How I Missed My Train

 

There were no clouds that night. They had cried themselves out last night like me. Clear skies on a monsoon morning were unheard of, in this part of the country. Then again the things that were happening since that night were not those that were expected.

The two years we spent together were nice, enviable too, perhaps. We met in college while pursuing our masters and were best friends from then. Our tastes did not match in most of the things, but for movies. We both loved movies like anything and would watch every show together and irrespective of how bad or how good the movie was, we would always enjoy the show. Every movie was followed by a barefoot stroll on the beach; before the day wound up we would have dinner – sitting on the sands and talking incessantly at times, at times in pleasurable silence. We could stay for hours together like that – silence never bothered us, nor did the crowds, for we were always lost in a world of our own creation.

The fact that our hostels were not near did not deter us from meeting often as one of us would always go over to the other’s place or at times we would meet in our favourite café near the library. I still remember how his eyes sparkled when I commented on how he smelled of after shave and his cologne. He loved smiling and I had never seen him get angry on anyone, ever.

Except for that time months back when he was very angry and spiteful and had shouted all nonsense at me. That too, the day when I was supposed to go home after many months. We had a very bitter argument over something I cannot even remember now, funny, I know. It had hurt very badly at that time. He literally plucked my heart out and walked all over the broken pieces and trampled my feelings. That day, for the first time in my life, I missed my train.

Yesterday, the beep on the smartphone told me I had an email from him. That after my repeated attempts to get back in touch with him. All those feelings that I had buried deep down inside my heart came back all of a sudden, I felt a lump in my throat that I could not explain. No, I wasn’t angry at him. The anger was only temporary and ever since my rage had subsided, I was trying to talk to him, at least once. But he stalled all my attempts and cut all communication with me.

It was a short mail, asking me to come to our favourite ice cream parlour sharp at four pm on the 23rd.

I could not sleep, thinking of all the reasons he wanted to meet me now. The unanswered questions did not let me sleep, nor was I able to hold back the tears that spilled from my eyes.

On my way, I took my return tickets so that I could reach back in time for the classes on Monday morning. As there was no time to properly apply for a leave, I had sent my department head a shabby letter excusing myself from the special classes scheduled for Sunday and informing that Ms. Mary would be handling the classes instead.
The traffic was heavy on the roads, an unusual thing on this side of the city on a sunday afternoon. I reached the parlour just in time.

As soon as I opened the door, I saw him. He was there, dressed in a white shirt and jeans. I stood there for a moment looking at him, wondering what was in store for the evening. He caught me staring at me and stood up and smiled. I stood there, transfixed. Breathless. I forgot to breathe. For some reason I welled up. I did not want to create a scene and swallowed them down.

As I stood there, unable to move, he came and scooped me up in a warm embrace. Months of emotions I had stored inside of me came pouring down, I did not stop myself from crying. I let myself go and in his embrace tried to heal the wounds of the past. It felt like nothing else mattered any more as we walked out to the beach on the other side of the road… his hands on my waist, my hand tucked into his elbow. It was an evening like none other…and I missed my train. I was not even bothered about it because I had just got my life back!

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
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Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.

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13 thoughts on “How I Missed My Train

  1. It is always amazing to see how one gesture can change a life and a focus. One look, one touch, one gesture when done out of love can change us forever. Such a beautiful story.

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