Unwelcome Emotions

S02 - Whispers Before Goodbye

The setting sun painted Tokyo's skyline in amber hues as I packed my suitcase, phone wedged between my ear and shoulder. On the screen, "Prateek Pagal" flashed with each word.

"This time, Diwali will be perfect," he said, his voice carrying that familiar warmth that had sustained our friendship across four years and thousands of miles.

"You still remember I exist? Miracle," I teased, folding a white cotton shirt into my luggage.

"How could I forget? Besides, someone needs to make sure you haven't turned completely Japanese. Now tell me—found anyone special there?"

I laughed, grateful he couldn't see my face. "Stop fishing, you idiot."

"Come on, Neetu! You know you love me," he said, his voice softer now.

The silence stretched between us like a taut string. "Is that true?" I finally asked.

"Just kidding!" His laugh sounded forced. "You know me—love is for idiots."

I zipped my suitcase closed with more force than necessary. "Right. Listen, I need to go. Tell Mom not to go overboard with the preparations."

"Too late. She's already planning a feast. Oh, and your dad's become my gaming buddy—"

"If you've corrupted my father with your video game addiction, I swear—"

"Bitch! Safe travels!"

The cab ride to Narita Airport felt surreal. Four years in Japan had taught me the beauty of silence, of spaces between words. But India—India was calling me home with all its chaos and color. I started feeling better again in this country. Leaving it again felt a little sad, but they say you get used to the place you live in. I wore glasses and carried love in my heart.

Mumbai hit me like a wave of sensation. the cacophony of horns, the smell of street food. I'd barely stepped into my old neighborhood when fate decided to make its move, in the form of a collision that left traces of mehndi on my pristine white shirt.

Everything looked so chaotic, I've been sneezed 10-12 times already. I've become so weak. my mom will say this. While I was looking around, a Female's voice said, 'I'll send tomorrow.' I then screamed, and we collided. Her mehndi-covered hands left a print on my white shirt. Her mehndi was ruined, and my shirt got stained.