Soulmates from 1997.

Isn’t it crazy how I end up calling you when you are with her?

Her, who is always a variable.

A variable that changes each weekend. 

Do you feel guilty the morning after? Do you delete my missed calls? Delete the texts on purpose, so you can pretend I did not just call, did not miss you at the stroke of midnight, right when your mouth hovered hungrily over her throat. Pressed kisses, hard and rough. You just want to forget, the stress, the responsibilities, and the never-ending family drama. You don’t really care about her, or the false pretenses she may hold in her head. About this, about you. You are only here for tonight, a tangled mess of limbs and lies. 

It’s the morning after, the sun has been up for 5 hours now. You don’t seem to care and decide to stay in bed, a few minutes longer. Your phone chimes, “Your order has been successfully delivered.” You smile. You start typing, then deletes everything to nothing. There’s no point in making conversation, not right now. Not when you ignored the call and the “I miss you” I sent last night. No, you are not ready for a conversation, just yet. So you do the only thing you can think of – Work.

The greatest distraction from the complex equation, us. 

As the hours pass by, I again cross your mind. You hesitate and text – “baby.” I read it right then yet couldn’t find it in me to text you back. This was the 3rd time my soul whimpered in agony, chanting your sin – again and again, and again. It turns into a migraine, so I block her voice, the chanting into a muffled scream.

When the clock strikes midnight– I text you back, “Hope you had fun last night.”

And your reply is instant- you seem astonished how I come to know about your “shit” every single time. You swear on God, that our souls are connected.
You say I’m your true love/gf/crush/bharya.
You wish me a happy valentine’s.
You tell me, you love me.

And I whisper, “Amen” as I reach my climax.
He kisses me softly as he pulls out of me.
I can hear his heartbeat,
Or maybe it is my own.
I can no longer tell.

He looks at me intensely like he’s trying to read my thoughts.
I turn to him with my lips curled upwards, and smile knowingly.
He’s certain it is for him.
I let him believe it.

For, I’m here to forget as well. The stress, the responsibilities, and the never-ending family drama.

But isn’t it ironic? Funny, even.
My beloved other half,
In my journey, to forget you.
I’ve turned into you.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. robertcday says:

    ‘just another Indian girl’? Nuh-uh, no way!

    Like

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