I'm doing this post as part of Mindblowing May
at Ruhani's blog. Here is today's motivational picture, on which I've based my short story. This is incidentally the first time, my protagonist is a female. I hope you enjoy it, machas :)
I can't do this to him, I shouldn't. He must learn to man-up, must learn to not shut his heart out in a glass jar. It'd be impossible for me to forget him, to move on, I know. But I must do it, for both of us. I'd support him in his tough battle. I must support him, like he supported me when I needed him.
How can I forget that evening of August 28 on my 20th birthday, when I leaned over and kissed him for the first time. I was in my new yellow Salwar Kameez, he in his trademark white shirt with sleeves rolled up and rusty blue denims with a repair patch near left knee. It had been pouring down all noon and his spectacles had become translucent, very much like his cotton shirt. Obstruction in his vision must've given me courage to do what I had wanted to do since always. I was anyway tired of waiting for him to make the first move. I remember how his wet body got all tensed up for a moment but before he could utter a word, tears in my eyes, amalgamating with rain drops did all the talk. He just took a long breath, thought for a moment but not longer, smiled and then clutched me tighter with a sense of assurance brimming in his sharp brown liquid eyes. That sense of assurance in his eyes is one of those things that haven't changed at all in three years. Lot of others have.
He is still the man of my dreams, he is still the most gentle, caring, intelligent, handsome and yet humble person that I've ever met. I do share my deepest fears with him and he still laughs for a couple minutes before resolving them in a split second with his wise magical words, that can put a hex on me any day of the week. I keep telling him how I won't be able to live for a day without him. Turns out, as I discovered only lately, he understands it better than I do. For that matter, I discovered several things about him quite recently including the deep sacrificial nature of his love for me. Yes, we're still in a relationship but I think time has come to call it off.
Tomorrow is party for my 23rd birthday. Third anniversary of our love. I'm going to pretend to get drunk and then make out with his very handsome best friend, the same friend whose picture I found in inner pocket of his wallet last week. And then I'm going to shout at him, slap him publicly and break up with him. I'm going to make him realize that it is ME who wants to move on. I want him to hate me, to hate all women if that's what it takes. I don't want to stop him anymore, I'm going to set him free. I've already talked to his sister, she being a doctor, understands his condition very well. She in fact knew of it long before I did. He'd be fine soon, she says. She has promised to support him when he musters up the courage to talk to his family.
I hope the glass jar cracks down soon enough and his heart finds its way to where it deserves to be - with someone as gentle, caring, intelligent, humble and handsome as himself.
I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow, that'd make it really hard for me.