Ryan looked at Myra with utter confusion and amusement. He wanted to remind her of the new year's eve when they'd met, but he decided to let it go. For the time being, at least. He wanted to drag as much as fun as possible out of the situation he'd landed him into.
This might just be the best birthday gift he could have asked for. When they'd met, 5 months earlier, he wanted to ask her name, number -- just anything to be able to reach out to her. But before he could, he saw Myra's retreating figure into the dark and missed her in the pool of people. That's one regret he'd held on to for the past few months.
It's as if the heavens were on his side and they wanted him to seize the opportunity.
Myra, who was clearly too uncomfortable from this conversation, excused herself to get her cup refilled. But this act did not pass through Ryan who knew her better than she thought he did for a stranger.
Staring at her now empty seat and the prospect in his hand, he decided to read it once again, only to memorise the content inside.
The dates. The place. The timings. Everything. This was slowly turning out to be more fun than he'd imagined and he almost felt sorry for cursing the day. In fact, this is the best day. He placed the prospect on the table and looked at the little girl, who felt too shy, but smiled at him nevertheless.
Another odd thing at the table remained: a diary. And without notice, he picked it up in all his glory, not bothered about the fact that it's also considered to be a privacy breach. This was Myra's diary. The cover was plain with some doodles at the corners. Her initials were also carved on the bottom-right in golden. This looked like a gift from someone from the way it was kept neatly.
The idea that it could of been gifted to her by her beloved started to suddenly irritate him more than he'd imagined. And suddenly, he wanted to throw the diary away — bin it, burn it — anything. But Ryan knew better than to show his anger and frustrations. For Myra, this was her first time meeting him, but for him, it was a dream come true after nights of endless thoughts of her.
Safe to say, he was a train wreck. A moment of courage months ago and he'd not be in this situation. He'd have been in a situation where he'd be able to trash anything he disliked concerning her.
But it's never too late, right? He decided he'd need to immediately rectify the mistake and get things under control.
Against his better judgement, he flipped through the pages of the diary, his curiosity getting the best out of him.
There were some notes on some pages, some contact information, doodles, and some epiphanies that she'd had at nights.
What particularly caught his eye was how distraught the contents inside looked. They were shabby. It was almost as if Myra did not care about it at all. Or maybe she thought nobody would read it at all. It was always so far out of reach.
He flipped through the pages some more, and more, to eventually land on the page 56, dated today. These are perhaps the most-filled pages of the diary. He started to read them, unaware of the emotions that he was about to feel in the next few minutes.
"I just consummated a giant bowl of noodles. I imagined you were here to eat it with me. I don't even like noodles. I think this will still make me fat. Remember when you told me I needed to at least put on 5 kgs to be able to sit in the passenger seat because you wanted me healthy? What happened to that? Will you travel five thousand miles away just to share a bowl of noodles with me? Guess not. And it's stupid of me even to think that.
The sunset looked pretty fucking distinct today, covering the entire town with a shade of golden hue. It was an excruciatingly oppressive day. I jogged past the streets as much as I could to best chase it with my bare hands. I played Failane in the background. I wanted to yell out loud. For a moment there, I was invincible. Infallible. In the end, I failed, but I ended up with a panorama that I know you'd have liked. For a second, I forgot we were away. I felt right back home. But that didn't last long. I wonder if you remember my favorite season is monsoon, though.
I drunk-messaged you at the last hour of darkness. I am sorry. But I am not shameful. You didn't reply to it. I guess my drunk self doesn't summon I am not home but five-fkn-thousand miles away.
I went to a party last night, and my friend repudiated to drink with me. I don't blame her, maybe her religion, but not entirely. I asked her to live a little, and I could see in her eyes that she wanted to, but she's a strong-willed woman when it comes to that. I missed you too much. But it reminded me how you never drank any of it and would put up with the drunk mess that I was. I wanted to dance, but I couldn't.
I met someone with the same name. I couldn't direct control in their presence for more than two minutes. It was choking me with. Every. Single. Breath. I took. I just couldn't. I dashed to the loo and cried in the last cubicle. There could never be another you in my life.
It's been more than six months, and the mouthful of your name still burns my throat. I miss you, and I miss myself around you.
I bumped into someone today, and I swear to god I almost strangulated on my breath when his cologne hit me. I was weak, and I wanted to hold on to him longer in the hopes that it was you. But it wasn't. I forgot Christian Dior Sauvage wasn't exclusive to you. I walked back home crying, and I cried myself to sleep.
The phone calls just don't do enough to get through the day, and I need to feel love; you're not here. I want to pack up my suitcase and hop on an airplane to be close to you, but I just can't. I am five thousand miles away. But you still won't be there."