You Again [FreenBecky]

Chapter 45 (Last Chapter)

Freen has my heart.

Right from the beginning, I knew my heart did not belong to myself. I think I was only six when Ninjas had my heart. I wanted to learn Kung Fu, Jujitsu, Judo, and all those other catchy, lethal sounding skills because obviously, I was born to be a Ninja. I imagined myself doing crazy stuff, beating up the terrorists and saving the day at my kindergarten, so yeah, I had a vivid imagination. But, it soon lost its hold. It didn't seem to give me happiness, anymore. In fact, I found myself getting attached to different things and Ninjas weren't appealing to me at all.

Then, it was cricket. As I saw on my TV, the way Ashwell's straight drives whistled past, the way fielders defied gravity, I thought I had found my calling. I gripped the bat, and cricket had gripped my heart. Yet, it wore off. Nothing seemed to give me happiness, again. Then, it was arts. My fascination with dark and bold strokes, with nightly screams of my pen, and silent sobs of the canvas, were my home. Every day I'd yearn for them, and every night, they'd shelter me. From whom? From what? I know not. But if you think I was lucky enough to be happy then, you're wrong.

And then, I met her. Have you heard of those tales, where the protagonist sees her king, and violins start playing, pink autumn leaves fall, and the sun shines love all around them both? Oh, you have. Pity, though. It was nothing of the kind. The skies were still grey. The leaves were still very much on the branches. And, still green. But, suddenly, yet gradually, it turned into perfection. The following months, she showed me something I had never seen before. Myself, as a normal, lovable human being. I was still weird, I still slept at 4 and woke up at two, I was still beaten by kids in races, still changed five shampoos to stop my receding hairline, and I still looked like a fourteen-year-old in the body of a senior citizen, but now, I did not loathe myself for that.

I found myself loving my body more and more each day. Mostly because of how she made me feel. She didn't hesitate to tell me what she had on her mind for me. I was lucky to say that Freen was mine but luckiest to admit that we were finally getting married, today. You know, the sort of constellations I can see inside her deep eyes would never be found up in the sky, no matter how hard I try. Those clusters of stars reflect all those things, join all those dots about her. They fetch me the answers my soul seeks. That's why even today, maybe all it takes is a glimpse to calm the ocean of devastation rising inside me. devastation rising inside me.

What surprises me more is the quality of my words, my writings, when I have to write or think about Freen. These ruffled pages of my diary secretly laugh over it because that perfection is never found otherwise. It'll never be elsewhere, I promised them. Would I ever be able to describe something as beautiful as her?

Well, I doubt.

There is nothing even near to that. People like Freen are rare, the warmth they carry along with themselves with every step they take, the one each of us seeks is finally here, in my life. I can't really find words to describe her, people of her kind. She holds more depth than the beautiful sunrise, the endless crystal lake, the climb on the hills, the first drops of the much-awaited rain. These wonderful bounties are nothing when people like me turn to look around to see people like her standing right next to them. Pretty much like how a tiny human full of errs looks up to perfection, with devotion. That's what maybe it is. Or maybe I'll end all those moments I have left with her, in deciphering the same. In short, my love for Freen was maddening me.

They say love at first sight. But I lost my heart to her at the first glimpse.

I have heard many times that I made a mistake of loving a girl who was selfish and manipulative to keep me around for her own personal pleasure. Not once, but twice I have loved the same person but I always gave them one answer. They didn't know Freen the way I did. They didn't know how her eyes shone in the moonlight or how she would smile under the water right before kissing me. No one would ever know how Freen always appreciated artificial over nature. Every time. She was just something. And when I looked at her, all I could think about is the poetry I wrote to her, a poem when she was sleeping.