My phone lights up with your message. Finally. I almost knock myself over in my haste to reach it. It's been a week since we last spoke. One week that felt like three. This self-imposed exile has been killing me on the inside. What have you done to me? I would ask you how your week was, but I'm almost afraid to find out. Because see, for all my pretence of maturity and practicality, what I really want to hear is that you had it as bad as I did. Because otherwise, what is the point of… whatever this is? "But that's the thing," I can imagine you saying, "there is no point to any of this! Haven't we already established that?" There's the cynicism I've come to tolerate. I hate it when you say things like that. I hate it when they're right. But tell me, did you miss me? Did you miss me as much as I missed you? Did your hand reach for your phone and scroll to my name before you suddenly realised that you couldn't text me yet? Or did you breeze through the week without really thinking about me?
You tell me you had an eventful week. You sound so happy. It makes me happy. And maybe a little jealous. Because even halfway across the world, I want to be a part of your happiness. No, scratch that. I want to be a part of the reason why you are happy. So tell me, did you feel that annoying pang of impatience every now and then, as you realised that you couldn't talk to me every day like you used to? And as the week dragged on, did you notice my name going further and further down the list of recent chats? Did you have to scroll down some more with each passing day? And even though it was the right thing to do, did you curse yourself for coming up with the rule of talking less? Because it was becoming too overwhelming, wasn't it? For something that would have no future, it was becoming way too big for us, slyly slipping more and more out of control with every additional minute we spent around each other. We were losing our productivity because we were distracted. So much. We JUST couldn't stop talking to each other.
But tell me, how does it feel, taking the high road? Hurts, doesn't it? I know that feeling, babe. I know it all too well. I've spent my life feeling like that. But YOU! You are an ardent advocate of hedonism, aren't you? And yet, right now, you are the bigger person. For me. Because right now, I have more on the line than you do. You're right. Look at us stepping back, trying to gather our wits. It hurts so much, and I hate admitting that. I'm a control freak who is losing control. I hate the way that this makes me feel. Vulnerable. Exposed. The old me would probably be sitting here laughing at you, as you struggled with the high road. But right now, all I can do is curse myself for agreeing to our stupid rule. "Our" stupid rule. I like the sound of that. I love how, even from ten thousand miles away, you and I still manage to be "we". My best friend calls this a fairy tale. It's perfect… and it's not real. Another friend calls you a pseudo-boyfriend, even as I cringe at the term. When I tell you this, you laugh that cynical laugh of yours and point out, sadly, how that is even worse than the friend zone. I laugh along with you, as I always do. Did I mention how you make me feel like a lovestruck teenager? Or how I blush fiercely when you talk about how much you love my big, brown eyes and call me beautiful? Did I tell you how special I feel when you share with me the things you never share with anyone else? Or how I go to sleep each night with a silly little smile on my face? How I close my eyes every night, wondering what it would feel like to have your lips on mine, and open them every morning, wishing only to find myself in your arms? Did I tell you how this is the happiest I've been in a long, long time and how you, my darling, are the reason behind it?
We've got so many "what-ifs" when it comes to us, don't we? We'd known each other for years. We lived in the same city. We were friends. How did we not become anything more? Maybe we weren't ready. Maybe we had our own paths to follow, our own persons to become. Maybe that is why you walked into my life again after nine long years. And I like to imagine, that somewhere in this never-ending continuum of space and time, there exists a parallel universe in which soulmates end up together. Because in this one, "we" won't. "You" and "I" both know that. "You" and "I" have always known that. Your future doesn't lie here; it lies halfway across the world, on the other side. My future, on the other hand, belongs here, just as I do. We're like the time zones that we live in. The same numbers but you're AM, and I'm PM. Like the day and night, co-existing for eternity, but never truly together. And yet, I keep finding myself wishing for a miracle, for some strange twist of destiny that will force our paths together. Because I've never felt like this. As if I finally belong with someone. As if I have really, truly been understood, for the first time in my life.
But we both respect each other too much to be selfish with the other. It is the kind of respect that roots for the other, every step of the way, and yet acknowledges the priorities that must take precedence over one another. Our connection was never about possession. Maybe that is why it is so pure, so beautiful. Maybe that is why it hurts more than it should. Why do I feel this sudden rush of affection for you?
The more I keep writing, the more there is left to write about. But how do I fit in a few paragraphs, the entirety of everything contained in a heart full of angst and affection? A heart that both loves a little more and breaks a little more with each passing day? I know, there's no escaping the heartbreak. It is inevitable. And yet, every time I see your face, it makes me want to be selfish, just for a little longer. So for now, I think I will choose to go with the love. Isn't that... whatever this is?
- Gayatri Shejwal (August 2019)
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