Sometimes

↟Meera↡

As the moon gradually wanes, so did my pain. The hole that Vivaan left when he disappeared was still there, although it was often filled, as a hole in the ground may be filled with rainwater.

Sometimes the hole in my heart was filled with a blinding red anger and I was furious with Vivaan for his abrupt departure.

Sometimes the hole was filled with a hot determination to move forward and live my life, convinced that I would never, ever utter his name again, not to Kabir and Nisha, and not in my most private moments. During these times, I would deliberately put his unfinished book in my garbage, certain that was where it should be. It might be minutes, or hours, but I always took the book back out.

Sometimes sadness just erupted and I would curl up, holding my knees to my chest, and rock gently on my bed.

Some days, I understood. After all, to love is to understand and set your love free to chase his dreams.

Sometimes, I simply did not care. About him, about my friends, about work. I would call office with a dumb excuse and spend the day roaming some remote place outside Pune. If Vivaan was so interested in escaping, I could escape as well.

I started doing some stupid things, like walking down the streets alone at night. I was always warned not to go out by myself at night, but I didn't care anymore.

Sometimes, I would creep in the shadows if I saw someone approaching on the sidewalk, but when I was alone, I treasured the solitude, the quiet, the dark.

When I returned to my apartment after walking for hours, I would chastise myself for taking such a risk by going out so late at night. Alone. The news was full of horrible stories; women mugged, assaulted ... or worse. I was lucky not to be approached, I would tell myself. Never again!

And then the next night, I would be tossing and turning in bed until I finally gave in to the temptation for another night-time stroll.

I simply did not care anymore.