The One

Cicadas and crickets sang. It was 2:39AM. Nothing good ever happens after 2 AM. Every bad decision, every heartbreak I could trace back to a time after 2 AM. Of course sometimes alcohol was involved, but that’s just the catalyst. Not the reactant.
There was the time I broke up with my toxic girlfriend to be with the girl I thought was the One. After 2 AM. The time I hacked her Facebook to find out she was cheating on me. 3:46 AM to be precise. The time I cancelled my non refundable flight back home to tell a girl who I thought was the one that I loved her but who ended up rejecting me to my face. The time I told my friend I loved her after I set her up with my bro, my best friend. The list goes on.

So here, at the beach side resort. The wedding destination of my best friend and the girl I really thought I’d marry someday. I’ve been through hell and high water with this girl for over 10 years and had been in love with her since college and really thought we’d be together in the end no, matter what, even if it took some miracle. If my beating heart would save her life, I’d rip it off myself for her, but I could do nothing now. She was my Last One. I shouldn’t be sad at her happiness. I was happy for her. For them. I really was. I was just not happy for me.

I put the groom to bed, after he was drunk out of his mind. In my bed, to be precise, so I could keep an eye in him. The duties of a bro. I stepped outside on the balcony when it hit me. The girl I loved, and the guy I’d go jail for. Getting married. Tomorrow. And I was going to be alone. After these years. Watching each of my friends marry and vanish. Till now. And where have I’ve been? Chasing heartbreak after heartbreak. I know perseverance is a strong quality but it’s runs thin. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be married. Maybe sometimes, exceptions in life happens. Not everyone gets a happy ending. And right here, in this balcony, with a bottle of scotch and a guitar, maybe, this is my One. I started strumming the guitar slowly. I knew the melody, but I couldn’t remember the song. It was her favourite song. The One. And soon to be Mrs. One. I remember the first time she sang me the song. We were in a long distance relationship and I was having an anxiety attack and I dialled her number reflexively.

If I could control time, I’d stretch our this moment. For eternity. This night. The night before the one became Mrs. One. The ocean breeze. The waves crashing. The cicadas singing. And my guitar gently weeping. The truth is, yes I dated a lot of girls, but it was all a search for the One, who’s now getting married tomorrow. Maybe I was a victim of Stockholm Syndrome. Just then a voice joined my melody. I couldn’t recognise the words but the melody, the emotions. They felt so familiar. The voice joined, smoothly, naturally, as if it always belonged and it took me just now to realise her. I was enchanted by her voice. I wanted to go on, but the song has to end. Like all good things in life.

“What was that? ” I asked, my voice a little low, not hoping for answer. I heard a little laugh. “You played the melody but you didn’t knew the song? ” “I mean yeah I know, but it seemed like another language or something? ” “Well” The voice replied. “It’s the same song, sung in another language. It’s just another version of the same song, I guess.” She stopped. There was a peaceful pause. “Aren’t you afraid you’re gonna wake someone in your room? ” I asked softly. “No one in with me.” I heard her say. “Well, do you want to sing more?” “Don’t you wanna sleep?” She asked. I could hear the smile on her lips. “Well. My friend had this rule. Nothing good ever happens after 2 AM. And I’ve made it my life’s mission to prove him wrong.”

“Sounds like your friend is wise” “Well, he’s getting married tomorrow, so I guess he knows what he’s doing.” “Oh you’re the friend of the groom. ” She stopped. “Hey, can I ask you something? ” I asked. “Mhmmm? It better not be a cheesy what’s your name, what are you doing, or some crap like that” “Would you like to dance tomorrow at the wedding? ” I waited for her reply, holding my breath. “Sure. I’ll be the girl in blue. I’ll be easiest to spot, since, from your tone, I think you probably see me as the most beautiful woman out there” “So you read minds? How fascinating! ” And we both laughed. I heard her yawn. “Well, I better get going. Big day tomorrow right? ” I laughed. ” You’ll get your beauty sleep? ” “Bold of you to assume .I need any” I laughed.

And that’s, my kids is the first time I met your mom. But the story didn’t end there. No, it goes on. How almost every girl there wore blue because it was World Cup season. How I was so confused to find your mom because it was like looking for a needle in a bunch of other needles. How I found your mother not by looking, but singing that song she sang the last night, during the dance. How I sang and my heart directed me towards your mother, the crowd parting, the wave of blue slowly moving away, till, standing in front of me, silently watching me, till I motioned her to come on stage. How that night we sang our first duet as a couple and have been inseparable since. How I had my first dance with her. See kids, the story never ends because life never ends. Life goes on. You find that the One broke your heart? Find the next One.

I could tell you every single story your mom and I have except, that, well, it’s not real. Your mom. She isn’t real. You guys aren’t real. That night, the night before the wedding, I passed out, in the balcony, and dreamt the whole thing. You guys. Your mom. The happiness I felt with her. The peace. The day you were born. Your first words. Except, it’s all just a dream. And I’m lying on the couch thinking of you guys.

I still live alone. Over the years I thought being single and being alone were different, but now, I see, they’re the same. We are all molecules looking for stability. Reproduction is the reason for our existence and love is a byproduct of that, evolved to facilitate better cooperation and handling of the offspring, to ensure proper growth and nourishment of the progeny. But, as in science, there’s always exceptions. Like me. And now, as I’m writing this, I realize, I am that exception. Maybe I don’t need someone in my life to love and disappoint. Maybe I’m just broken.

The Last One and my bro live happily ever after. I babysit for them. They’re more happy than ever. And to see the people you love happy, sometimes, means sacrificing your own happiness. And I’d gladly do that for her. And him. No questions asked. After all, she chose him. There’s nothing else to be done.