Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
O N E
———————
[third time's a charm]
•
(entry)
19th June 2021
I clearly know that you won't read this. Hell, you won't even agree to see me, so why this?
Writing letters is just stupid, since it is supposed to be romantic. And romance is something I will gladly withdraw myself from. For people and preachers both say its a matter of delicacy; something that is meant to be cherished. That we are blessed that we to love someone, that we should give it all.
Then why did it feel like walking on road full of thorns? I wish I could rip that part of me, pour kerosene and burn it.
I have decided that I will just write the content with head or tail. What I really feel without addressing it someone who matters; so I can't address it to anyone.
Today is the day when I fell in love with you; for the third time. They say third time's a charm, but I wish I didn't.
I saw you walking past the gate of our society. Our huge, glamorous society dulled in comparison, and my eyes zeroed on you. Buried in your phone, you didn't even bother to look up. Your hair, all flared up because of wind, and your clothes clutching the sides of your body in an insouciant way— I don't know but there was something charming about it. Your lips always titled slightly, just slightly upwards; and I couldn't stop smiling, and my heart couldn't just stop beating fast.
The same smell of summer lingered in the air, as it did when I fell in love with you for the first time. Sometimes, I wish that I could destroy that smell and everything connected to it. Then maybe, my heart with stop clenching every time it sees you.
Like today, my heart disagreed. It says that for one fleeting second you did. You did look at me. But then you realized it was me, so the staring at a piece of metal was a much better option.
Again, my heart didn't care. It was so happy that you decided to glance at me. Me, of all people.
I will admit, I was momentarily happy.
Momentarily.
But then, why does it hurt so much? Why do I feel so bad? Why does my appetite disappear?
Why?
•
She breaks down. Her hands shake, her lips quiver, and a slight sob escapes her lips. Her final year wasn't supposed to be like this--it was supposed to be something she would cherish forever; not wish to forget it forever. Tears roll down, hot and fast, but she doesn't bother. After all how many times will she wipe her face? How many times she will wish for peace and get just heartbreak and anguish. Maybe she should just give up.
But my friend, fate, luck, destiny are sometimes cruel.
•
(present)
Amara stands in front of the bus, waiting for the queue to move. Her heart feels a little heavy, her eyes a little sore but she doesn't even battle an eyelash. After all, this was a common occurrence by now. She tugs the bag closer to her chest, tucking a strand of her jet black her hair behind her ears. Not bothering to even check her phone, she slips in inside her pocket, and waits for the line to move ahead. The city was decked with lights today; yellow, pink, red, green— you name it. For some reason, the way the stars twinkled that night, or how neon boards shone made her feel nostalgic. She hasn't been out a lot these days, might be the reason.
Amara is visiting her grandparents this holiday. Her school has given a week's holiday because it is hosting a competition, and she decided—no, her parents decided she needed a break. She had been hiding in the shadows of the room since too long, too heartbroken and too busy for studying for final year of her school; she didn't talk much. Her parents thought she was throwing one of her diva fits, but then realized she might be suffering or something was wrong with their middle child, hence this holiday.
With a list of restrictions.
The night is cool. Frosty winds blew, making her shiver slightly. She tries to tuck her hands beneath the hoodie, but it was hard since she's holding a bag and a suitcase. The queue started moving ahead. She walks—or stumbled ahead, clutching the ends of her purse between her teeth. Her canvas shoes rub against the gravel, as she drags her feet, trying to hold everything.
She bumps into the person standing in front of her, a old guy, who flashes her a displeased look. She murmurs a sorry, and steadies herself. Unfortunately, the next moment, the guy standing behind her—cooper hair, and obnoxious smile—allegedly bumps into her, making her drop her purse. She knows he did on purpose, so she ignores him, muttering a few colorful words. He snickers, watching her steady herself. It takes all of her strength not to shove her middle finger in his face. Not getting her attention, the rude guy tries, "Sorry," sounding not sorry at all.
Amara clenches her teeth, but doesn't say a thing. He tries again, "Raj," but Amara doesn't turn around. She knows better than to talk to a random stranger— especially who tried to purposefully make her fall. When he tries to touch her arm, she shoves him back and yells, "I don't want to talk to you." So much for not flipping out. The guy looks startled but doesn't say anything.
The line moves ahead, leaving a long gap between Amara and the bus. The bus driver calls her out, and she turns red. Swearing, she tries to get onto the bus with dignity. If she had any of that left.
Clenching her jaw, she shifts her shoulders a bit, trying to find her seat without bumping into people's legs. It was slightly dark inside the bus, and the aisle is narrow and metal poles between every few rows. Someone gives her a pointed look, others don't even look up, as she drags her suitcase noisily. Anger flared in her nerves, as she hit into another metal pole. Goddamit, she wanted to scream.
A girl suddenly puts her hand out, and says, "Do you want help?"
She is startled. So much, she drops her purse. Embarrassment easily flowed through her veins, and she bent forward to pick it up. Before she could grab the handles of her purse through her teeth, the girl grabbed it; their heads almost colliding. The girl gives her a sheepish smile, and hands her back the purse. Her flowy hair hit her nostrils, and Amara sneezes. Dropping her purse again.
Amara is so done with the night. First, she met him, accidently, and then before the journey has even started, she wants to kill herself.
She tries to smile back, but it comes out as an awkward grimace. The girl understands, and moves out of her way. Amara finally finds her seat. Coincidently, it is just behind the bubbly girl.
She quickly arranges her stuff, and collapses onto the worn out seat. Sighing, she tries to rub away an incoming headache. For some reason, he flashes in front of her eyes, his words earlies this evening fresh in her mind. Not that, she isn't stressing about boarding a bus, she has a lot of time to think about things, she doesn't want to. The bubbly girl looked as if she wanted to say something, but seeing her condition, she turned away. Amara is thankful.
The bus rumbled forward, disappearing into fogless night. Rubbing her cold hands together, she sighed. It was going to be a long journey.
