“I miss him”, I tell her. “Nikita are you listening to me?”, I shout at my best friend. “I miss talking to him, I miss fighting with him, I miss not letting him know earlier that I love him goddamnit and the lord is a witness of all the nights I have tried to stop these rebellious tears from marking my face with the sorrow of losing him. Of all the nights I have spent yearning to embrace him. Only because he doesn’t exist anymore. It’s unfair.” I murmur as she sits beside me patiently listening.”He wanted to become a novelist and here he was juggling reactions of organic chemistry. And if 11:11 wishes do come true then I promise to set alarms twice daily only to wish that he gets to fulfill his dreams.” I continue. “The way his eyes used to light up like the sky on the night of Diwali when he so passionately talked about writings and poetries and how he wished he could write like that author he always fanboyed about. And all I wanted to do was to hold his face in between my palms and tell him that irrespective of anything he will always be my favorite author. Always. And then kiss him so passionately that all his doubts would turn into gray smoke and vanish.”
As I feel Niki’s presence move beside me, I continue “If I could tell the world something I would tell them that they would never get to the spoilers of the stories he wrote, because they will never get published. I would tell them that this is the kind of loss one doesn’t recover from. I would tell them that he was an inferno and playfully he had burned himself. I would tell them about how he bit his perfect lips with childish eagerness every time I was reading one of his pieces, how he was nervous and every single word of his sent shivers down my spine. I would tell them a secret. I would tell them that I didn’t care about those grammatical errors or those beautiful words because when he wrote one could feel the intensity of his affection seeping through the words. I would tell them how his hair went haywire and his eyebrows shot up every time a scene would just not fit. I would tell them that he intentionally made it difficult for me to unlike him.” A humorless laughter betrays me and I clutch Nikita’s hand. “This boy, I tell you! He was obsessed with romantic tragedies and Hamlet being his favorite. I would tell the world how he could quote monologs without a hint of hesitation. I would tell them how he recited his favorite lines to me when we had those infamous late night conversations. How “I woke up from the fantasy, the moment it got real”, seemed to be his favorite.” And my silly, naive mind could never grasp the meaning of it until, now. “I would tell them that he left a mark on all of us.” But, what I wouldn’t tell the world is that I love him, Nikita. At this moment my voice cracks, those tears I was miserably trying to hide are making my vision blurry. Sobbing I continue “I wish we could have met in a different time, start anew perhaps. I wish I could have said I love you loudly so he could hear that I care for him. I would tell him that you don’t have to do it, that we can figure things out. That I am there for you. That maybe just maybe dying was not the only option. You see Nikita when you love someone you have to let them make their own decisions and all you can do is support them. He wanted his destiny to match those of Othello and Romeo.” By this time Nikita’s eyes tear up too, I continue, “But how do you explain it to this heart which begs me to touch him, to feel his face? This heart that doesn’t understand the matters of my mind. This heart that I can’t shush! I didn’t intend to love him this hard. He hopefully didn’t intend to leave me. But the reality is that he is long gone and he has left me behind.” It’s late in the evening as I thank Nikita for listening to me. She hugs me tightly and we part ways.
As I reach home, I do the only thing I know, I greet my old friend. The blade, which I had hidden under the mattress. It’s looking at me mockingly, daring me to relapse. And I give in. You see the only reason I stopped cutting was him. He made me choose between my addiction or him. It breaks my heart to give up on him, but he had already given up on us when he decided. Shivansh, my Shivansh is not mine anymore. I wish he was but as Augustus Waters says “The world is not a wish-granting factory.”
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