Intertwined: Invisible Strings

Chapter One

Chapter One: Trepidation

Have you ever experienced a full body meltdown? Firstly, it starts with that throbbing pain almost like a rapid pulse pounding against the walls of your cranium, the kind of pounding that never stops but instead develops a rhythm that becomes familiar. After you’ve gotten accustomed to that it begins to target your sternum caging in your heart and locking down your system almost as if you’re wrapped in a corset that’s pulled too tightly. Followed by shallow breaths and beads of sweat then that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that activates that dreaded sense of nausea. That is exactly how I was feeling in that specific moment. I was having a perfectly peaceful day, it was the only day off I had gotten in months and I was about to spend it lounging on my couch and binge watching the Harry Potter movies.

            My expectation of having the most tranquil day ever was rudely interrupted by the loud barbaric ringing of that damned door bell. I rolled my eyes in annoyance, the mere thought of socialising irritated my soul in indescribable ways. Fake it till you make. I put on that plastic smile and swung the door open to be greeted by absolutely no one which was an automatic relief however, right in the centre of my welcome mat was a box. Not just any box, a beautifully decorated golden box that was covered in red and green floral paisleys all dispersed in wonderful coordination to create an immaculately detailed mandala with a card addressed to “Rubiya Bedi”.  

‘Oh great,’ I thought solemnly, I didn’t even have to open the box to know what it was, another wedding invitation probably from some distant relative that my mother will most definitely indoctrinate me into attending. I picked up the box reluctantly and brought it inside. If you know anything about Indian weddings is that they’re going to go all out and it’s going to be absolutely spectacular. As soon as I opened the box I was immediately bombarded with astoundingly delicious aromas of Gulab Jamun (an absolute experience is created when Gulab Jamun is consumed, it’s an Indian confectionary made out of a rich dough and doused with sweet sugary syrup) which activated all of my senses. I can’t lie, I’m a sucker for sweet things, I took out the beautiful stainless-steel bowl which contained precious delicacies and reached for the envelope that laid at the bottom of the box. Being a 25-year-old female and unmarried in an Indian family is basically a crime and I am utterly guilty. My sentence is having to suffer the torturous continuous nagging of family members and people whom I don’t even know. That kind of pressure just really turns you into a bitter person even though you genuinely aren’t. I opened the envelope and pulled out the card slowly. ‘Rohan weds Sarah’.

            It was as if time had stopped, my body was paralyzed in absolute astonishment, the card dropped from my sweaty trembling hands as I reread the words that had caused my conundrum. My breathing was so rapid that I felt as though I would’ve fainted, I needed to balance so I grabbed my coffee table for assistance but I ended up knocking over both the box and my teacup that contained beautifully brewed peppermint tea. The ceramic teacup shattered into pieces but I physically and mentally could not be bothered as the hot tea spewed across my pearly white tiles. It felt as though the ground could just open up and swallow me whole and I would happily embrace the darkness with arms wide open. I am one of the biggest supporters of feminism however the one thing I despise most about being a female is the fact that one single trigger can bring back a wave of memories in an instant and all of the feelings we have ever experienced come rushing back through us as though it was a fresh wound.

Eight years, I was in a relationship with Rohan for eight years and out of the eight years we were engaged for three. He was my first love, my first time, my first everything. I loved him with every atom of my very being. Then it came down to a choice between loving him so much that I stayed and lost my spark after continuously begging for attention and affection or loving myself enough to know that I’m worthy of being the centre of someone’s universe just like he was the centre of mine and that I deserve the love that I have been giving out to him to be reciprocated. Countless of arguments, explanations, pouring out my heart to him in thousands of different ways all of which resulted in false understanding and fickle promises to try to be better but reverting back to the same neglectful behaviour. I was losing myself, I made him my priority but I was never his and that broke me beyond repair. That type of hurt doesn’t just disappear, it stays with you like a shadow following you throughout your life. So many broken dreams and so many shattered memories that were built through the course of eight years damaged in an instance like the broken ceramic teacup with its pieces lying on the floor. It can never be fixed, you just have to pick up the pieces and help yourself and hope that you don’t bleed from the splinters. We had only been broken up for a year now so you can understand the drastic level of intense electric shock that I had experienced reading those abhorrent words on that dreadful card. Also, who in the absolute fucking hell was Sarah?