When people ask “What’s up with life?”, the answer almost always is, “Nothing much”. As if it’s some reflex. Just like;
“How are you?”
Not only with people, but with friends as well. Sometimes some things are not shared even with the people you are close to. Does it mean that you don’t trust them? No. Sharing is a choice. And if you think you know a person really well, that might not be true since everybody has some stories untold. At least one, which they decide to keep to themselves. Wondering why I’m talking about this? Because it’s true. I think we all can relate to this.
I have a story to share here. Fiction? Maybe. Just give it a read.
“The way you make me feel is indescribable. Maybe I don’t know how to explain it to you or I just don’t want to because I’m afraid to lose you. From the night we met, till now, I still get the same feelings when I see you or even your name. Was it because of the situation we were in or was it something else? It would’ve been great if someone could answer this. All I know is that, there surely was something which trust me, has never happened before.” She writes and deletes it right before pressing send.
(How often does it happen that you meet a person and you just can’t stop thinking about them?)
She then sits back keeping her phone by her side. The phone rings. Who’s name it says? His. It happens everytime when she thinks about him way too much. A text or a call from him comes and she’s the happiest person in that moment. She won’t stop smiling throughout the phone call and even while texting.
Every night she gets this feeling of confessing everything to him. So she writes and deletes it eventually.
The other night she wrote,
“You know what I want right now? I want to go to the most peaceful place there is, with you. Like the first time we met. I just want to go back to that bridge where you took me holding my hand. When you were afraid that I might not like it when I loved it. I just couldn’t say anything. Over the bridge, under the moonlight, it was so calm and romantic when none of us hoped it to be. That was the best thing that happened to me then.”
He’s leaving the town in some time. Will they meet again or no? Even she doesn’t know.
And tonight she writes,
“Can’t believe you’ll be gone in sometime. I hope we remain in touch with each other. You know, life is like a book where the moments we spend are the pages. That’s how I prefer to define life as. And the time I got to spend with you will always count among the favourite pages of my book. This is the page I would want to fold by the edge and hope that whenever I look back to read, it would still be beautiful.”
Little does she know that it’s only making her miserable.