𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐕𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎 : 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐎𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐬

..𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄..

unwind with - Khairiyat by Arijit Singh

Forty Days Later...

It was a Sunday, and Sundays in my world were meant to be soft, at least on the surface.
Yet that morning, I felt anything but soft.
The silence inside my room was like an uninvited guest who had made itself at home.
Kabir’s absence had started wearing a shape of its own, hovering in corners, perching on my shoulder like a restless crow.

So, I decided to fight silence with rituals.
I pulled my old brass bowl closer, filled with coconut oil warmed slightly over the stove.
The smell was earthy, rich, almost maternal, as if the oil itself knew secrets about resilience.
My fingers combed through my scalp, rubbing in circles, massaging as though I could oil away thoughts.
I told myself this was routine, nothing more.
But I knew the truth, this was distraction. A way to keep my mind occupied so it would not wander toward him.
Toward Kabir.

Afterward, I mixed besan with a pinch of turmeric, adding just enough rose water to form a thick paste.
The mask slid over my skin cool and grainy, cracking golden as it dried.
I looked into the mirror and almost laughed.
I resembled some mythological goddess who had been abandoned mid-prayer.
To complete the absurdity, I played songs on my phone old, playful melodies that carried memories of monsoon days and half-broken radios.

I danced barefoot across the room.
My anklets chimed, my kurti swayed and for fleeting seconds, I tricked myself into believing I was free.
Free from waiting, from silence, from Kabir’s shadow.
But freedom is slippery, it vanishes the moment you notice it.
Because in the middle of a spin, a memory hit me hard, unexpected, sharp, like an old wound reopening.

Kabir.
Our argument.
That ridiculous, beautiful night.

......