47 Days Since

Dear Sasha,

47. It’s been 47 days since I walked out of that bar. I still remember how it went down. We met at the airport. But something wasn’t right. You didn’t look at my eyes, you were absent-minded, you kept avoiding my questions. My detective alert was in red zone, but I thought, all this time in Delhi, I must be paranoid. It was at the bar when I realised something really was wrong. Some people think they can lie, but there are always little tells that gives them away. A twitching eye. A jumpy vein. A lisp. I could see all your tells. But I didn’t assume the worst. I thought I was misreading you. After all, we had gotten engaged before I left. I’ve known you for years. Surely nothing bad had happened in an year or so. I trusted you.

Maybe you wanted me to find out. That’s why you made it so obvious. With no attempts to hide anything. Left your phone at the table when you went to use the restroom. I grabbed it, and started scrolling though. And there it was. Evidence. Of what you had done since I was away. Clear as day. I couldn’t understand. Was this a lame joke? You’ll say it’s a bad joke, and that all these texts were nothing, just texts. Maybe it was your friend texting her boyfriend. But the more I stared, more I could see the evidence it was you and him, more my brain refused to believe it was real.

I called you later. Seeking closure. You said it was serious. It started while we were still together. I asked you about us, you said you don’t know anymore. But you craved physical attention, the touch. And he was good in that over the last year. I deleted your number. Burned every item that belonged to you, every vestige of the lie that you concocted. Yes, you had some excuse prepared. But had enough. I admit I wasn’t the most eloquent person that night. But sometimes, a spade needs to be called a spade.

I spent my days working, earphones plugged in at every single chance. I figured if I could distance myself from you, from what you did, and bury the whole event, I’d supress it enough to make me have a normal life. If anyone asked, I began calling you as the accident. The cheating, the incident. And the whole thing? A mistake.

But was it really though?

You taught me a valuable lesson. No, you made me experience a valuable lesson. Never trust anyone. You showed me no matter how much humans try to rise above their baser instincts, at hearts, we are still animals. No amount of poems and epics about Love can change that. We will turn on those closest to us at a moment’s notice for sake of pleasure. You birthed chaos in my mind, just like The Joker from The Dark Knight. You traumatised me, you broke me, you destroyed everything we built together to get where we were.

I beat up a thug. Well he was pretty rotten apple, but still, I, a cop, beat up a thug, just because I could. Because I wanted to. Because it felt good. I imagined him to be your new man. I imagined I was beating up Junaid. But I felt nothing. After what you did to me, I’d do anything to feel something. I just couldn’t feel a thing. I pushed out all my friends, I burned all bridges. I closed in, shrivelled up, cried myself to sleep every night, because, it felt good. It felt right somehow.

Until, Katy forced me to live again. I met her one day. She was stubborn as hell, but somehow, she fixed me a little. She gave me a kitten. She gave me Whiskey. She is a Scottish Fold. Her ears fold up, and she looks like a wise owl, and she is tiny, so she sleeps in the fruit bowl that I bought for that time when your parents visited us. You’d love her. She is exactly how we dreamed of owing a cat would be like. I’ve been taking care of Whiskey, being a proper father to her. She still needs lots of attention. She has a lot of vocal range. I swear I heard her mew once, Papa love you. Although in cat’s mew language, who could guess what she meant.

I had buried your memory. I had Whiskey. Everything was going perfect when suddenly, today, you came rushing into my mind. I was on the train, standing at the doorway, feeling the breeze in my face when your memories rushed up to me. I have no idea why. But five hours later I found myself writing this letter to you.

I met someone. A lovely Jewish girl named Gal. I met her waiting in line at the bank. We started talking and we really hit it off. I asked her out. She gave me her number. We were inseparable. We talked every day and night. I quite liked her. Eventually the topic came to ex’es. I told her about you. She told me about her experiences. A string of playboys left her emotionally unavailable. She was lovely, but eventually, stopped taking. Flamed out.

The funny thing is, the time between, I felt she was you. She said things you’d say. Laugh at the things you used to laugh at. Wear same kind of dresses you’d wear. Maybe I was trying to replace you with her in my life. But now we’ll never know, will we?

Katy and Jazz are getting married. She told me when we met. I don’t know if you are gonna come too. If you do, I promise I wont create a scene. I know you don’t care anyways. See, I’m not mad at you for cheating on me. I’m mad at you for not telling me about it every time I asked you about it, point blank, on the phone. I’m mad because we had decided not to do anything physically until we get married. But childish, but we made a pact. You promised me a forever. I’m mad you didn’t give me my forever. Was it the thrill of getting caught that aroused you? If so, it’s okay.

See, the Sasha I fell in love with wouldn’t do any of the things you did. Or said. Maybe the Sasha I fell in love with is now dead. You changed. Beyond my wildest dreams. But there is no point in anything anymore. You are just a bad memory that I need to bury deep inside. I don’t know why you came to my mind 47 days later. But it’s okay. I’ll forget you gradually. The hole you blew in my will heal back. I gotta go now. Whiskey is asking for my attention. Sometimes, she acts just like you, Playfully close and affectionate. Then suddenly cold.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: THIS IS A PART OF RICK STORY ARC. THERE ARE TWO MORE RELATED STORES, RICK AND SASHA AND PARIS