Of Fallacies And Fate

27 | eternal chaos

" you whisper 

'I love you'

what you mean is

 'I don't want you to leave' "

-Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey.

❢ t w e n t y s e v e n ❢

Some nights were beyond others.

Rayhaan didn't know how drastically that night would progress. It all started with Nikhil dropping by his house and them tiring themselves playing basket ball as they ceded the load out of their mind with each catapult of the ball into basket, later lazing on couch in his room trying to watch a movie but the large flat screen remained devoid of attention as they drowned in the nostalgic memories of their past.

Nikhil tried his best to only bring up the good moments, the moments they cherished but no matter how hard he tried, past was past. And some scars don't go unnoticed by. And when it came to Rumsha, she knew how to leave behind her mark.

Only that it was unseen, embedded on the sulci and gyri of his mind, thought Rayhaan.

While Nikhil fell asleep on the couch somewhere around ten pm, Rayhaan wondered how the night would pass by, because haunting memories left behind a daze of insomnia and turbulence in his mind.

It was all chaos. His mind. His life.

And Rayhaan mused what his life would be if he had never met Rumsha. But what plagued his mind was the answer to the thought, that if he could go back in time and undo meeting with her, he wasn't sure if he would.

He wasn't glad that he met her but he still wanted to have met her anyway.

All that thinking is waste, because there's no time machine for me anyway to go back and change the past. What's the use destroying brain cells mulling over the impossible?

And to pass time while he revelled in those memories of past, he decided to read that diary entry by Rumsha again. Something he did when he wanted to hurt himself. Although reading that entry made Rayhaan feel like he was being pierced by daggers again and again, somehow he was addicted to the feel of that excruciating mental agony. His mind mocked him, as it craved to be in misery over something that was just a figment of past.

Rayhaan walked to his almirah and smoothed out the folded piece of paper from beneath the layer of his clothes. It was an old habit of him, concealing things under clothes in almirah. He walked back to couch and sat, taking in a deep breath as he looked at Nikhil to ensure that he was sleeping. Nikhil knew nothing of this paper and it was better he didn't.

The paper was simple, but lined, faded a bit with time, written in black ink. 13th September printed over a corner, and the rest covered in Rumsha's graceful handwriting, as complicated as the very person who wrote it.

Dear Diary,

Ugh why do I always end up writing dear diary as if this diary is anyway dear to me, this diary is my ruination, it holds all the stupid secrets that harbour in my heart, the things I have always thought about people but would kill them if they knew that's what I thought about them, the dirty parts of my life, and every fucking thing wrong with me, and yet I start with dear diary.

And I've wasted so much ink and time writing about it. Well, it has been a while. I haven't written a journal entry since months. So much has happened. We are about to graduate, yippee, I'll be a business graduate in two months. I should be happy, right? But I'm not.