"Losing My Religion" - R.E.M

"There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship." –Oscar Wilde

I am scared.

I swear to God I'm scared. I don't know how to turn up at the wedding. I don't know how I can bring myself to... to look into her eyes. All these years... the façade I wore, I can see it shattering in seconds. Coming undone. I don't care picking the sari for the day-er-night, or the jewelries or the way I want to present myself on a glamorous occasion. I don't care if I look nice.

But I want to hide behind one of the pillars of the grand hall, the furthest from all. Alone. I made fun of Channa Mereya when it came out. Not particularly I liked it, I still don't. Nonetheless the scenes keep flashing in front of my eyes, the context hitting the door of my wits that I don't want to open. I will wear mehendi if given a chance, and I can see myself in Ranbir Kapoor's character. I'll see her, fairest of all, shining the whole room with her aura the moment she enters. Yeah, yeah, racist comment. But still gonna do it. I'm going to unlearn so many specious concepts I've learnt over the years, but this one, I can't think of anything else. Gorgeous, stunning, spectacular, the vocabulary would shy away to glorify my beloved. She is going to look angelic. Beautiful.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid there will be one traitor drop from my eyes. Don't get me wrong, this inevitable scenario was always in the back of my mind. Just like how I was never prepared to face the end of our friendship, I could never prepare myself to... end my wishful dream either. Dream of what again?

My ultraprogressive mindset has been in constant action to scrape together the tiniest possibilities to ignore this broadly celebrated orthodox tradition, the marriage supremacy. So does my brain. What if she gets married? What happens if someone gets married? What is changed from my end? Blah blah blah. None helps. I have a second half of stereotypical mindset attached after all; who does strongly believe in the institution of the event called "marriage." The saat phere, the janmon ka bandhan, the nonsense shit.

Sometimes curiosity is a curse. We should lock up information that may come hazardous. Declaring my sexuality has been one of them. Although it was concealed all along, not gonna lie, it has tried to resurface multiple times– via my literary manifestation where I used phrases like "I am gay" or devouring Carol or Imagine Me & You at full length or confession in a comical way in front of certain Stillwater people.

However, since my declaration, I have become bold. The type of boldness I don't want to foster. I want to be a strong, self-dependent woman in career department, or maybe persona. But this confusion surrounding my feelings... It took me years to understand it, accept it, accept myself. I'm tired of pretending not to love her. I love her. All in. Not just platonic. Not just friendship crap. I can't stop thinking of touching her. Pulling her closer to my chest. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders. Our faces dangerously close. Her deadly scent numbing all my senses. I can literally smell it now.

Only this much I want, I fantasize of. This particular scene has been displayed in front of my eyes a thousand million times. No, I don't know what I want. What exactly do I want? Marry her? No. These ideas have been played in my head over and over again. I don't want to marry her, I guess. I don't want her to want that either. In this department I go with my brain, totally. Too many years I have mustered my thoughts to analyze the necessity of Khanda's presence in her life. Bottomline: I'm not fond of him. I never was. But for the last few years, he hasn't failed to sort of impress me; I made myself clear of the fact that he is almost perfect for her.

Almost.

I don't have the capability to take care of her. And if you line up the pros of that guy, he's gonna whitewash me. What am I next to him? What can I offer her except for the literal extent of love I'm boasting of?