By the end of the month, strangely I was doing fine. The lingering aftertaste was strongly there of that short-lived love and the togetherness of the days you could literally count of your fingers, but I was doing fine.
By the end of the month, I was doing quite fine.
I got back to Santiniketan by the beginning of the next month. I didn't want to. I never had reasons to go back to that place, and with the quirk away, literally, I had strong reasons to not to. But the course, projects and whatevers push you to do stuff sometimes.
I was no less a victim of deadlines, having to shut my heart down and pack my bags and leave for the place.
And surprisingly, he kept shifting his return. Sometimes with the excuse of hating the place, and rest of the times for staying at home for some more time.
Never, for once did the excuses overshadow his reason of meeting me, and made him change his decision.
I stopped complaining. I was done with pushing stuffs and forcing people do things when they clearly showed no efforts.
'Know when to leave the table, when love is no longer being served'.
After a month, I was alone in my room.
A nyctophobiac, a flickering night bulb, an otherwise dark room and a winter night.
I contemplated of things, train of thoughts that forgot where it started from and ended at somewhere totally irrelevant, and I don't know when I slept.
I woke up around 3:45am, the last few minutes left of the devil's hour, with a hauntingly loud phonecall and a strange sound above my head.
I squinted at my phone and the quirk was calling. I looked up and there was a small bat in my room, batting with the stagnant blades of the fan and flying around.
I could literally feel my heart stop, when I picked up the call, and came down, ran to my bathroom and locked the door.
'There was a mob violence on one of my friends', he said in a low tone.
'There is a bat in my room', I screamed.
'I am coming. I hate this place', he was not listening.
'There is a fucking bat in my room', I cried out.
'What?'
'Whatever. Bye', I cut the call, and peeped through my bathroom door, still ignorant of what he said.
The bat was right beside my pillow, dead. I, sure and also cringing at the sight, came and cleaned the body off my bed.
When I had set my bed again and was preparing for another round of sleep, that's when I realised what he had said over the phone.
I called back.
'You're coming? When?'
'So now happy hormone has understood. Where is the bat?'
'Dead. Right beside my damn pillow. When are you coming?'
'Train's tomorrow. What should I get you from Kerala?'
'Just yourself.’
He laughed from the other side of the phone, and literally from the other side of the country and said good night.
I slept that night like I hadn't slept for a very long time.
By the end of the month, I was doing quite fine.
I got back to Santiniketan by the beginning of the next month. I didn't want to. I never had reasons to go back to that place, and with the quirk away, literally, I had strong reasons to not to. But the course, projects and whatevers push you to do stuff sometimes.
I was no less a victim of deadlines, having to shut my heart down and pack my bags and leave for the place.
And surprisingly, he kept shifting his return. Sometimes with the excuse of hating the place, and rest of the times for staying at home for some more time.
Never, for once did the excuses overshadow his reason of meeting me, and made him change his decision.
I stopped complaining. I was done with pushing stuffs and forcing people do things when they clearly showed no efforts.
'Know when to leave the table, when love is no longer being served'.
After a month, I was alone in my room.
A nyctophobiac, a flickering night bulb, an otherwise dark room and a winter night.
I contemplated of things, train of thoughts that forgot where it started from and ended at somewhere totally irrelevant, and I don't know when I slept.
I woke up around 3:45am, the last few minutes left of the devil's hour, with a hauntingly loud phonecall and a strange sound above my head.
I squinted at my phone and the quirk was calling. I looked up and there was a small bat in my room, batting with the stagnant blades of the fan and flying around.
I could literally feel my heart stop, when I picked up the call, and came down, ran to my bathroom and locked the door.
'There was a mob violence on one of my friends', he said in a low tone.
'There is a bat in my room', I screamed.
'I am coming. I hate this place', he was not listening.
'There is a fucking bat in my room', I cried out.
'What?'
'Whatever. Bye', I cut the call, and peeped through my bathroom door, still ignorant of what he said.
The bat was right beside my pillow, dead. I, sure and also cringing at the sight, came and cleaned the body off my bed.
When I had set my bed again and was preparing for another round of sleep, that's when I realised what he had said over the phone.
I called back.
'You're coming? When?'
'So now happy hormone has understood. Where is the bat?'
'Dead. Right beside my damn pillow. When are you coming?'
'Train's tomorrow. What should I get you from Kerala?'
'Just yourself.’
He laughed from the other side of the phone, and literally from the other side of the country and said good night.
I slept that night like I hadn't slept for a very long time.
To be continued...
