It is a brilliant story how we met, it is almost a story within a story. I had written a love story with a psychological twist and a happy ending, and mailed it to the editor of a leading newspaper. He wanted to meet me, to congratulate me on the piece.
This is what I call elation, the true definition of happiness, being appreciated for work. I sat at the tiny table and I looked into his eyes as he spoke about how well I had written it.
“I liked the ending part of it, and the way it was written. Brilliant piece it is.”
And all I did was gawk at him hungrily, as he spoke about how notorious his office staff were and that they didn’t write well.
I had forgotten the food, the noisy surroundings, and everything around me. I was framing poetry in my head, and there were violins and symphonies.
It was love, I realised soon after. I was enthralled with his work, his speech, his active love for literature and culture. I had never met a man more passionate, and this man touched me cerebrally.
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There was just one glitch. He was a decade older, bachelor nevertheless, but a decade. Though that didn’t hinder me, I went on slipping into love. The love hormones can be so soothing, they make you forget everything.
I never got much of him; neither did I attempt to tell him about my feelings. We lived in different cities, and it was impossible to meet him frequently. Seven months and I had seen him just thrice, and I knew this was the man I can never un-love. He had strung chords in my heart.
He got to know about my feelings later, and he was surprised, but didn’t react. He knew my parents would not approve of it. But he was in touch with me. Every month or so, one phone call dropped in and I was happily chatting with him.
One fine day, I mailed him (I write letters and emails, I’m a bit old school), explaining that I had to leave his life because he was now getting engaged to someone else and it would be unfair if I lingered on. I didn’t take his calls or messages. The next morning I woke up with an odd feeling, and it was ominous.
His fiancée received the call that I made, and informed me that he had been in a car accident. After reading the letter, he seemed to be in a state of shock, and was now in coma. I was heartbroken and guilty.
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Later he was out of danger, but I haven’t been able to contact him anymore. The fiancée informed me that he was repeating my name before going into coma, and that he confessed his love for me, many months back. The fiancée didn’t want me near him anymore. She asked me to leave.
It has been weeks I haven’t heard from him. I still kiss his photograph every morning, pray for him as a part of my schedule, and think of our brief time together.
I do not know why he didn’t stand up for his love and why he didn’t contact me after the accident. Did he fall victim to the pressure of the society? He wasn’t a man who followed rules, so maybe, no. I am unsure.
But there is one thing that is certain. That it wasn’t a one-sided love affair. Only very lucky people get the love of their lives and I had found mine. Our love story is one that I would live with, all my life. The feelings that I had for him, surpassed the ideologies of the society, the right and wrong, and it challenged what we know as ideal. It was love that had no barriers.
I now smile whenever I think of him. The pain of not being with him has erased. I now know he was extremely fond of me, and that is more than a blessing for me. And thus with hope in heart, I continue to live.