Here All Along

prologue

Do you ever get the feeling that you wouldn't be you if not for every book you read or discarded, every movie you watched or didn't, every street you decided to walk on or walk away from, every food you loved or puked and every place you saw or couldn't? That the self that you are is actually much more than just you alone. It is a strange concoction of all the people you've ever come across. That you are actually borrowing your self from the world and so it's only natural to return it back to the world before you leave it.

I think about it, quite a lot and it's funny because someone once told me that when I think a lot (which I usually do), there is a thin line of crease that draws up on my forehead and adds extra hardness to my already stiff face. And when I realise of that furrow on my skin, I am reminded of the one who told me about it and eventually, a smile appears on my lips and eases my frowns away.

Do you ever get the feeling that you wouldn't be you if not for each compliment that fell in your ears and every word of humiliation that stabbed your heart? That you still reflect all the small but significant promises that were made to you; both, the ones that were kept and the ones that were forgotten. I think about it sometimes and it's weird because everytime I do, I realise that the memories of the fulfilled promises, no matter how old, keep escalating my happiness with time, but the ones that were broken do not break my heart as brutally as they used to. I wonder if if I am healing or getting numb with time. I wouldn't know, I was never good at dealing with 'heart problems'. Never good at dealing with a lot of things actually but it wasn't my fault to begin with. Some people are born talented, some master the skills with practice, some learn by the raw voices of their instincts. Some are good at a lot of things, some are good at few and others like me are best at doing one thing in the world that offers million things to do.

Do you ever get a feeling that you wouldn't be you if you hadn't woken up one day and decided that you cannot do that one thing you're good at, anymore? Because doing it hurts you and not doing it will do so too, perhaps with greater magnitude but you knew you deserved a chance at life and life is supposed to be more than just doing one thing. And so you had to stop doing the one thing that gave meaning to life. Because that was the only way to save whatever was left of yourself. At least that's what you believed. And as long as you believe, you hope.

And as long as there's hope, you will make it. I know you will.

"Wow..." Neen says dreamily, her eyes making up for the words that she's too mesmerised to utter.

"It's beautiful."

"You really think so?" Bright asks with a modest smile and a tad hesitation which Neen immediately dismisses.

"I do."

"Thanks, that's all I have written though."

"Ow, I was looking forward to stay up all night listening to you."

Bright laughs, shaking his head and swirling his chair back to its position.

"This was all you're getting. Now keep your promise and don't even try to sneak around my table. You know I don't want you to read it before it's completely finished."

Neen laughs and raises her hand in affirmation before getting up from the floor.

"I'll go first then" says she, kissing Bright's lips who smiles in return.

"Good night" he whispers and sees her walk out of his study room.

Bright's focus swims back to the sheets sprawled on the table and he picks one of the papers, casting deep, meaningful gazes at the words that are pulling him with a gravity he is all too well familiar with. He can't believe he wrote those words because they somehow feel alien to him and yet, look nothing short of a long lost friend, finally at his door to rescue him. He looks over his shoulder at the window. The luminousity of city has drowned the darkness in its belly and Bright cannot help but feel a tinge of sadness to think how urbanity has robbed the nights off their soul, for what's a night without darkness.

What is his life without a reminder at every second of the person who used to like such nights?

Bright comes back to his small table and decides to find his comfort in the homely smell of the wood. It's been his comfort for a long time. He seeks a comfort now after so blatantly lying to Neen.

That's not all he has written. But he knows something stopped him from telling so to her. Something, an instinct perhaps. And when has he ever not listened to them?

Bright inhales sharply, stretches his fingers to get rid of the tired knots before tapping on the keyboard again.

Do you ever get a feeling that you won't be you if not for the choices you made? I think about it a lot and it's funny because I never had any choice. Or i never wanted to have one. Or both. For me, there was only one thing I was good at - loving the person who was more me than my self.

Do you ever get a feeling that you wouldn't be you if not for all the moments you were beyond alive and all the moments you almost died and all the moments between the two? I think about it and it's funny because for me, they only had meaning as long as they had his fragrant touch in them. Like the fire is only fire as long as there's wind to carry it.

For that warm gust of wind, I write this story, hoping it will find me.

Please come find me, I want to fly away again.

Or may be we could swim in the lake which must be waiting for us - the two boys who were once reflection of each other.

So come find me. Come and see, I was right here all along...

.....

Excited?