He's 44. She's 25.
They say age is just a number.
Is it really?
•••••
Vijay Khanna doesn't believe in love.
A harsh truth taught by life.
For him, love is a myth, an illusion, a fairytale.
Too perfect to be real. Too phantasmic to get possessio...
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•A U T H O R •
Hearing of someone committing suicide always robbed her of her breath, even for a passing second, if not much. She did not like, in fact, loathed it like any other sane person would.
It was unacceptable to her senses. And why would it not when she deemed it to be the most horrendous crime one could commit that not only snatches away your essence from this world but also leaves a gaping hole in someone's life that won't ever be fulfilled, which would bleed and bleed and bleed till it loses its own essence of being alive anymore?
And then, what?
The cycle of pain continues, as if it refuses to exist in loneliness, scared of being left alone, fear of being left behind lies somewhere in the daring act, and a choke of unfaithfulness lingers in every corner of your existence, as it propels you to walk in the dark path of remorse and even the darkest destination where the end seems nowhere in sight.
It's a vicious cycle that traps innocent people, tired people, and all the people who declared themselves dead even before the world could, even before their loved ones could, even before their broken breaths could.
People are often innocent to be at the receiving end of the cruel fate they weave for themselves, are they not?
She was often left wondering where it must have gone wrong for all those who were never supposed to be a victim yet became one, who ought to lead a life yet death became a sanctum where they thrived, who were entitled to happiness but were consumed by the malicious woe, who were born to rule their saneness yet fell in the madness of indescribable tragedy, who were supposed to stay yet now, only their footprints in the sand has become their souvenir, who, not once looked behind and deprived us of their last and only glimpse?
She really did think, sometimes, where it did actually go wrong for all those who were supposed to be there, but, somewhere, in the course of life, went astray.
And now, here she was, witnessing one, with her eyes that refused to believe that the act that was being pulled off was becoming a fact, a brutal one.
Her feet began to move on their own accord, having their purpose of stalling the time, and the person who, without any care in this world or for himself, was standing on the railing, barely anchored by the contact of his weight, ready to end his life like it was shorn of a purpose, of meaning, of everything that was his peace and pillar.
It was distressing to her senses as they numbed for a few painful seconds before being revived back to their pristine condition so that they could act on their will and, be present there and understand what was happening and most of all, why it was happening?
It was extreme, unbelievable, and most of all, it was scary.
Rather than taking fast steps and eliminating the distance between her and the person who was lost enough to be found in the arms of oblivion, she stuck to even steps, not wanting to jolt him in surprise that would do him no good since he was at the cusp of instability.
