Heal the Heart

6.

On Friday, I manned the reception desk alone. Agreed, just over an hour was left till closing time, but I wanted to think my employers trusted me enough to leave me be for a little while. There wasn't much to it, anyway. Smile, take the client's name, ask if they're new or old, check the database. If they're new, enter their name and escort them to the consultation room. If they're old, just punch their entry as green and leave them be; those people knew their way around here better than me.

I told Jessica all about my exciting new job when I picked her up from the airport this morning. She said she could write a code in three lines that could make the entire process automatic. I had never before felt so useful in my life. She laughed and reached over the console to rub my chest right above my heart. Like that could make it beat the correct way. It turned out to be a pseudo-family ritual after I was forced to retire. See Neil, rub his chest, mutter a few prayers, move on. Sure, that would cure me.

My cricket-score refreshing took a break when Jess texted. At work?

I texted back, Yep. Automatons haven't taken over yet. Thank you very much.

Ugh. Still so butthurt. Get over it. I texted to see if you wanna grab dinner together. I have like 2 hrs free.

Mm. Not longer?

Naw. Gotta start working on that problem statement with my team.

I replied that I might not be able to make it for dinner. I had borrowed my roommate's car for picking her up, which led to him speaking to me for the first time since the beginning of the term, "I want it back by nine, and I want a full tank." I got off at eight-thirty, and I wasn't in the mood to splurge on an Uber.

I resumed my cricket-score checking while Jess sent a slew of texts explaining how the problem statement wasn't problematic enough. Arya hadn't batted so far in this match. Ever since he made his international debut, it became routine for me to follow all his matches. Which these days was turning out to be every single match the Indian cricket team played. It made sense. Under his captaincy, we won the U19 cup. Of course, they wanted him on the team. And after that double century in the last test against South Africa, he was probably a household name by now. I had stayed up all night and watched that match live. The moment he scored the first hundred, I knew I needed to tune in. And when he scored that perfect two hundred, my chest went so tight, I thought I would never be able to breathe.

The memories came flooding in, breaking the battered dam I had involuntarily set up. I remembered how he wailed when we lifted the cup. He had spread his arms as if he wanted to wrap them around all eleven of us simultaneously. Our dreams, our hopes, our blood, sweat and tears, all went into bringing that cup home.

Maybe I should be wailing right now. Arya never came to say goodbye. Not when I left for the first time or the second. It would've been easier to think he didn't want anything to do with me. But I knew him. I knew him deep inside. Not just his actions and mannerisms. I knew how his bones moulded with his muscles and every drop of blood that passed through his veins. We were connected in so many ways that if someone were to describe it from the outside, they would never be able to encapsulate all what we were. Yet, by the end, none of that connection remained. We hadn't spoken in the months leading to me leaving. We weren't lovers, nor best friends, not even roommates. We were two strangers who pretended not to care.

I closed my eyes.

Don't think about it.

I stood up from the swivel stool behind the desk, switched off my phone and pocketed it. No alerts. No sting. No memories.

A sudden flash of red caught my eye, and I was drawn all the way out. There he was again. In front of the cafe. He had his shoulder to the wall beside the door, chatting with someone. I couldn't care less who he was with. Not when he stood under that neon glow, with the fading twilight behind him. My hands twitched.