She had come that evening too. I was about to finish what I was doing and chase after her. But then, I saw someone beside her. He was the one who was holding her hand, and it put me in not so good mood. I know that I was overreacting. It made me feel shitty that I knew nothing next to her. And that guy looked so natural standing beside her with a nonchalant expression. Was he looking down on my poetry? Suddenly he dragged her out. Then I even stuttered in the middle of recitation.
"Really rare seeing you flustered in your recitation. Nevertheless, you were so good." Anand and I clanked our drinks. Anand lived next door and attended every recitation I did. He was a writer too. But he wrote for nothing more than passion, unlike me. I knew deep down I desire to make money doing what I liked. It is arbitrary that you need to do what you like to earn money, and I couldn't deny that I doubted myself more than anyone else.
"I saw someone unexpected here."
"A girl?"
He got me when I avoided eye contact and turned around. I rested my head on my hands against the table. He wanted to hear more from me. What more could I have fed him? Even I had no idea who she was. Should I just say that it was me crushing on a stranger? I told him everything anyway. He was my go-to person after all.
"Are you complaining about how lonely you are?"
"I did not mean that!"
"It sounds like that to me. It is not even a crush, man! C'mon!"
Was he right? I couldn't tell, I was so confused that, words wouldn't help me argue with him. It always doesn't help just when you need it.
"Accept it!", he patted my back and joined others at the next table.
Then I took out the notepad I had always carried with me. It had no more blank pages for me to fill up. I stopped reading my write-ups from that notepad, still, I could never come to throw it away. Was it a lingering feeling? or my stupidity?
Just from a glance, I could hear the words, structure and style screaming her name, tearing me up into pieces. I held it in my hand, tightly, pondering over whether to open it or not. To be honest, I knew I was gonna get hurt. Was I ready? Maybe not, but it was bound to happen, as long as I held it in my hand rather than throwing it away. Sometimes I hated myself for standing in the middle of nowhere, all alone.
"Anand! I'm calling it a day.", I rushed out and walked way faster than usual. I wanted to run, but I pretended to be composed. I bet Anand would have caught up with my mood.
As soon as I reached home, although I did not want to, I wished to get rid of this feeling. Was it called 'Pathetic'? I thought maybe I should let it out, cry or scream or do something to express. I grabbed a paper and started to write.
My bad! I forgot what to write.
So I decided to scribble down her name.
The next morning, I found a piece of paper beside me. And it read:
"You ask me what pains me the most and leave me mute behind the locked doors with a jar of my voice. I forget all the languages learnt, I unlearn the way I used to write, my strength falls behind the weakness and so I am defeated. So badly scrapped, feeling the emptiness in the heart as much as the burden of carrying it along with the time and space.", with her name, "Reema", scribbled all over, numerous times.