The Life Of An Indian Girl

Leaving, Making and Breaking

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"How to truly kill someone: Fill them with love, and then leave."  — Anonymous

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For a few moments, I refused to understand because my being was lost in a hurricane of denial. Desperate to find an island, but it was my island that was gone. So I was drowning, as I heard my heart ache and break slowly and painfully. For I knew the truth. However, I couldn't accept it. I didn't want to.

His dorm room was swept clean, mattress bare of any sheet, posters ripped in half and thrown into dustbins, sleek wooden desk without any textbooks and a room missing my Rahul.

I closed the door and then slumped myself against it, slid down to hug my legs. He had to be here. He wouldn't just leave you like this.

I wanted to believe my conscience but something about this room being impeccably clean and vacant of any trace of the man I loved made me succumb to my worst fears. He was gone.

Gone.

He'd come into my life, all smiles and laughter. Then, he showed me a side of him I wanted to know, the one where he wasn't okay. I accepted him, wholly and completely. My heart yearned for him to let me in, to let me see his forbidden facade. But he always kept those raw soul consuming emotions aside. Despite telling me about Arjun, I realized there were still secrets behind those dark orbs and a mind that lived in constant denial and hope for a better tomorrow.

I got up, steadying myself as I almost lost balance and frantically looked around for a note. Anything, actually. Anything that'd reunite me with him or give me closure. I sat down on his bed and my eyes caught on to a orange box, the pharmaceutical type with prescribed drugs. I picked it up, it had just a few left and I hoped that a familiar name wouldn't find itself the owner.

Rahul Aggarwal, patient of PTSD.

Anti-deppressants prescribed by Dr. Berkeley

2 pills per day

My hand found itself on my mouth, this couldn't be right. I mean I knew that he's been suffering from depression, but he was diagnosed with PTSD— why did he never tell me? (PTSD, by the way, for those who didn't know, in its full form known as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Often, a person suffering from it will constantly have flashbacks about the traumatic experiences they'd had and it's basically a vicious cycle from which many victims try to get out. Rahul has severe depression and PTSD.) Sobs shook my body as I clutched the almost empty bottle in my hands. Why him, God? He didn't deserve it.

I tried to get up but I felt like my legs would give out if I even tried to take a step. He's out there with PTSD. He's a man that was too stubborn to be helped, he thought he was okay but he wasn't. He didn't want to accept it, perhaps it was because he had to be strong for the ones around him for too long. He gave out silent cries for help but refused to admit that maybe, for once, he could just let go and show me his true pain.

Maybe it was us. Maybe we rushed into a love so ethereal, bewitching and soul-consuming that we forgot about everything else, the pain and the hurt. Our attachment was incandescent, it could be felt from miles away. We were two young kids, that fell in love without thinking about what was wrong with us and the world. We accepted each other the way we were, and that's why in a world so twisted, we started questioning ourselves and the other. God, I would go through hell's torrential tides just to be with him. I loved him as he was, scared, strong, afraid yet brave.

My breathing was turning laboured, this secret was carving it's way into my mind. It wasn't like I could tell anyone about me and Rahul, we weren't allowed to be together in the first place. What's worse was that he left me here, alone.

I was torn between hating him and loving him, the feelings were tangled like a web of lies. Did I even know the real Rahul? Most of him, yes, I knew but these other pieces of the puzzle that he was were lost, still a mystery I wished to solve.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, falling onto the shirt I wore when we first went out to the skating rink. I clutched it, letting my my head rest on my knees that I pulled close to my chest.

I took my cellphone out of my handbag and quickly dialled his number.

The number you have dialled has been disconnected and is no longer in service. Please dial another number or press 1 to be directed to costumer service. Thank you.

I redialled that number ten times, even if I knew no one was going to pick up, just because I was in denial. Simply because I hoped to hear his voice. Alas, hope is fatal at times, it could destroy you once it's gone. And the the hope within me had vanished.

He was gone.

The End