When I met my Ex

2- Raaz

I look up at the sea of photographs drawn all over the white bedsheet. I am finding a place to keep the few more that are in my hands, and two between my lips.
"Shit, where do I decorate these?", I wonder as every area on my bed is full. I keep the photos on the table beside, or more precisely, above the two bundle of albums. And holy, there is no place for me to even sit!

She would be coming home any second. I could have handled more patience if I knew the timing of her arrival, which not exactly should be in between my preparation of welcoming her. I have nothing specific in my head, just the beautiful mess of our lovely photographs on my bed and a metre long fairy string light thrown carelessly. But it's admirable enough to make my girl happy. Rest of, darkness is more romantic than anything.

I split my aching hips on the beanbag, and lower the temperature down to the minimum. But looking at the mess on the bed makes me sweat again. In this one month without Zee, I have turned the house into a 360° dirt span, that if I have to host someone at my house, the guest would die on spot by slipping on the grey sock lying at the door instead of a furry rug. But not really, for I have a habit of cleaning my house only when someone is to visit us.

I have done all my preparations from the readymade chicken pizzas resting on the dining table to decorating the bedroom that would give you a sudden romantic feel, except arranging the photos inside the newly bought Hovista frames. But I am too exhausted after cleaning the whole flat. I know Zee would still figure out the dreaded storage room, but I don't want to die there in the dust!

I look out through the blue pleat curtains, the day seeming clearer than this morning. 11:30 A.M. till now, and I am sure she must be stuck in a traffic. Delhi roads are like that only. Nothing is empty in this city, not even the air. Well, this is a day off to relax with my girlfriend at home with some chilled beer in the refrigerator. I just pray the lights don't go off. The watchman down there seriously is a snail, or just gets confused how to turn on a generator. I look around my bedroom to check if things are perfect or not. I want a smile on her face when she returns here. I don't know what she must have gone through in these days. She was away from me for a month, and thinking about her every moment makes me feel happy about myself that I love her. Her, a beautiful and prudent woman like Ziana Ashraf. We sometimes fail to give time to each other, but that's the reason of nothing. On weekends. . . . .I just blush while I think what we do then, because after that she has to go across countries because of her business projects. It is that only one month she stays away from me. Whole of our life then, neither of us stay apart from each other. And 6 P.M. to 8 P.M. being away from her is nothing. We continue our calls even when I am at my evening shifts.

The frame at the right side is slightly tilted. I rectify everything, even though I have done that every time. May be just because I am nervous if she would like things or not. I expect a kiss and a tight hug when she would see all this. I feel like we haven't changed since we ever came into a relationship. Or how much we stay away from each other. The same smile would welcome me when I return home. It's like we are what actually defines perfection in togetherness. When two people in a relationship feel proud of it, they are a perfect couple. This perfection is between us too. But somewhere I have heard, like happiness, perfection is not permanent. . .

I pick up a few photographs from the bed and seeing Ziana and me together in them, I smile unreasonably. I have to tell so many little things to her, what all happened with me in these days and how I felt cornered without her. Us smiling and hugging in all the photos reminds me of the way we met and fell in love. And how we are doing today. I need to replay those days of our loventure once again.

2010, Friday night. She was sleep-walking out of the Dazzels, away from the loud aura inside the pub. I was lost in my tobacco escapades, leaning against my bike and staring at the moon which looked very unusual that night. It said to me that I would find a way which would change my life into things I had never dreamt of or considered could happen to me in this life. I would get someone who would be as beautiful as that moon, who hid behind the clouds when the even-beautiful girl came out of the pub, limping with a Smirnoff in her hand that was likely to fall down and break. And it happened, I knew so, but still I hiccuped in surprise. I mean, I did not really expect it to break. I ran to her if the next she had to hobbily sleep on those sharp pieces.
I held her in my arms and wanted to take her back to the pub where I could find any one of her acquaintances. But she babbled that she was all alone in her life, leave alone someone accompanying her to a pub. I did not know why, but in that drunken state she spilled out so many things about life, that I merely could not leave her there.
I asked for her phone when she laughed horribly. I was confused as to where to take a drunken girl in that time of night. But she said she did not keep a mobile phone. And I felt insecure for her. I did not want to take her to my flat, though I lived all alone.
I gave her my phone with the Phone application active, but she pressed the dial button without entering any number.

"What?", I asked her, baffled if she even knew what a phone was.

"This isn't the camera?", she asked, I nodded, and she cringed her face to the extreme. "You're dumb. Open the camera, loof!".

I bore her slangs anyway, but that sounded really cool from her mouth. The momentary stares into my eyes which she shot took my heart away many times, but I reminded myself to be a wise boy. I did as she wished, and the next she held my collar, pulled me closer and pouted, filling half the selfie with her pushed-out plump lips. Was I really unable to answer anything or I was losing it then only? She handed me my phone and sending a flying kiss, herself flew away into the winds. I could not forget that night.

A stranger clicked a selfie with me, but most important felt her absolute words. I was like a wanderer who found every reason of existence on earth. My workmates teased me if I had been thinking of a girl then. I don't know how they noticed it, but I myself never noticed I thought of her more than twenty times in a day.

Finally two weeks later, one of my mates showed me the profile picture of a girl on Bumble, a dating app. I didn't know if he was on any of such platforms, but I never needed one for myself. He had kept that app hidden, but for my sake, revealed that he wanted a soul partner desperately and going through that only, he found this profile of someone by @zianaashraf2103.

I had no business messaging her, but still I was dying to talk to her. Did she remember a stranger she met in a drunken state? I guess no, but later finding her online and still hesitating on messaging her or not, I kept looking at the green dot below her picture. I got arrested when her chat got highlighted. What, did she message me?
I clicked on it to check what she had sent, knowing that it would be something vulgar or probably to delete that selfie she clicked with me. I guessed something like that, but her message shook me off my senses.

Don't you miss me?

Excuse me, who?

You prolly hav that selfie still.

I was confused what to reply now.

You know I never initiate things.

Are you drunk ?

No, lol. But you're haunting on my profile since three days.

What! How do you.....

Subscription. It shows everything.

Did it show things in my heart too?
I did not know why I sent that. It was a mistake, but turned out to be a blessing. She did not reply me. That night, she came to my house following the location in my profile. We shared several things together. Like madly I proposed her, and she accepted it too. We were not drunk then, but the essence of that moment stayed forever. I soon lost my heart too, I now believe this.

Lost in my thinking, I did not realize the ten missed calls from Ziana on my phone. It was on silent, for I really did not expect her to call me before reaching home. I was going to dial her back, but then the doorbell rang, and my heart stopped beating.

Shit the frames. . . . .

I quickly put the frames on the wall, fixed the photos inside them., any random photo and quickly settle everything. I curse myself every second. I run and open the door, knowing the worse I wanted happened and she would see incomplete preparations. But I decide to cheer her up heartfully. I open the door to welcome the love of my life back again. But it's not Ziana.

It's a man. . .