Fireflies Of The Dusk | ✓

07

Song attached: If you could see me now by The Script.

Chapter 07

That day, my dad wasn't there when I rushed back home. But he did leave me a letter. Naturally, I would have tore the letter and attempted to burn it down as I observe it turn into ashes.

Naturally I would.

But I didn't.

Instead, I had taken the letter and had locked myself in my room. My aunt did her best not to get in my way and though it only reminded me how much of a jerk I had been to her though she showered me with sweet gestures, I appreciated it.

My hands were shaky then, as I looked down at them. It was so unlike me to have trembling hands but again, after everything went down, I wasn't exactly who I had been. Or maybe the old me wasn't really the real me. I don't know. It was all complicated for me.

Everything in me wanted to tear off the envelope and read that damn letter. To see what the man, whose blood ran in me, had to say. But the small part in me, the child side, was scared. After all the disappointments, I didn't want this letter to be another disappointment too.

Give him a tiny chance, my aunt had said when she handed me the letter.

Both my aunt and I knew how much she hated the man who had neglected her sister. But if being a civilised person means giving people a chance then I guess I should probably try that too.

The rip echoed through my silent room as the opening of the envelope fell down on the floor. I slumped down on the floor, my back leaning on the closed door, preventing anyone from entering my room, separating myself from the whole world as I took the parchment out. It was yellow and looked old. And the ceases and fold marks in the paper only stressed how old it was. And how often it was opened and closed.

To my shining little star, it started. A slow lump formed in my throat and I had to swallow it. Stop being such a whiny sissy, my inner self said. And though it sounded easy, it wasn't exactly an effortless feat to bare my chest like men from the movies. Because, even though the last time I saw my mother and father being in love was when I was a kid, some memories penetrate deep into one's mind no matter the age, and one such memory is of by dad always calling my mother 'little star.'

To my shining little star,

                I've already written a dozen letters, striking out one and crumbling the other, trying to end up with a perfect letter for you to read but like all the other times, I'm failing. And failed again by not giving you this letter on time.

When was the last time I said 'I love you' to you? When was the last time we had a real conversation? I don't remember, baby. I seriously don't.

These days, when I try to halt and look back at my so-called memories, all I see is us getting to know each other till the time our little boy came into this world. Everything after that is a blur.

I don't know how it started or where it started. But before I knew, I had become a workaholic. Almost a maniac. And like that, all those plans and promises we made dissolved into the background.

I promised to watch Danuj grow up along with you. I promised to be with you through thick and thin. I promised you that we'll grow old together, spending our final days in some farmhouse faraway from the money, contracts and businesses, watching your swollen, crinkled cheeks with love and still trying to make you blush. But I really messed up even before everything started.

It first started as a means to grow what my parents and grandparents had bigger. Then I told myself that I'm earning hard for you and our little boy. But somewhere between the lines, it became an addiction. An addiction that cost me you.