Nostalgia

Dear Diary,

I want to tell you a lot of happy stories. Stories where the beginning, middle and end are laced with joy. Stories that warm your pages, and go beyond possibilities.

But I can’t. And that hurts me, too. So here I am again to tell you a story of a beautiful boy who once loved a girl……

He would notice how her mouth would curl, very slightly, to the left side when she would just begin to become annoyed. He would notice how her hair would slightly twist at the ends when she slept longer than every day, and how the tiny, otherwise unrecognizable blush would creep up her cheeks when someone would give her a compliment. He would notice how her nose would scrunch up in distaste whenever she saw that guy she thoroughly disliked, and how her fingers would involuntarily curl into a fist when she saw the girl with bruises on her cheek from her father’s rage. He would discern her toes curling inside her shoe whenever her chance to speak in front of an audience would be near, and would slowly take her hand and say,“Parii, You’ll do great”.

All of this intentness used to unsettle her, and one fine day, she decided to break up.

He’d ask her about the evil glint in her eyes whenever she was about to do something that she thought to be clever. He would ask her why do she lies awake till dawn and sleep into the noon without any reason. He would ask her why she cries every time she sees a puppy whimpering in pain, until she told him one day about the pet she had lost when she was five. He’d question her fascination with the constellations and with certain names she liked. He would always want to know why she loved him, never quite accepting anything in his life without an explanation, for once in his life.

All of his curiosity seemed to get on her nerves, and one fine day, she decided to break up.

He would write poems on how she was an independent soul, never in need of another person to hold her up. He would write stories on what might have happened if she hadn’t done what she had done, even for the smallest of her decisions. He would write sonnets about how his hands fit perfectly into hers.

All of this attention started to annoy her, and one fine day, she decided to break up.

Since then, she had tried to fall in love again regularly, because honestly, falling in love with him was the worst thing she had ever done.

But whenever she tried, naturally, she compared the guy she was trying to fall for, with him.

And one night when he was tossed and turned to sleep, saw a dream. A dream of her ranting about how she felt after him. She told him that…

None of the guys looked into her eyes, straight to her soul, and voiced for her, her deepest insecurities. None of the guys looked at her enough to know what her gestures said, and she had to speak too much to explain. None of the guys were ever inquisitive about why she did what she did, and about how she loved the constellations but hated lone stars. None of those guys wrote a poem on how beautiful she looked on that 19th of March, in her simple suit, devoid of makeup, because makeup hid too much of her face, and her emotions couldn’t be seen straight.

That fine day, when she broke up with him, she didn’t know what she had to lose. And yes, she regrets falling in love with him, because he set up the standards too high, and now no other guy seems to be fit enough. she regrets falling in love with him, because he noticed too much, questioned too much, and gave her too much attention. And most of all, she regrets falling in love with him, because he ruined her, without even touching her, for everyone else.

But then again he woke up in the middle of the night without anyone else, without her just like that. And dear diary, you know what’s hard? Finding the perfect ending of this story because apparently there is none. And worst is calling this piece a work of fiction.

Until next time,

Nitish