Forgiveness

He was tired of staring up at the sky and looking for a purpose. The romanticizing glares of the twinkling, wish-granting stars seemed to be mocking him.

Why do I feel like I did something wrong?

Why won’t she speak?

Speak up woman!

But she seemed to have stopped hearing him a long time ago.

 

First, she looked at her feet, then she looked at his face but her eyes looked lost. They, he knew, were travelling in another galaxy. Her mind was in transit, always swinging back and forth between anxiety and indulgence, future and present, death.. and death.

Her eyes began to look misty before he realised it was his eyes screaming for comfort, not hers.

Her hands reached her face, carefully stroking the strands of hair that had been covering her eyes for the past eternal minute.

Dressed for a perfectly cold winter evening in Delhi, she had her jacket zipped up like always. But today, she seemed cold.

His mind was slowly running out of possible reasons. Before his coherence could tread further, her squeak took over his presence-

“Can you please forgive me?”

He didn't choke.

He didn't want to die.

He didn't feel the dying need to beg or even answer.

His heart didn't break into a gazillion pieces like they did in the romance novels.

He breathed like an old man who had just been informed about a disease he had long anticipated; slowly he turned around and walked away.

No.

But I can keep quiet for the rest of my life and that’s pretty much the same thing.

Ten heavy steps later, he could still feel her icy warmth.