I saw her, right in front of me, dozing—a short nap on her way to the office. She had managed to keep herself perfectly busy all these days; marching to school early in the morning and to work right after school and then back home. She deserved this short break; she deserved this nap.
She still looked pretty, even in her sleep. The proportionately small eyes looked very peaceful, partly hidden by a thin strand of hair. I wanted to stretch out my hand and remove the hair falling over her face the way I used to before, and wished she would smile while I did this. But it isn’t possible now.
With the momentary bliss, came a sudden realization—the stinging truth—that she had gone forever. She is my past. Now, I wish she won’t open her eyes till the next stop—till I get off the bus. If she sees me, the same drag will continue, the same bitterness, the same pain.
How I wish that day had never come in my life. I would have lived with a fake fact, but a sacred fact forever—that she loved me and only me.
I had been a fool; a fool to have moved away and left her stranded; a fool to have assumed that she would desert me; a fool to have fallen victim to the rumours and whispers; a fool to have dishonoured my heart. I shouldn’t have left my precious pearl in order to pursue another.
I don’t like to remember that day. She told me with tears in her eyes, “I am sorry. I am with someone else; I have moved on.” I laughed and cried at the same time. I was happy for her but sad for myself. She couldn’t look into my eyes, the bitterness in her words stung me and it still does. But she was sad. How could I make her cry even as I promised to keep her smiling? I moved away after that, without even a word. I didn’t even say my final goodbye.
She wasn’t at fault. I kept blaming her for suspecting me of being with another girl. I put all the blame on her even when she gave me a chance of redemption. I felt the chill run down my spine when she asked, “I knew everything; you didn’t tell me the truth; I told you everything that happened in my life since you were gone, but you kept silent. Please tell me.”
I had still deliberately and carelessly cut her off then. I shouldn’t have. I should have understood the gravity of her statement; respected the truth of her heart. I should have told her that I had been with another girl just to show her, but I could not adjust with anyone other than her. After all, she still is my first love. I knew it was too late when she said, “I read all your messages; I know your password. You still don’t think it’s necessary to tell me the truth?” I lost everything at once. I tried to hide it; cover it till everything became stable once again, but lost it all instead. I knew I couldn’t even clarify myself. I had been chastised by fate once more. It was my last chance, but I lost the girl who had sincerely waited for me for years; the girl who despite knowing my disloyalty continued to love me. I must have broken her heart and her courage one more time, but she must have been used to it by then.
I could feel beads of sweat trickle down my forehead as I looked at this angel taking deep breaths; lost somewhere in her sleep. I am sure this perspiration is not just because of the harsh May sun, it is because of the guilt. I will not be able to face her again—to tell her that I am sorry—to tell her I still love her.
But I quickly rationalised it all and again shifted all the blame to her. If she had waited for me for so many years, why couldn’t she wait for me a few more months? If she always forgave me for my mistakes, why couldn’t she forgive me this time? If she really loved me, why did she choose to go with someone else? If she had tried to keep our relationship intact all these years, why did she let go of it? It is not just my fault; she is to be blamed as well. After all, the angel is not as perfect as she seems to be.
I could now feel the upsurge of anger once again—the same anger that had made me misbehave and leave her years before. I felt like shaking her from her peace for she had always persisted in my mind all those years and disturbed me throughout.
Thankfully, the bus stop arrived. I was relieved. I could easily leave the bus without her seeing me or should I put it the other way— without me rustling her memories? As I moved out, something shiny caught my eyes; something shone in her hand. For a second, I thought it was just the light reflected by the brass bell of the temple which stood erect on the other side of the road. Then, as the bus started to move, I realised that it was not just the reflection of light, it was a ring—the vow that I had given her years before at the same temple; the vow which she still treasured on her finger.
I missed it once again; one last chance of asking her if she still waited for me. I missed it again.
I don’t know when I shall meet her again. But now I promise to the goddess at this temple—the witness of our relationship— that the next time I see her, I will ask her about what has happened in her life; I will gather enough courage to listen to her no matter what might turn up; and I will truthfully tell her what has happened in mine.
- Anustha Shrestha
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