Shhh..

My eyes shot open. Perspiration coated my cold body. I was shivering. That dream..that face..it was there again. I dreamt of her often waking up similarly numerous times before. Unsure whether I should tell it to anybody, I'd force myself to fall back into sleep again.

They'd laugh. I knew it. But now after 14 years, I still cannot let that memory go. I can't get over it. You may call me hung up on it, if that pleases you but, that'll just show how lucky you've been to not understand why am writing this, and that too now, after all these years. I didn't have the courage back then..to do anything..anything at all. I know, something should have been done but I was just eight at that time. I should have told someone, anyone, back then, but I couldn't, I was too scared, too scarred, too afraid.

I stood there in the corner pulling my own ears as she'd directed me to. It was nothing new, it happened everyday and with the whole group of us. But one thing that had begun to alter lately, was it was only me now, every single day. I didn't know why. I still don't. I couldn't understand. I still haven't.

"You're a thief, a liar" she was howling in front of the class. "You're the one responsible for stealing the coloured chalks!"

The school didn't provide coloured chalks back then.

"I've got my own set of slate and chalks ma'am. You can ask my house-mother." I said, teary eyed.

"Yes ma'am, she's got it in the dorm. We all know. She brought it from home." Some of them tried to reason with her.

"Keep quiet. Do you all want to miss your lunch like her?" she threatened them. I don't know if they remember now.

"None of you are going to speak with her from now on." She continued.

We were in Grade 3, little girls in one of the most recognised and best boarding schools in the world.

They didn't. We were too obedient to even know what disobeying meant.

And like most of the year, that afternoon I spent my lunch hour in the corner of the class pulling my own ears till they were numb. In that grade, I spent most of the academic session that way.

She primarily taught us Maths and Science. All the Maths teachers I met after her will be very clearly able to tell you that I shiver and go speechless in their classes. The very presence of a Mathematics book can send chills down my spine.

My parents very lovingly named me 'Prajoyeeta' which roughly translates to 'THE ONE WHO WINS EVERYWHERE' and 'THE UNBEATABLE'.

No, I do not recall being hit by her, EVER! Though yes, I very clearly remember this one incident where she had lined the entire class of 3B and struck our palms with a long wooden scale the school provided to each class, in an attempt to aide the teachers in drawing lines on the blackboard. We were hit that day because of a misunderstanding that had cropped up between one of her favorite students and another classmate of ours. The entire class was punished because, we should have put our foot down for her pet. But we didn't. That day, I wasn't hit. I was busy in the corner pulling my ears. That was the rule. Whenever she took our class, that was my duty. I had to oblige her. When you are in the junior school, it's your class teacher who teaches you most of the subjects, which in turn means she occupies most of your day. Yes, she was my class teacher.

There was this display board that ended in the corner I occupied each day. She'd put together a chart that showed our academic progress with the weakest pupils' graph being dominated by brown marks. My graph had only brown like the others in the lot I belonged to-the 'P' lot.

"I HATE THOSE WHOSE NAMES START WITH A 'P'" she'd announced one fine morning. "Raise your hands if your name starts with a 'P'!"

None of us did.

"None of you?" she seemed confused.

"Be honest, I have the register. I'll get to know anyway." She reasoned.

We reluctantly did so. At first I thought she was kidding. Turns out she wasn't. And the fact that she wasn't, was made crystal clear to me when we tortured our ears in the corner simply because she despised us. Though, am yet to figure out why, after a while I was being singled out and found myself alone in the corner.

It had taken a toll. Those seconds, minutes, hours, lunch breaks and all of it spent in the corner. And I don't remember who I was before my relations with my friends got strained owing to them being forbidden from mixing up with me. I don't remember not being humiliated or embarrassed by her in front of the other teachers as well. I don't remember not being described as not good enough. I don't remember even a single moment of not being laughed at by her. I don't.

She had joined that academic year and the last I saw of her was a month after we were promoted to the next grade. She left the institution but never my mind...never my dreams. I've never seen her after that but she's never left me. I guess you can't forget easily, if you spend each day standing in the corner for about eight and a half months, every single day, out of twelve (we had winter vacations for 3 months with summer vacations being negligible) because of your identity. Your name is what defines you. It is you.

I stumbled upon her friend request on Facebook last year and she asked me how I was doing and if I am still the kid too mature for my years like I was in Grade 3. I said I hopefully was and that was the only conversation we ever had with each other. EVER!

Why am I talking of it now, after 14 years, though my eyes well up each time I am transported back to then, I don't know. But somewhere, am glad I am doing so. I feel lighter. I hope I don't wake up crying or shivering any more.

Why I won't name her today? I don't know. But yes,

Ms. M, YOU PSYCHOLOGICALLY ABUSED ME. And all I hope and pray for today is that, like me, you never forget it too. That you dream of me there in the corner with your spiteful words nesting in my mind and soul, like I do of you. And I hope you know, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU! EVER!! YOU SCARRED ME!

P.S.: A child's watching, and she'll never forget. Don't do it.

Wikipedia describes Psychological Child Abuse as:

"Emotional abuse is defined as the production of psychological and social deficits in the growth of a child as a result of behavior such as loud yelling, coarse and rude attitude, inattention, harsh criticism, and denigration of the child's personality.Other examples include name-calling, ridicule, degradation, destruction of personal belongings, torture or killing of a pet, excessive criticism, inappropriate or excessive demands, withholding communication, and routine labeling or humiliation."

Credits:

http://www.instablogs.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/child-abuse-guidelines_26.jpg

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Child_abuse

HAPPY 67th INDEPENDENCE DAY INDIA!!

Unlike every year, Independence Day this time has cast a shadow of insecurity in my mind too. With the state of Assam being on the verge of division (which I, for a fact know will not so easily happen), you cannot help but recall all the acts of terrorism that had bruised the state, left, right and centre on this particular day, since times immemorial. If you belong to the north-eastern 7 sisters of India, you pretty well understand the picture and can recall the images. Yes, I admit, we are a state suffering the brunt of terrorism for as long as our grandparents can recall, and shamefully, somewhere in our hearts we have grown accustomed to this fact. But what really scares me this time are the (ethnic?) conflicts that we've been facing.

Being a proud Indian and never a person to encourage people to stay indoors during the Republic Day or Independence Day celebrations, this time I am different. I feel really insecure and troubled. I very strongly believe, most of the terrorists are really messed up people. They undoubtedly need mental medication and counselling, but what do I say about those demanding a divided Assam? Your campaigns and protests have a political figure at the head. And I won't regret saying, that this year, you are the reason the shops are shut down, you are the reason the roads are deserted wherein, they should have been filled with happy faces, celebrating our independence. You should be ashamed of yourselves. You should hang your heads down in shame! People are scared you are gonna create a blast (literally). I am scared too. At a time, when the whole country is celebrating our 67 years of Independence, a day, a feeling, for which people have been losing their lives since the era of the British Raj, you, are creating an atmosphere of insecurity that is reflecting in the lifeless streets of Assam. Did those people struggle and lay down their lives so that people and organisations like you could bully our independent and free soul?

Yes, for a very long time, Assam, in particular did wear the deserted look on this day, but the recent years had proved that we were over coming that tradition and embracing freedom from fear. But thanks to you, we are back to square one. I really hope someone talks sense into your heads very soon. 

MOMOS ON MY MIND

Being the huge (literally) foodie that I am, this week, I've been craving momos like gawd-knows-what!! Nah, my cravings never end, but this week is different. I was never too much of a momo person. Call them dimsums if you may, or dumplings or what ever other word you have in your dictionary, but all I know right now, is, this nepalese snack has been the only thing I've been dreaming about the whole week.LOL!

Standing out there, being a mere spectator filled with disgust, as friends and siblings hogged momos was a scenario long overcome and now, so-not-me.

When I shifted to New Delhi, far away from home, to pursue higher education, I was neither a momo nor a samosa person. But sheer laziness to cook or the occasional loneliness that engulfed me, a foodie who hates to eat alone, paved the path for the momos into my being, as I began to relish them each time i.e. everyday,  I went to meet my friends who stayed as paying guests not very far from my house. Within a hair's breadth from their building was this guy with his momo stall. For those of you who are from, or have been to, India (mainly Delhi), post 'The Rise Of The Momos Era', you know very well what type of stall am talking about. So this guy, he sold huge momos served with a dash of chutney that was sinfully yummy. So much so, that my mouth's watering at the very thought of it. For Rs. 30/plate, I got to have the best chicken momos, sprinkled with some chat masala ofcourse, with mouth watering chutney.

Okay I'll tell you where you can find this stall

But not now! :P

Fine! Fine! here you go. Am talking about Gautam Nagar  in South Delhi here. It's behind Yusuf Sarai and within walking distance from the Green Park metro (No, I obviously don't remember the gate number. Sorry!). Emerging from the Green Park metro, in the side where you bump into the Green Park Community Centre rather Market or maybe it was the Yusuf Sarai Community Centre (I don't clearly recall, but you'll see an outlet of Khubchand Meat Shop there) , you need to walk straight, until you reach the bye-lane that welcomes you with a flower shop. Yeah, enter that bye lane until you reach 'Spicy'-a restaurant, yeah, a left turn from there, walk for like half a minute and LO AND BEHOLD! YOU'VE REACHED!

Enjoy!

Don't bother greeting the momo-wallah for me, he doesn't know me by name you see. If your taste buds agree with mine, you can thank me later. If they don't, forget I ever gave you the directions!

So coming back to momos, I've had THE MOST expensive momos in Delhi again! Am not gonna tell you the price, you might just die out of shock, but it was in the Select City Mall in Saket, just so that you can have a rough idea. But honestly, it was worth every paisa I shelled out. The outlet I am talking about here, is, the Chi Kitchen Restaurant and Bar. You've really got to taste the 'Chicken and Coriander dumpling' there! The taste still lingers in my memory. Doesn't seem like am gonna get over it in this life!

And OMG! How can I forget the 'tandoori momos' of Satya Niketan. I don't remember the name of the joint. But must really hunt them out. You're missing on something big time if you haven't treated your taste buds to them.

Being such a momo person, I nearly jumped out of my skin, when, the other day, while I was looking at pictures of momos on the net and happily dreaming about them (yeah! I do that!), I decided to change tabs and clicked on the 'Web' option, thus shifting from the 'Images' category and lo and behold! What do I stumble upon? The word momo, as the 'Urban Dictionary' says, can be happily used to describe someone annoying etc.! LOL!! Did you know that? I didn't! Anyway, so your 'Insults Dictionary' is one word richer eh?

All those who reside in Guwahati, it's not news to your taste buds that the bestestestest momos in town are the ones you can chomp at the 'Quick Pick' outlets with of course the cheese cream or mayonnaise that are served along as dips. And for those who aren't from here, remind me to take you there if and when you decide to visit here. No, we surely aren't a state over populated with terrorists! Stop shuddering!

Apart from Quick Pick, I think the blue momo joint in front of Commerce College is good too. Yeah it is over-crowded but isn't that quiet obvious?! You probably have 'Momo Ghar' at the back of your mind. Yes, I've heard there was a phase when momo is Guwahati was synonymous with Momo Ghar. But the sad news is, it doesn't seem to have the same fame any longer. Infact, I had momos there the other day, and was gleefully glad that I wouldn't have to eat from there for a very very long time.

If you know anyone or any other place that makes momos like they have fallen from heaven, lemme know! Am always open to food invitations!! Cheap yeah? I know!!

Hey! but am still open to those invitations! :P

Check this out!! http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=MOMO

BROS, HOES, 'FRIENDS' and FOES

I was having this little chat with a very dear friend yesterday and realised all the common grounds we've been treading. But what caught my attention the most, is the fact that, nearly all of us 'deal' with a 'friend' who goes ahead and flirts with our significant other irrespective of whether you are married, engaged, just dating or whatever. They will even forget their own flame, i.e., if they have only one, and will giggle away as if they are the most amazing thing to have happened on the face of the Earth. You obviously know the worst part, -they are either your best friend or at least belong to your close group of friends or even worse, they could even be your sibling. These 'FRIOS', as I call them, plainly beacause "FRENEMY' doesn't sound appealing to me, are 'Friends who are actually FOES' and trust me on this, they surely have no respect for you. Though this friend that I was chatting with did manage to quiet nicely drive away her frio, I couldn't help myself from being reminded about my frio who shamelessly went ahead and flirted right in front of me. Yes, I have been avoiding her and we aren't even really on talking terms but it did hurt to see such a close friend throwing herself all over him right there. I, at first, saw it as harmless flirting and in fact was blaming myself for over reacting and had even tried reasoning with my man, that he 'misunderstood' her when he saw what she was up to and asked me to tell her to control her slutty ways. I know, back then, somewhere at the back of my mind, I certainly realised what she intended, but was probably scared about losing our friendship or being termed 'over protective', when I have always tried to establish that, though having seen how extra marital affairs of important people in our lives can tear down families, I have sculpted myself to be a very secure and stable woman and have gone to great lengths to prove this true. Yeah Yeah, I understand what a big blunder I was infact making and I really loathe the fact that I let her get away with the crap unhurt and not insulted! Anyway, in such situations, like a very dear aunt of mine says,

"Never mind the chick peas..as long as your man doesn't lose his beans !!"

No doubt, whenever we come across articles or incidents like this, we tend to think,"Oh! That's one possessive being!" but deep inside we all have gone through it. And the worst part is when friends of your spouse start teasing the two right in front of you. Though you may interpret it as a light hearted joke, baby, let me remind you, most of the love stories started off as jokes, and this 'joke' will very soon end up your relation looking like the biggest joke!! In this scenario, these so called 'friends/brothers/sisters or whatever' will target you as being possessive and over controlling!

Dear, at that moment, God forbid, your spouse loses his/her marbles, blushes and agrees with them, know that, it's time for you to start dusting your suitcases cause you're, more than probably, not going to be around for long.

I've always believed that in such scenarios, it's your frio who's to blame. They do not respect your relation with your spouse which every person who calls themselves your 'friend' should,yes, it's a rule and there are no exceptions to it except for ill-mannered people. In the few cases where respecting this relation proves to be a massive task, they should at least have respect for the bond you both share. In any case, don't despair, stand up to them and clearly state what you have to. Fling the shit back to right where it came from and with greater speed! Again, like the same aunt of mine says:

"..and when it comes to your spouse, oh-my, nothing should stop you!!"

P.S.: Heyy! Before you fling it back, note that your spouse isn't getting over friendly with this frio and ensure that you aren't going to face the 'three in the marriage' news. In that case, remember my voice in your head "YOU DESERVE BETTER!"

But preceding your reaction, know when things are getting out of hand and have crossed the line of decency long back. If you think it has, the alarm's rung! Get ready to play dirt! And don't you dare think you can't..everyone can and you surely are in the 'Everyone'. And you know what the surprising thing here is,  you need to hang this 'NO ENTRY' board on the door of your house for those 'friends' who were teasing your spouse with your frio. They need to be kept at not one, but at least a hundred arms' length away because guess what..(?) they oh so obviously don't respect your relationship either!

Remember, that members of both the sexes on the planet face this situation but if your significant other is basking in the pleasure of having gained someone's unwanted affection or showing off, it's high time you need to consult a counsellor!! LOL! And God forbid, if they begin to threat that they'll walk away hand in hand with your Frio, trust me, it's time to let go. Don't waste yourself fighting for crap.

THE GUY ACROSS THE PAVEMENT

I saw you there, across the pavement. Her hands curled into yours. The early January sun stroking her face, you staring hard at me. I don't know if you had memories flashing through your mind like I did in mine, they just zoomed around inside my head. Yes, to see you there, after all this time, I was pleasantly surprised. For a moment I wanted to reach out and say "Hello, there!" and then realised I had nothing more to say.
Now when I think of it, I know I did, I had a lot to say, so many things had accumulated since the last time we'd spoken that I was afraid we wouldn't have time enough. I couldn't risk letting you go. But I guess you had moved on, and I had to.

Was I still not over you? I don't know. Were you over me? I didn't know until then.

Something on your face told me, it wasn't with anger that you stared back, but the situation we had both got ourselves into. I don't know for how long we stood there staring at each other, I don't know why the world froze around us, I don't know why I couldn't hear a sound anymore. Was I still stuck in the time we were in before? But when she turned to look at what had caught your unwavering attention, I guess I just turned in time, to save you your answers. I couldn't any day since, explain to myself why I felt guilty, why I turned away, why I didn't want her to see, why I wanted to hold your hand and lead you to a place where only we'd be. Should I feel sorry?

I wanted us to be in that place where it's just you and me like before, when we didn't have to walk away from each other, like we never existed. Where I could hold your hand and giggle as if nothing was a bigger proof of sanity than laughing for no particular reason. Where you'd still walk with me drenched through the heavy rain trying hard to win the tug of war over the umbrella. I loved how we sat at the bus stop and made fun of complete strangers and how people looked at us as though we were lunatics. You know, I still turn my head to look at the place we sat ourselves at every time I walk by the spot.
But that day, on the pavement, after I turned, I hoped you would think of me when you were alone like I do every single day. I wonder if you still lie down on the beach, counting the stars or thinking about 'everything' like we used to. And I wonder if it hurt you that I walked away, did you feel a knife dashing through your heart as if it would be sliced into two, like I did? I wonder if you heard those three words, the ones they call 'magical words' from her, the ones I was too terrified to admit. I wonder if you wonder of me.
I turned and walked away that day, my heavy wedding ring glistening on my ring finger.

FIGHTING WITH THE BULL

I write here of YOU. YOU, who've taken the bull by it's horns and thrown it around a zillion times. It's totally fractured, lying there in a disheveled state, looking at you turn your back and walk the 'walk of victory' through half closed eyes. Just as you extend your hand to push open the mighty door, he's up again! Charging at you at a speed too ferocious for your reflexes. You are taken aback. And before you know it, you've bitten dust. He's atop you huffing and puffing, blood thirsty red eyes ordering you to give up. Lying helpless below him there, you know you are going to lose your life if you don't act soon. You clearly remember what they said, "There are two ways to get out of this-1. Either of you GIVE UP. 2. Or one of you DIE!" The moment you heard it, you knew there was only one option-the bull has to die.

You've been fighting this battle for years-day after day, night after night and it was nothing new to have been crushed down right before you reached the door. There beyond the fence you can see the meadows, the luscious green grass waving with the slightest breeze. The bees kissing the sunlit flowers. You can hear the river rumble by from the doorway you were at a few minutes ago. And you want to be there amidst the bliss-the spectacular world on the other side. But the truth is, you are here-sore and hurt. Coated in dirt and clay, your clothes almost completely torn, you're bleeding so much you don't feel the pain any more. All you know is you're lucky to be alive.

No, I wouldn't call you an escapist if you decide to quit. I wouldn't label you if you just decide to fool the bull and run for the exit and eventually cross over to the place you've wanted to be in for so long. What matters is, you gave a fight to the best of your ability. You tried to change your situation playing by the rules.

This is exactly what happens when you find yourself soaked up in dirt and in a mess, crawling to freedom, to safer grounds. Don't give up without a fight! Go by the rules a little more than you can. And at the end, do what your heart desires. If you think you are putting up a fight you are eventually gonna lose, walk away! Yes, you should definitely "TRY TRY UNTIL YOU SUCCEED" but not until you aren't alive to bask in the glory of your success. You should walk away to a place you'd be better off in!

JUST MAYBE WE WERE FRIENDS

I stood at his grave, speechless and astound in the mid November sunlight. Not that I hadn't been here before, this place beside the brook. I have been here almost everyday since the last eight years. Through the sun and the rain, through the fog and the snow, through the good and bad, through it all. I was ‘still hung up on him’ I’d hear them say a million times, but they probably were beginning to get used to it now.

We’d often come here, you know, him and me, we’d sit below the arched bough of the mango tree and let the silence speak.  But again, sometimes we chirped with the birds, letting our presence dawn upon them, pulling at the grass, with that distant look in our eyes, chatting each other up till eternity. Many were sure what they couldn’t get us to admit, that we were in love, but I’m telling you, ‘no, we weren’t’, not the kind of love you hear about around you or those that you read in books. We were friends probably. Neither the childhood- still- going- strong ones nor the ones that always hangout together.

We’d known each other for fifteen years altogether, including the last eight. I cant exactly recall how we met, but it was probably at one of those literary seminars where everyone’s criticizing someone else’s talent or boasting of their own. I remember being introduced through a common friend and we not exactly having much in common apart from that friend. But one thing that we both actually really had in common was an intense loathing for the works of a new writer whose books sold primarily because of the catchy titles he painted the hopeless content of the book with.

He’d shown me this place one summer evening, the day after Bruno, his rabbit, had died. The creature liked it here and so had we. “At last! Far from the maddening crowds”, he’d announced during one of our visits. It was true, the silence here, was soothing, not the kind that screams at your face but the one that hums a melodious tune into your ear. We’d talk about books and poems, poets and writers, life and their lives, about the butterfly, the beast, the sunray and the rain drop, the crow and the cuckoo, the tiger, the wasp, the grass and all the small particles that made up the universe and every thing else.

“I’ll look over you” he’d said, right before he’d left.  His gaze fixed to mine. I just smiled, I couldn’t think of anything to say. No, I wasn’t choking, I didn’t cry that morning.  I was just ummm…. blank, uncertain perhaps. No, it didn’t take time to believe that he was gone, it was over, and ‘coz deep inside, I knew, his gaze told me, it wasn’t. He was around.

“Not everything in this world has to have a name” he’d once said to one of his friends who asked him about the bond we’d shared. And I believed that too, not that it never occurred to me, but I forgot to ask him if we were friends. We most certainly weren’t lovers. Yes, we were always there for each other but only when we met near the brook. We didn't have each other on speed dial; we didn't even have each other’s phone numbers till that last month together. No, we didn't know he’d be gone, it was just a big sudden shock. Yes, we did exchange emails, though not everyday. We never felt the need. We even hung out on many occasions together, but it actually never occurred to us, to exchange phone numbers till we did. And we never understood why we supposedly were ‘in love’ I’d been over to his place a few times, mostly when he’d be having a party or a simple get together and I was privileged enough to be invited. And I’d invited him over even fewer times to return the favor. We weren't very social beings you know, and we knew it clear enough, though I’d always wondered what drew us to this place, the facet that it offered quite time in abundance, or the time that we spent debating, chatting, eating muffins that he’d bake, or may be just the company of another human whom you could speak your heart out to knowing that you wouldn’t be judged. It was an obvious fact that I knew his deepest darkest secrets, his scariest confessions, and he knew mine. And these past eight years, I haven’t stopped; I've piled it all on him. Even the pebbles and stones that I drew faces on occasionally, I piled them on his grave. Though he’d always laugh at this talent of mine, I’d credit myself heavily for it. I could hear him laugh in the back of my head, each time I lay such a stone. It would make way for my momentary smile, but reality would slap right across the face and I’d burst out crying haunted by his absence,  troubled by the vacuum.

“Ahhhh….. One of the most common reasons…” he’d said to me as he lay on the hospital bed, his sister, me and his friends by his side. And for some unknown reason, they began to file out of the room gradually as we talked. I didn’t exactly notice them leave, but there was no one around, once I looked up from him, I didn’t know how long we’d been talking. But, it was late. I had to get going, he clutched my wrist as I got up to leave, the first time ever. We had always maintained the cordial distance, people usually do, saying ‘sorry’ if we brushed against or hurt each other, and ‘thank you’ every time it was needed. But this time around, it was different. His skin burnt into mine, he had really high fever, and he was suffering but I didn’t know what to say.

“Stay” he said, after a prolonged silence as we stared at each other.

“We won’t really meet again, please stay back.”

I couldn’t really comprehend why we wouldn’t meet again, and he saw it in my face, my eyes probably gave it away.

“I won’t make it” he explained.

I quietly sat.

I couldn’t tell him he’d make it, he’d stay, that he wouldn’t leave, that he’d meet me like always beside the brook, under the bough, for, deep inside somewhere, I knew he wouldn’t. He knew it too. He mostly knew it all the time.

“Yeah… I’ll tell you what happened,” he’d said before I could utter a word, “but you must promise to lay me in a casket solely of your choice where we both sat below the bough by the brook” he continued as he held my palm between his.

“I promise.” I probably choked.

“I loved our secret meetings” he winked.

“I still do.” Was all I could say.

“It was drunken driving...” he said, with that distant look in his green eyes. “I was careless, I’m sorry” he continued.”

I knew he didn’t drink, but now, I didn’t know anything. I was angry. I wanted to cry, I wanted to hit him.

“He was drunk and I was driving,” he smirked sheepishly as he pointed to a common friend who had just entered the room, still severely bandaged. I couldn’t suppress my laughter and joined him as he laughed crazily.

“She knows where to lay me to rest” he said, between what I thought were silent sobs to his sister, who had come in with the friend. And she put together a faint smile.

“I’ll miss you” he turned to me, and his eyes told me something I couldn’t probably understand. My head was cluttered.

“I’ll too” I replied.

“I’ll always be around,” his voice was fainter than before.

“I know. Thank you for listening, for being you.” I said, my voice hoarse, cold and distant.

“I’ll look over you.”

Before I could reply, he was gone, I stood there shocked, cold and uncertain, unable to pull out my palm from between his.

And I’ve been here everyday since, reliving the times we spent together. And maybe.. Just maybe we were friends.