Goodbyes

There was a silence between them. From somewhere far away, faint music of a popular Bollywood song filled the silence.Both of them were in search for something, words maybe.

The clock ticked. The pressure cooker had whistled four times already. Water was gushing down into the bucket from an unclosed tap.There was a sense of rush between them that was being metaphorically described by their surroundings.

They had to say goodbye. They wanted to. But how do they? Should they just hug and say “Until next time then?” Should they say the perfect words about the perfect relationship they had and just leave it to that? Or should they just get up and go?

He looked at her, she was smiling.

She smiled, he was staring at her.

He tried to say something but ended up just mouthing something remotely related to goodbye.

He’s finally saying something at least, she thought.

“My train leaves in two hours”, he said.

“Well, I have a flight to catch in three hours”, she said.

Of course, both of them knew this. The timing had been carefully planned between them so that neither has to say goodbye first. They wanted it this way. Right before they left, so that the pain travels with them.

She knew he wanted it. She didn’t agree to it at first but then slowly she realised wouldn’t it be best to leave the perfect things as they are? Why turn the beautiful memories they shared into bitter sweet ones where they would have to avoid looking at each other. She wanted them to meet up at a coffee shop by the road, after a few long years and over a cup of coffee, they would go back in time to relive what were those perfect seven days.

He knew she didn’t want it. That had been his plan since the first day. No long distance relationship. But now when he looks into her eyes, a pain sears in his heart. Would he able to live without those warm hugs that greeted him every morning as sunshine or those late night talks where every random topic used to become an important topic for them?

The clock struck 5. His phone’s alarm went off. Both of them stood up.

So its goodbye then, she said.

Maybe it’s not, he said.

To those who inspire me a little every day

I’m not a writer.

I’m not a writer but I’m inspired by my friend from across the hall. I’m inspired by how she gives a soul to every word in her work of fiction, how she doesn’t care about the wrinkles on her dress but carefully plains out the crumpled page of a book, how she draws inspiration from the little things and looks forward to those big changes in life, how she is from a small town and dreams about the lanes of New York, how she fell and rose in love again and again, only to find the perfect one for her.

I’m not a writer but I’m inspired by my friend at work. I’m inspired by how she treats every story like her little child, how her heart skips a beat every time she hears there’s an animal in danger, how she puts her thoughts into words in her blog, how she gracefully grew out of the phases in her life that put her back, how she always puts up a strong front even when she’s shattered from inside, how she has an innocent smile on her face even when she thinks she’s in trouble, how she excitedly turns around to show something new yet old that she discovered in her closet.

I’m not a writer but I’m inspired by my friend who sits next to me. I’m inspired by how in just a blink of the eye, she pours her heart into those words and makes a story come alive, how she is able to work with ease, how she so faithfully trusts in God, how she believes in doing the right deed, how she keeps her calm even in the most stressful of all situations, how she silently plans out her future, how she is always there for her friend in distress, how even when she is angry she quietly clears her mind before turning around and facing the situation in the most calm manner, how she inspires me to start something I don’t believe I can.

I’m not a writer, but I want to be.