationship would cease at a point. I neither could explain things. It was too late to explain, too hard to be understood and too much a pain to bear. I grabbed his hand. He pulled back, registering his refusal. I did not give up. I grabbed his hands. He refuted in mute action. I forcefully hugged him. He could not refute much. His rigid stature loosened a bit. But did not hug me. Still in a state of disapproval… Could he even approve it? I knew he would never forgive me. I cried on his shoulders. My tears reached his bare shoulders through his shirt. I expected a hug back. But not yet… I looked at his eyes. I could not forgive myself. I kissed him deep on his forehead. He closed his eyes and remained sans motion. He never spoke. I bid a bye. It was much more than crucifying for him to stand this. He inched near me. Waited till I hugged him. He grabbed me tight and murmured into my ears. “When will you come back?”… The question pounded into my ears like asking me if I would even come back. I ran out of words. I hugged him tighter and kissed him on his neck. He wanted me to answer for his pain… But I kept moving…moving away from him!
He should have met many people by now. I have met too. Perhaps, I would have gone volatile from his memory. But he continues to linger on in mine, hoping to see him and talk to him like how we used to and refresh our lush memories… He must be seven by now. He must have transformed from a child to a boy. I miss him. I miss his mother, a wonderful woman and my friend.
To Milan and Susan,
With fond love.