Tag Archives: genre:angst

Embers Burn Bright : Prologue


A/N: Hello! This is an ArHi FF I’ve been working on. I’m just posting a prologue to see the feedback! 🙂 I will be posting the story when I’m done writing it because I don’t have time for regular updates at the moment LOL. I hope you guys like it ❤ I haven’t added this in the index yet because this will probably undergo a lot of changes/editing once I finish the entire story! x

Prologue: Two Solitudes

She hears the familiar crunch of gravel and the soft footsteps that have become a part of her routine now. 7 breaths and 5 footsteps later she finds him sitting there, the distance between them big enough to make them strangers but small enough to reach out, if they felt like. She turns her head infinitesimally and watches him look into the distance, wondering what he saw there that made it worthwhile.

After 2 years of this she has come to a conclusion. Patient number 70 was interesting. Sometimes she watches him well into the night, never saying anything. He never looks back, his eyes are glassy, unfocused, as if he’s looking but he’s not really there. She watches him to forget her own reasons of coming out here. She watches him because she is jealous. Because in the hours he watches the horizon, he is at peace. So much so, that she wishes she could muster the strength and cross the chasm between them and maybe watch what he watches. And then maybe she will be at peace too. But then again, peace has eluded her for 5 years; this one shouldn’t be any different.

She fingers the worn out bracelet on her hand. She knows what it says, she has been trying to convince herself of it since the time she has been here. Patient number 17. Manic depressive.

She huffs derisively. It started with depressive and somewhere along 5 years it turned into her being bipolar. As if she didn’t have enough shit in her life to begin with. Pinching the bridge of her nose she breathes in and out, almost hearing the voice of her counselor, telling her to inhale and exhale to reign in her emotions. Fucking bitch.

Still, she continues breathing deeply. Bitch she may be, but she knows her job, she concedes. She rests her chin on her knees and closes her eyes.

“When are you coming home?”

“3 days more, baby!”

“I miss you. And Aryan too. Is he okay? You didn’t let him overeat at the wedding, did you?”

“we miss you too. Er he might have eaten a little over his usual intake…”

“Jay Malhotra. What did I tell you about watching what Aryan eats?” her voice hardens dangerously, although there is an undercurrent of playfulness that only her husband of 7 years can detect.

“Aryan is going to be fine, you worry too much, jaan.”

“I have to…look what happens when I leave the worrying to you!”

“Shut up!” he manages to sound petulant over the phone and Khushi laughs, a ringing, boisterous laugh. She can’t wait for her family to come home; it’s been a lonely week.

“I love you. Come home soon, okay?”

“I love you too. We should be there soon, the train’s stopped for a bit.”

“Okay, then. Take care, hmm?”



Four words stand out in the morning paper, the next day. Train. Crash. No survivors. She doesn’t remember the spilt coffee on the carpet. She doesn’t hear the phone ringing. All she thinks of, is Jay. Aryan. Dead. And then it hits her and she cries. She cries and she never stops.


Her eyes fly open and she feels quiet tears running down her cheek. It is a different memory each day. They dance in front of her eyes, always there, and always out of reach, mocking her, taunting her, reminding her that she is alone and nothing can change that. She doesn’t bother wiping her tears, it doesn’t matter anyway. The only person who has seen them has never spoken to her. She gets up, wipes her sweaty palms on her faded kurta and walks a slow pace back to her room. She pauses for a bit when the brightly lit board catches her eye. Maharani Shanti Devi Psychiatric Hospital. She lets herself have a moment of self-pity. She is young, alone and mentally ill. Pathetic, really.

Her eyes flit back to the man still sitting at the pier. He is still looking ahead. She turns around and walks back to her room. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she thinks that knowing Patient number 70’s name would be nice.



ArHi OS: Stay



“You’re breaking up with me.” Her whisper broke through the tense silence, her voice coming out mangled and torn; she really hadn’t thought it’d end like this. She nodded, trying to comprehend his words, wrap her head around them. It hurt her that after all this time he would still do this and that he couldn’t make himself to trust her. She felt like screaming; this was so unfair. She’d given her all to this relationship and he had no right, no right to end it, to finish it like this; through stumbled words and false promises. She blinked back her tears and tried to rein herself in; she was on the precipice of a breakdown, this was agony.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the deafening silence in the wake of her words. The cut through him, his insides screamed at him to stop this. Everything about this screamed “wrong” but he had to do this; he had to get through this. He willed himself to focus, trying not to let his tears foray. He hadn’t said the actual words, but as usual she’d read between the lines; figured out the meaning. And when her voice had cracked, his gut twisted and took everything in him to control his urge to protect her, shield her, keep her away from anything that hurt her. He’d done the right thing by breaking up, it would’ve hurt more later.

She looked in his eyes, trying to gauge his emotions, hoping to see something; anything. But he was so good at this. At obscuring his emotions when he wanted to. It’d taken her a year of friendship and three years of being his girlfriend to realize something. Arnav Singh Raizada was synonymous to complicated. She didn’t blame him though; with parents like his anyone would be fucked up to their saturation point. She knew he had little faith in long-term relationships and that was the reason behind this break up. Not the shit he’d fed her as a reason for the break up. College relationships don’t last…different careers…wanted different things in life. Bullshit. She knew he was terrified of having to maintain a long distance relationship while they worked on their careers. She knew he was afraid it’d hurt too much later so a clean break was better. She wanted to tell him that it’d be okay, that she had enough faith in their relationship for both of them, that she loved him, but she couldn’t possibly do that when he shut down like this. They had the real thing, why didn’t he get that? She wished he’d take that step forward and atleast try to trust her. The longing burned in her, her throat constricting. She hated that she couldn’t reach out to him, that there was always this one part of himself that he hid from her and that no matter what she did it never came out. Maybe it was better to let go.

He watched her hunched posture, the way her hands gripped her forearms, white with the force they applied. He hated himself for what he’d done. For a fleeting moment he’d wondered if she was crying but she wasn’t. He knew she was strong enough to not collapse in front of him. He wished he could take it all back.

She drew in a deep breath; the silence had stretched long enough. She turned to face him and saw his gaze sear her. Her breath hitched, this was too difficult. Looking inside her she grabbed the final reserve of strength.

He looked at her, his head spinning, his heart beating fast in the most painful of ways. He wished he could stop her, he wished someone would push him to end this madness. He closed his eyes when he felt her lips on his cheek for the briefest instant. A drop of her tears splashed on his cheek and the shuffling of shoes told him she was walking away. The anguish lacerated him, made his heart spasm and everytime he breathed a dull ache followed. He remembered everything, all the times he’d spent with her, her ringing laugh, the way she squirmed under his hold when he tickled her, the way happiness seemed tangible when he was with her; everything. It hurt him physically to see her walk away. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t possibly live without her; it’d be like slow torture. Panic took over him, his brow wet with perspiration and the fear that he had just let her go forever. He was nothing, nothing without her. His need for was too strong; it overpowered his fear of anything else.

She turned back when she heard his voice pierce the quiet as he called out her name. His anguished tone propelled her to turn around. She didn’t bother hiding her tears as they ran ceaselessly down her face. Why was he doing this? Why was he making this so much more painful than it already was? She hated that she couldn’t deny him anything, that she loved him so much. She saw the mad, frenzied look in his eyes, did he regret letting go? She didn’t dare to ignite the flicker of hope, lest it should turn into an all consuming fire that ravaged her. She saw him walk towards her purposefully, his eyes losing the madness bit by bit as they filled with flecks of caramel once more.

He looked at her, her face wet with tears. He winced at what he’d done and walked faster towards her, he had to make her listen. He jogged the last few steps, standing close to her, almost touching as he looked back at her.

Her breaths came fast and shallow, she felt like running away. He looked more calm than he ever had and she closed her eyes for a bit before opening them only to see his eyes misting as the walls came down in a pandemonium of destruction. She saw him destroying them bit by bit, as he stood there rigidly, herculean in his efforts to let go of his demons. She didn’t dare to believe what she saw; it was too much to take in. She stood there motionless, having no idea what to do as his eyes filled up. She saw the conflict in his eyes, saw just how hard it was for him to let go. She knew then, that he’d begun to let go, that he was willing to give them a chance, that he loved her too much to see her walk away.

So when he whispered “Stay” a centimeter away from her lips, she whispered a yes. And when he kissed her, she flung her arms around him.


AR OS: The Porch Swing


The Porch Swing

She knew she’d never forget that memory even if she tried to. It was burnt in her mind; the imprint, so strong that it’d never go away. She remembered watching them once, from her window, wondering why they weren’t speaking; her seven year old mind wondering if mommy and daddy had a fight. But then her fears were put to rest, she saw their hands intertwined while they sat on the porch swing; although they were still not speaking. She hadn’t thought of that memory until she was much, much older. Until she met him.

He was charming, made her laugh, bought her the odd little trinkets that had the most special memories attached to them, taught her how to love. And oh, she was madly in love with him. He was her first thought everyday, the one person whose mere presence made her smile giddily. If there was anything she was sure of, it was him. They’d make it. He was her everything. Riddhima had been wildly in love with Abhay. He’d given her all she had ever asked for and so much more. And that’s when it had come up. The porch swing. She hadn’t realized the full implication of what she’d seen. She wanted that. That peace, that tranquility, that absolute surety about the one you love. And all through her adult life she’d sworn that the day she’d find someone with whom she could sit on the swing while holding hands and not say anything for the better part of their time without feeling restless, he’d be the one. And she’d done that. With Abhay.

It was pouring, the rain cascading in rivulets everywhere. The garden was drenched and the sound of pouring rain slashed through her conscious as she tried to blink back the tears. Why wouldn’t he understand? It was all fine till now then why was he being so stubborn? His question hung in the air, shrouding the two of them. It was too much, too soon. Her chest constricted, the breaths coming in shallow gasps; no one had told her it’d be like this. No one had told her it could be so excruciatingly painful that she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She was supposed to be over him. Over Abhay, over every memory of his. And she was trying but it was too damn hard.

She looked sideways, his gaze had never left hers. Why was he doing this? She tried to tell him, she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready to do this just yet but he was unrelenting, his stare never wavered. She saw his conflict in his stormy gray eyes; she hated that they were gray, they were always blue when he smiled. She pleaded, one last time.

“Please…Armaan. Please.”

His turmoil came through when his voice cracked. “I can’t do this anymore Riddhima. I can’t compete with him anymore, it’s too much.”

She was hanging on to the last threads of her reserve and they weren’t strong enough. “You don’t have to compete, Armaan!”

His eyes flashed at her and her heart squeezed painfully. “Oh but I do, Riddhima! He’s there in every thought, every action of yours and everytime I do something I hope that someday, you’ll learn to love me like you loved him. I don’t want that anymore!”

“Armaan, I love you.”

She saw his eyes close briefly and for a moment she hoped he would let go of this topic but a second later he opened them and there was nothing but steely resolve. She took a deep breath, shuddering.

“I know you do, Riddhima-”

“Then why-”

“Let me finish. I know you do, but we can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep doing this. I don’t derserve this and neither do you.”

“Abhay was-”

She saw his control snap. “Abhay is dead Riddhima!”

His voice ricocheted all around her, breaking, tearing, snapping the threads of her reserve as she took in his words. Hot tears escaped her eyes, running ceaselessly down her cheeks as her temper flared. She stood up, wanting to burn this frustration out of her. The rain drenched her in no time and she ran a hand through her hair, anger dripping from her every bone. She looked at him on the swing, his posture rigid with barely suppressed irritation.

“You think I don’t know that?! You think I live in this false world where I pretend everything is alright? Well, I don’t, Armaan! I live with it everyday. I live with the fact every fucking day that he and I were in the same car and I out-lived him. So don’t tell me he’s dead, because I know it better than anyone!”

“Then let go, Riddhima! For fuck’s sake, you said you were ready to date again and here we are. I thought you’d moved on!”

She listened to his brazen words; they cut right through her, twisting her insides like someone had plunged a knife through them. She knew they were too far gone to steer clear of this topic now. It would either be resolved, or not.

“I’m trying, dammit! You think it’s easy getting over a dead fiancé? I can’t do it overnight!”

“It’s been seven years! Seven years since he died and three since we started dating! So don’t tell me that I’m being unfair!”

His words stunned her into silence and they both stood there, the rain pouring down on them, his words circling her mind. Seven years. Seven years had passed since he died. The fact astounded her, knocked the breath out of her lungs and defeated, she sat down on the wet grass her body wet and limp with exhaustion. Why had she held on for so long? Why was she still holding on? Her mind spun with the realization that he was right. They couldn’t do it anymore. She had to stop this because she was hurting him too. She tried to look for it, the missing piece that would compel her to move on. Because she wanted to; move on, that is. And she loved Armaan, she just needed a way to let go of Abhay. To stop that guilt from choking her, everytime she let herself be happy with Armaan. She hated the guilt; it always plagued her; like she never deserved to be happy. But she was done. Done fighting with him, fighting with herself.

She vaguely felt him lead her to the swing and he sat beside her. She could see how tired he was and it hurt her that she was the reason.

His voice was softer when he spoke again, the weariness seeping through it. “I’m not a heartless bastard Riddhima. I’m not telling you to forget him, I know you can’t. All I’m asking is that are you willing, Riddhima? Willing to try to let go? A try is all I’m asking for, if at the end of it, you can’t then I’ll leave.”

“You can’t leave.” She whispered her anguish coming through. Not again. She hugged her knees closer and heaved a deep breath. She wanted to cry, scream, beat someone up; she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She looked at him, his eyes were closer to blue now but they were adamant. A shudder ripped through her as the wind blew on her wet form. The sudden silence was overwhelming, it wasn’t raining anymore. She saw slivers of sunlight peep through the clouds, making their way towards them, weak at first but shining brighter as they moved. She thought about all the time they’d spent together. Every memory no matter how insignificant passed through her mind and at the end of it she knew she couldn’t give him up. She loved him. In that moment something shifted in her, she finally understood. She couldn’t hold on to Abhay forever, he was her past. But Armaan was her present and her future too, if she let him in, and she wasn’t going to ruin it.

She saw him looking ahead and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked at her and she saw his eyes shine with hope and she smiled faintly. If he loved her so much, maybe letting go wasn’t that bad an idea. He’d help her with it.


His voice was hoarse when he replied. “Yes?”

“I promise to try and let go.”

The warmth in his eyes said everything and she locked her fingers with his as she looked ahead, wondering about the endless possibilities in store for them.

For the longest time they sat there the sunlight drying them. She never said a word; she could already feel herself let go of him, bit by bit. If she’d known before that letting go could feel so good, she’d have done it earlier. The hinges of the swing creaked as it rocked gently and she remembered her parents as his thumb drew circles on her palm.


AR: Drabble Challenge


A/N: My first attempt at Drabbles LOL 😀 I saw something like this on fanfiction.net and decided to try it out for myself!

The rules:
1. Pick a character/pairing/fandom you like.
2. Put your iPod on shuffle/random
3. Write a drabble/ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to write the drabble. You start when the song starts and finish when the song is over! No editing afterwords!!
4. Do 5 such songs, back to back.
Even though mine are sorta crappy, here you go:

On top of you [Duration: 3 minutes and 38 seconds]

Her hips swayed sensuously as she moved from one side to the other. His eyes feasted over her bare waist as she thrilled him with yet another tantalizing smile. Her raven hair swooshed with each practiced move she made and she knew exactly what she was doing to him. He got up suddenly, ignoring the wondering stares of everyone else at the bar. He made his way up to her, and she laughed. The sound almost stunned him into unconsciousness. It wrapped itself around him and her husky laugh filled with knowledge of knowing what she was doing was assaulting his senses in the worst way possible, rang in his ears. He covered the distance between them in 3 swift strides and her forest green eyes locked with his. They moved to a tempo of their own, stuck in al limbo in which only the two of them existed. His fingers kissed her waist her scent was an onslaught of feeling on his bedazzled mind. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her into a deep kiss. It was decided. She was coming home.

Just wanna be with you [Duration: 3 minutes and 41 seconds]

2 days 23 hours. She shivered as the cold wind whipped her face. She was tired of waiting, she missed him so much it was physically painful. 2 years, two whole years since she’d seen him last. 730 days of crying into her pillows at night. 730 days since she’d smiled fully. 730 days since he’d been deployed. And she was waiting, always waiting.

“I love you, Armaan.” She whispered, her voice cracking yet again as she ran her fingers over his picture. “I miss you, come back baby. Please.” And as the clock struck 12, it was day number 731.

Moves Like Jagger [Duration: 3 minutes and 21 seconds]

They moved together in perfect sync with each other, laughing, talking nad dancing on the loud music. She was enchanted. He was enraptured. He’d never met anyone as amazing her. She’d never met anyone who shared her obsession with History. It didn’t matter that they’d met for the first time today, at the club. He liked her already. She thought she might ask him out at the end of the night. Or maybe ask for his number. Her thoughts came to an end when he pulled her closer and she smiled into his eyes, everything else forgotten. They owned the night.

Rhythm Divine [Duration: 3 minutes and 34 seconds]

He spun her around his gaze languid, unlike his movements. She twirled with record speed, her heart thudding as she crashed into him, their rehearsed moves enticing the audience who watched the salsa. His hands held her tiny waist as he lifted her up and she faced the stars, her senses intoxicated with him. He brought her down and the music died down slowly. He brought her closer, closer and closer still until they almost touched. His breath fanned her cheeks for a moment before she felt his lips there. She grinned when he whispered a husky “I love you so much” in her ear.

Perfect [Duration: 3 minutes and 34 seconds]

She sat in the bathroom, the walls spinning around her. It was fucked up. It was all so so so fucked up. Her mothers shouting rang in her ears yet again and she shouted a loud SHUT THE FUCK UP at the walls. Her eyes caught the glint of the razor and she sobbed helpessly as she saw the bracelet on her hand. The bracelet. The razor. The bracelet that was the symbol of her staying away from cutting for a month now and the razor that called out to her. If she’d cut, it’d become better. Everything. She remembered his blue eyes, the way they’d shined when he’d called her beautiful. He loved her. The razor lost it’s shine. Her tired hands picked up the cell phone as she texted him: I need you, please.He would fix it. Like everytime.


A/N: Cutting is a serious thing, I do not in any way mean to make fun of it by writing a story 🙂

And I have no idea how there were so many Enrique songs, I put my entire music collection on shuffle and its massive! Oh well 😀

Dear Guy


Dear Guy,

Eighth Grade. You were the new guy. I was the popular girl. You were in division A and I was in B. We didn’t speak for the whole of first term. You didn’t even exist for me. Well, it was natural. Our friend circles never crossed. The only thing I heard about you was that you were the most reserved person anyone had ever met. It didn’t get my attention. I was the most un-reserved person. We were virtually opposites. Obviously there was no point in talking. Was there? Shark Tale. It’s probably one of the most childish movies I’ve seen in ages but it’s the one movie I’ll remember forever. I sat beside you in that movie, remember? Talked to you for the first time. We talked music. You said you liked Ozzy Osbourne [although I know he isn’t your favorite] and I thought you were crazy. I was still in my Taylor Swift phase, you see. I never saw any part of that movie except that part where the fish clean the bigger fish’s teeth [because the teacher told us to stop talking.] We laughed like crazy at that. I still don’t remember what was so amazing about that scene. Come to think of it, it probably wasn’t the scene. It was you.

We got on like a house on fire after that, didn’t we? We were always together. Lunch Break, Second Break. Always. You’d come to my class and we’d sit on one of those huge window sills and talk. Talk about anything. Everything. Music. Movies. I tried talking about books, but you despised them with a passion didn’t you? Haha I loved teasing you about that. Anyone who saw me talking to you would ask me, “What the hell do you guys talk about? I’ve never seen him talk that much before!” And I’d just smile. They’d never get it anyway. Eighth Grade was tough for me. Eesha wouldn’t let me be friends with anyone outside our group and I considered Anjali one of my closest friends. Since she wasn’t in the group Eesha gave me a choice. I thought it was the silliest thing I’d ever heard. I wasn’t her puppet. Obviously I left the group. Looking back, I can’t see why I was ever friends with her. But the “walking away” still hurt. After all I knew those girls since forever! There were memories. You told me it’d be alright. That I’d stop feeling hurt. Remember how we bunked that wood workshop class? You hugged and told me, that I was the most important person in your life. I remember being shocked. Not that you weren’t important for me, but “most important” was something different. You told me about your relationship with your parents. I remember us hugging each other, drawing comfort. For the first time, I felt like things were going to be okay. Turned out, I was right. Two months later, things were alright with Eesha. There was no “group” now. It was just people being with people. Pure and simple, friendship.

And then you got a girlfriend. Aliya. She was really nice! She was in my bus but we’d never said anything but “Hi!” to each other before. Now we’re pretty good friends. Because of you. I remember being the mediator in your relationship. Boy, did I solve fights! I hated it when you guys broke up. You made a nice pair 🙂 Remember Mt. Abu? We went on a class trip for three days. You removed my fear of rappelling and I took care of you when you became sick after eating the horrible food. You always had a weak stomach. I remember how we stored your medicine [the one that had to be mixed with water] in my water bottle. My bottle smelled for days after that. I had to buy a new one. But I still kept the old one. Memories’ sake.

Ninth grade. It was horrible at first. All my friends were in the other class, except you. And people kept teasing us. Like, that didn’t make talking to you a little awkward. I saw a different you in ninth grade. You were possessive, jealous and moody. It terrified me. I knew the happy, trusting guy. Not this one. Dhwani later told me that you were always like this, it was because we’d been in different divisions last year so I didn’t know it. Though she did admit that even last year you were different with me, than you were with others. I had nothing to say to that. They told me Tirath was your sworn enemy. But Tirath was my childhood friend. Not that we were that close, but he had been in my class since Nursery. We talked occasionally. You hated that. You confronted me. I said I wouldn’t stop talking to him just because you wanted me to. Although obviously, you were more important. But I being the stubborn person I am, refused to compromise on what I believed. And we stopped talking. I hated that. It hurt like hell. But I was the silent sufferer types. No one ever came to know just how much it hurt. I cried everyday, wondering if I should have just compromised just this once then things would’ve been fine between us. But I never told you how much it hurt. You purposely talked to others in front of me, taunting me. I don’t know how I stopped myself from crying. Like I said, I was the silent sufferer types.

Rann of Kutch. It was going to be the worst camp ever. They were taking us to a camp in the middle of Navratri! It was horrible for a garba-fanatic like me! You were cool with it though. You hated any form of dancing. Though you DID do garba with me back in eighth grade when we celebrated Navratri in school. You told me you did it only for me. I liked that.

The camp turned out to be the best after all. Because we made up. It was the best 3 days I’d spent with you. I’ll always remember them.

The rest of ninth grade wasn’t peaceful though. You kept fighting with me. I kept making up. You apologized and I gave in. Everytime. I hung on to that thread of friendship which was now full of knots. Because it kept breaking and then getting fixed too many times. At the end of ninth grade, you told me you didn’t trust me anymore. I was shattered after that. You broke our friendship. I had no idea why. You broke me. I picked myself up though. I wasn’t going to show you how much it hurt. But I wanted our friendship back. Like it was in 8th grade. I even tried being nice to you. You never gave me the time of the day. That pained me more than ever. I decided I’d had enough of you. I stopped being nice. I pretended like you were never there in my life. I’d forgotten that you were my life.

It took me almost a year, before I could look at you and not tear up. We were in 10th grade now. But it still hurt. There were times when I wanted to hit you. Kick you. Punch you. Hurt you like you hurt me. Not that I could ever bring myself to. I told myself that it was never meant to be. But you were my best friend. I couldn’t just erase you like that. Just when I was learning to acknowledge your existence with a smile, you came and apologized. Apologized for everything. In that moment, I didn’t want anything but our friendship. I wanted “us” back. And so I forgave you. Once again. No questions asked. Things were amazing from then on. You were back. We  were back. I loved talking to you. You updated me on your life. Turns out, you were as hurt as me. But then why did you do it in the first place? You said you didn’t know. I brushed it aside. You were back. Nothing else mattered.

But then you did it again. You asked me how could I possibly bitch about you behind your back. I told you I didn’t. You didn’t believe me. And I was left broken again. I wondered why I let you do that to me. Let you hurt me like that. I guess the lure of our friendship returning to its former glory enticed me into forgiving you everytime you hurt me. Looking back, I wonder whether going through months of pain was worth having a week of friendship. I wonder why you were so important to me. Was it because when things were fine, they weren’t fine but perfect? Or was it because I enjoyed being with you so much that I sort of forgot to think rationally. I’ve never found an answer to any of these.

Sometimes I still muse, the problem was with you. You were the one who had trust issues. You were the one who hurt me. I was the one who tried to make it better. Sure I made mistakes. Hell, I’m not perfect. But I’d talk to you. You, you’d just shut me out. Leave me in the dark. Not once did I know what actually went wrong. But I’d forgive you. Every f*****g time. I still wonder why. I always will.

That last time you told me you didn’t trust me, I decided that I was done. Done with being the one who was left hurt. Done with doubting myself and somewhere blaming myself too, for the demise of our friendship. We talked after that but it was more like we were acquaintances. Not like we were best friends. It’s been about 3 months since we’ve been cordial. Do you wonder like me? Do you wonder where our friendship went wrong? Do you still smile when you see photos of us on facebook? I do. Because whatever said and done, our friendship had become the most important thing to me. Ever. Its taken time, but I’m at a better place now. A more stable place. But I still miss “us”.

I’ve never told you any of this. Everytime I tried, you’d say- “It’s all water under the bridge now.” And I’d stop what I was saying. No point ruining the friendship, I’d think. Slowly, I lost the courage to admit how I felt. I just went along. Somewhere, I’d become someone else.

Now that I see it, I wonder how I didn’t suffocate. Probably because everytime our friendship was renewed, I was resuscitated. Keeping all that inside me was probably the toughest thing I’ve done.

There. I finally wrote it all. It’s taken me months to become that same girl you knew. The same girl I knew. But I did it 🙂

We may never meet each other again. But I’ll always remember you. Because you taught me the most important lesson of life: Sometimes, it’s just easier to let go.

And I hope one day I get the courage to tell you all this.




A/N: This is the OS closest to my heart. It may not be the best thing I’ve ever written but its made of things that have actually happened to me. If anyone’s interested, the guy in question is still an asshole LOL 😀 And no, he wasn’t my boyfriend 😐

AR OS: Believe



Sometimes she almost believes the shit he sprouts about destiny and karma. Sometimes she doesn’t. This is one of those times. She watches the spotless white sheet turn carmine with every drop of the scarlet fluid seeping through it and finally decides that all that bullshit about karma was just that. Bullshit. Muskaan had never wronged anyone. Still, the white cloth turned scarlet with every drop of Muskaan’s blood and the world seemed silent because her best friend’s heart was still. She makes a sound that is wedged between a guttural sob and an angry scream. She will miss her friend with every beat of her heart, every moment of her life. She clutches the scarf to her face and inhales the orange and ginger scent that is typically Muskaan. It’s something she has smelt all her life and yet another sob escapes her heaving frame as she realizes that she will never smell it again. She watches them pull the sheet over Muskaan’s face and load her body in the ambulance. She is too exhausted to follow them. Her body is backed by the street lamp as she buries her face in her knees the sobs cutting through her. She curses the drunken asshole who slammed into her sister’s car. She is overcome with guilt; it was her idea to have a movie night with a galleon of ice cream that forced her best friend to get out at 2 in the morning.

She doesn’t notice when a paramedic sifts through her purse to call her emergency contact. She is enveloped in a strong hold after what seems like years. She hides her face in his chest and lets the fat tears soak his shirt. She is terrified. She is livid, But most of all she is guilty. She realizes she may have said that out loud because then he’s cupping her face and forcing her to look at him. She does, and bursts into fresh tears. She doesn’t deserve the open trust in his gaze, there should be derision, disgust. She notices that his eyes are bloodshot and tear tracks mark his face; and belatedly realizes he has lost a sister too. Her guilt magnifies exponentially. She wants to ask him to hit her, scold her, and hate her, anything but the love that shines through his blue eyes. He seems to have read her thoughts, or maybe she has spoken out loud again, but he is kissing her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her tears, her lips, he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once and she feels herself calm down. She hears him repeat something akin to “Its okay, baby, it’s not your fault. I love you.” to her over and over again. Her back aches after the prolonged contact with the pole and he sees this and pulls her up. She feels weightless, empty, drained. Her movements are laconic when they reach her house and so are his. She stumbles her way to her bed and wants to lie down but he tells her to change her clothes. It is then that she notices the bloodstains on her white tank top. She feels sick. Her feet run towards the bathroom of their own accord and she throws up in the toilet as he holds her hair back. She feels his tears splash on her nape and it pierces her that he is suffering too.

She doesn’t refuse when he urges her into the shower with him. She responds when he makes love to her slowly, gently while they are both crying. It doesn’t feel wrong, she needs this and so does he. She feels the shards of normalcy pierce her conscious at their actions, but the emotions are wrong. They are not supposed to do it out of grief with his eyes and hers red from shedding too many tears. They’re supposed to do this when his eyes twinkle with mischief as he pulls her into the shower with him.

She clothes herself and moves to the laundry bag with her bloody clothes from before, in her hands. He pulls her close to himself, never leaving her alone and she is grateful. She knows she will turn into a sobbing, blubbering mess the moment he leaves. She squeezes his hand and tries not to forget that he lost family too, but the grief in her heart is too much, and she has no space to acknowledge his.

She combs through her clothes, making sure nothing important like her wallet goes for laundry. She is about to throw her jacket in when she notices the photo sticking out of its pocket. She flips it around and gasps in surprise. He comes over to her side and she feels him reel in surprise too. It is the photo Muskaan had gifted her before the two of them left for different universities. It has Muskaan, Armaan and her laughing with their heads thrown back. She does not remember what they were laughing about but she remembers Muskaan’s words the night she gave her this picture. She had asked her to stay happy no matter what and she’d teased back that for someone who was impulsive she was acting awfully mature. An unwilling smile makes its way on her face and she sees it mirrored on his face. The picture must’ve been put in her pocket by one of the paramedics when they’d returned Muskaan’s belongings to them.

Their hands run over the picture like a caress and she knows what they both are reminiscing. She hears Muskaan’s ringing, boisterous laugh and warmth seeps in somewhere in her heart. Her finding this picture is destiny, she thinks and a wry smile curves her lips as she remembers calling it bullshit. Sometimes she almost disbelieves the shit he sprouts about destiny and karma. Sometimes she doesn’t. This is one of those times.