I felt my heart race with anticipation as I checked my phone. Who could be reaching out to me? Unlocking WhatsApp, my hopes soared, only to crash as I saw it was just another scam promising riches.
My heart sank deeper, feeling the weight of disappointment. Even after these long months, I couldn't shake him from my mind. Despite everything, a part of me held onto hope that he'd come back, that things would somehow mend themselves.
With a heavy sigh, I set the phone aside and turned my attention to the dinner companions. Kriti noticed my demeanor and asked, "Is everything okay?"
I forced a nod, masking the ache inside.
Vishal glanced over at me, concern evident in his eyes. "Okay, dude, you're clearly not okay. What's going on? Are you not having a good time here?"
I let out a heavy sigh. "It's not about not enjoying myself, Vishal. There are some personal issues weighing on me lately."
He visibly relaxed, a reassuring smile on his face. "Thank goodness! I was worried we were boring you or something. But listen, whatever's bothering you, I'm sure you'll figure it out. You're mature, smart, all those terms Kriti uses to describe you. If you can't find a solution, then who can?"
"I honestly don't know," I replied with a weary noise.
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you feeling tired? Would you rather go home than stay here?"
I shook my head, managing a smile. "I'll be fine, thanks." With that, he turned to engage in conversation with someone seated nearby.
I pulled out my phone once more and began texting my mom.
As the food was served and we began eating, I felt a bit uneasy eating in public. At home, I could eat comfortably without worrying about manners or making a mess. Here, I had to be more careful.
Despite that, I ate each bite cautiously, trying to be polite. Gradually, I started to relax. However, my peace was interrupted when someone turned on the TV, showing an India vs. Pakistan ODI match, surprising me.
The commentators' voices echoed through the room as they discussed Kabir's performance. "Kabir out for a golden duck again... It's unfortunate, his form seems to have disappeared. He was performing brilliantly in the previous series, but now, he's struggling."
The other commentator added, "Indeed. If this continues, he might lose his spot in the playing 11 soon."
As Kabir returned to the dugout, his face hardened. He took off his helmet and sat with his teammates. I couldn't help but notice the weariness in his eyes, the stubble on his face, and his messy hair.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked down at my plate. Mixed feelings washed over me. His sadness made me sad too, but a part of me hoped that he felt this way because I wasn't there with him. Maybe he needed me, maybe he wanted me.
"Why put yourself through this, Kabir? Why hurt us both?" I whispered to myself, the pain evident in my words.
My breath escaped in a soft sigh as I attempted to steer my mind away from him, yet the pull of his absence persisted in my thoughts. Despite everything and him leaving without a single word of explanation, the yearning in my heart for him remained strong. It was a blend of frustration and anger that I felt towards myself, for wanting him even after how he hurt me.
The reality is, if he were to contact me today, even with a hint of remorse or longing, I'd forgive him instantly. It's not just about fixing things but a deep yearning to be back with him, to hold him close, to kiss him, to love him fully.
A man at the nearby table caught my attention as he commented on the TV. "What's with this Kabir guy, huh? He used to be on fire during the IPL and those earlier matches. Now, it feels like he's just there for show."
Another voice joined in, "Probably got too caught up in the fame and money."
"Exactly," the first man agreed, "a disgrace to the team. Others are giving their all, and he's just dragging everyone down."
Quietly, I clenched my fist, still focused on my plate. "Maybe he's just going through a tough time," I muttered, feeling a pang of empathy.
They turned to me with raised brows, sarcastically asking, "Oh? You know him or something?"
I retorted with a hint of sarcasm, "Well, do you? To make claims like fame getting to his head?"
One of them began to stand up, ready to argue, but Vishal intervened smoothly. "Let's keep it civil, folks. No need for a scene in a family restaurant. We wouldn't want to set a bad example for the kids, would we?"
The man sat back down, but Vishal added with a playful wink, "Besides, I'd win that fight anyway. One punch, and you're down, sir. No need to challenge a speeding bullet."
The man grumbled some curses and settled back into his seat.
Feeling a dull ache behind my temples, I pushed back my chair and stood up, my mind clouded with thoughts of Kabir and the unsettling comments from the men at the neighboring table. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my wallet, extracted a handful of bills, and placed them on the table, a gesture of farewell as I prepared to leave.
Looking at Kriti, I managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry, I need to head home. Not feeling quite myself."
She nodded with empathy. "Do you want one of us to drop you off?"
I shook my head, the weight of my emotions making my voice slightly hoarse. "No, I'll manage. Thank you, though. Have a good time, everyone." With that, I turned away, making my way out of the restaurant.
Stepping into the cool evening air, I hailed an auto and settled into the back seat, the hum of the engine providing a soothing backdrop to my turbulent thoughts. As we traversed the familiar streets towards my home, my mind wandered back to Kabir and the unanswered questions that lingered between us.
Finally arriving at my doorstep, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately greeted by the comforting scent of home. It was a bittersweet feeling, finding solace in the familiar yet yearning for the missing piece that Kabir once filled in my life.
Quietly, I slipped into my bedroom, careful not to disturb my mother who was engrossed in her own activities. After freshening up, I settled onto my bed, my eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. This room, filled with memories of childhood and teenage years, felt both comforting and haunting. Unlike Mumbai, where I had spent the last five years, this place held a deeper connection—it was where I grew up, where every corner whispered tales of my past.
Yet, amidst this nostalgia, there was a palpable absence. His presence, his scent, his laughter—none of it lingered here. He was never a part of this home, never woven into its fabric like he was in my heart. If things had gone differently, I would have brought him here, shared this space with him. But now, that reality existed only in my dreams, the only place where we remain together, still in love, untouched by the harshness of reality.
Every night, my dreams become my sanctuary where we're together again. Yet, each morning's awakening is a painful reminder of reality's weight pressing down on me. Despite my efforts to move forward and seek happiness elsewhere, I remain ensnared in his spell. It's as if he wove a magic that binds me exclusively to him, leaving all other attempts at love feeling empty and insignificant.
Feeling a familiar mix of hope and resignation, I reached for my phone and dialed Kabir's number. The ringing seemed endless, echoing my doubts about whether he would ever answer. Just as I was about to give up, a small voice broke through the silence, whispering, "Aryan."
I whispered his name, my voice breaking as tears clouded my vision the moment I heard his intoxicated voice.
He faltered, his words slurred, "Why did you leave me?"
I lashed out at the phone, "I left you? No, Kabir, you left me. You tore me apart, shattered me, destroyed me."
His voice trembled, "I had no choice."
"No choice? Why? Was I too needy, too much to handle? Did you stop loving me? Was I the reason?" I sobbed uncontrollably.
There was a painful silence on the line before he spoke softly, "You were never the problem. It's always been me."
A heavy silence draped over us like a suffocating blanket as I uttered, "What do you mean?"
"You're too good for me," his words slurred by the alcohol coursing through his veins.
"What?" I questioned, my eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
He sighed, his voice barely audible, "You deserve someone who hasn't caused you such pain. Someone who didn't take your father from you," his admission pierced through me, widening my eyes in shock.
"What are you saying?" My voice trembled with horror, the weight of his words sinking in.
"That night, I was only 21, drowning in alcohol and lost in my own troubles because of Swati," his voice quivered with remorse. "I blacked out, and when I came to, my car had collided with someone. But they didn't tell me he died. They said he forgave me, that everything was okay," his voice broke, heavy with guilt.
My eyes were wide, unblinking, as a lump formed in my throat, stifling my words. "And you never told me this?" My voice was barely a whisper, filled with disbelief and hurt.
"How could I?" His voice shook with emotion. "I thought you would hate me forever if you knew."
Emotions surged between us, tangled in a web of regret, betrayal, and the ache of untold truths.
"I would've hated you a lot less if you had told me, Kabir," my voice cracked with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Why does drama always find its way to you? Can't you have a moment of peace in your life?"
He choked on his words, his voice strained, "I don't know. Maybe I'm just cursed."
"No," I whispered, feeling a pang of pain in my chest as I tried to compose myself. "I'll talk to you later. Go on, live your life, while I try to salvage what's left of mine."
The emotions hung heavy in the air, the weight of unspoken truths and shattered trust lingering between us.
"Painful nights, the blanket of solitude,
Lost dreams of happiness, scattered thoughts.
Drops of tears, in the depth of the heart,
In search of love, I seek you."
-Not Mine.