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When We Broke Up - Part 1




I want to give you a heads up: this might sound like the start of one of those Chetan Bhagat books, but trust me; I had no intention of this being so. It just happened to be in this instance and just, you know, went with the flow. So here it goes: 

 I was just casually sipping on my latte and writing on my journal.  I was so caught up in finding out the exact words to spill my feelings on that journal that I barely noticed the lady on the table next to me glance at me.

I gave her a smile. She sat with a half closed book in her hand and an untouched Americano next to her. She smiled back. She had one of those cute smiles that shone light after a heavy rainfall; that could melt your anger in seconds; that instantly made you feel at home.

“You a writer?” She started.

“Me?” I laughed. “No. I aspire to be one though.”

And that’s how we got to talking. One thing led to another and soon we are laughing like maniacs on the most random things in that coffee shop.

“Wow! You’re good!” she exclaimed as she went through my blog.

I smiled modestly, “I try.”

I looked up from my latte.

Silence followed her scrunched forehead.

 “Something wrong?” I asked.

“No, it’s just that I’m wondering…….” She trailed off.

I waited.

“What?”

“What if you could write my story?”

And you know what: I did. I tried to do justice to what you portrayed. So, bubbly lady in that coffee shop, if you’re reading this, you know who you are and I hope you like it.

We met through a mutual friend of ours.

If that isn’t the most cliché beginning to a love story, I don’t know what is. But that’s how we met.

To be honest, I wasn’t the most affectionate person. I would never ask my partner if he had had his dinner, why he was late and such. Those were the least of my concerns. But he; he was. He would go that extra mile to show me, to shower me with love. He called frequently to make sure I had eaten, to make sure I had reached home, to make sure I was okay. He would make me a care package when I went on trips. But I never went “awwww” at such moments. I just went “meh”. Don’t call me a heartless person maybe that is just how I am. Such affection was just not my cup of tea, or cup of coffee, as I would prefer rather.

Of course I loved him, don’t get me wrong. But… just not the way he loved, or the way he wanted. We had our own ways of expressing to each other, might as well be different; yes, different ways of expressing our love for each other.

Eventually, things began to crumble between us and we grew apart.

Like I said, I’m not the most affectionate person so I never thought I would have such a hard time when we broke up.

I was devastated. I could see his smile every time I closed my eyes. Every song reminded me of him. Every time the phone rang, I would expect to see his name. My life was filled with a certain void that he had left.

Things got even more downhill when he messaged me a few days after we had broken up. He said he had gotten someone else. I was dumbfounded. It took everything in me to pull myself back together after that message.

“How?

Why?

Had he gotten over me so damn quick?

He claimed that he would always love me, so was that a lie?

Were only a few days enough to get over each other?

If so, why had I not gotten over him?”

Lots of questions ran in my mind. But I controlled myself. I would not message him. No.

However, fate had different plans for me.

Only a few days after that message, I was in the market. I was looking both ways to cross the road. I was halfway there when I felt it: that tingling feeling. I don’t know how and I don’t know why but I could just feel he was somewhere around. The atmosphere just felt……. different.

I looked around.

And there he was.

There he was with his new girl.

There he was walking hand in hand with her.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My mouth felt dry. Grief shadowed me. They say that you can feel it; you can feel it when your heart aches. And I could. I could feel that pain in my chest as I saw them.

Before I could think, before I could react, before I could cry, I was in trance. My feet that had stopped dead in my tracks overcame me.

And I followed them.

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