Eyes to My Soul - Part III

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Part III

I don’t exactly remember grasping any of the who, when, where, how that followed thereafter. I was in a daze. Losing all perspective, not knowing whether to be enraged or feel sorry for myself. Why would this happen to me, I wondered, that too finally when I had thought I’d put an end to the indefiniteness and tell her how I felt. I suddenly saw all the moments we’d spent together fly past me, dancing in stop motion. I felt numb. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Wasn’t I the one she talked 24*7 to, shared her deepest thoughts with, and liked to hang out with? Aren’t those the first signs of blossoming love? Didn’t she adore me for all my funny antics and silly flaws? Wasn’t it too obvious that we were meant to be together sooner or later? Wait. I must certainly have heard it wrong. She must’ve named me as the one she liked. That was how it went in my dreams. That was how it was always meant to be. This wasn't for real. I wished with all I possessed for this to be a nightmare and for me to wake up right then. Only, I didn’t. Because it wasn’t a dream. It was real. And I realized that this was it.


She was looking at me with an amused expression and asking if I was even there. So she knew I wasn’t. I tried to collect myself, mumbled something incoherent. She smiled and asked me if I was gonna finish my ice cream or let it melt. I said I didn’t feel like having it. She nodded and got up to make a move. I followed. On the way out, I couldn’t help myself and unknowingly, asked her if she indeed was serious about this guy (whoever he was, I had not the slightest idea at the moment). She looked at me for a moment, as if seeing through me, reading my thoughts. And in a grave voice, replied in the affirmative.

I don’t remember anything that happened after that, until the moment I saw my mother hovering over me in a dimly lit room that looked somewhat like my own. She looked pale, anxious, very unlike her usual demeanor. Next I discovered her hand on my forehead, over a dripping wet piece of cloth. My sister lurked near the door to the room, looking unsure, visibly shocked. I tried to sit up. Mother held me back, requesting me (again unlike her usual self) to rest. I was surprised. What exactly had happened?

Then I felt the shooting pain. My head. It seemed to have been struck by a heavy blow, the way it hurt. Like hell. I couldn’t keep my face from contorting, sending my mother into an attack of hysteria. She asked me if I was fine; I counter asked her about what had transpired. And then I heard. I had returned home late that evening in an inexplicable state, keeping silent and heading straight to my room. When mother came in with a cup of tea, she found me lying unconsciously on the bed, running high fever. I wouldn’t wake up for hours. And when I finally did, I could recall nothing. So they knew nothing.

I spotted dad, standing in the far corner of the room with a questioning, somewhat sad look in his eyes. I didn’t know what to say to them. I could sense the extreme anxiety and concern in their eyes. But I didn’t have the answers to their questions. I was at a complete loss of words; I couldn't explain to them what I was going through. And so I never did. I just swallowed it all up; buried deep in my heart, never to let it out. Until...

To be continued...