His-Story

Over the past few days her eyes had said a story, which he could not comprehend. May be it was one of her moods, he thought. And he did not think again about it.
Then a day before, he had seen her talking on the phone, softly else someone would hear. Something inside him irked. The signs were not right. He asked why she looked upset, she said she wasn’t. Still he somehow knew who she was talking to, and what was in store over the next few days. And still he chose not to face reality.
He could not continue like that. And then, he dared himself, and asked her. She said “He’s back. I haven’t told it to anyone, but I am sure it’s him. When I told him, we both were shocked. He didn’t call me up for a week. It’s still sinking in. Finally, I gave in. I would have told you once everything would have been settled.”
A stunned silence befell between them. He fell back on the chair. A bolt from the past had come and hit him. He was out and, He was in. He lost his temper, fewer words, and more expressions came out.
He felt a revulsion against her from with in. He wanted to get back at her. He wanted to be so, so bad. Hurt her, in ways only which he could. He wanted to be bad, so desperately.
Still, he couldn’t.
All along he knew, someday this would happen. They were poles apart, two sides of the coin. But still they were somehow the same, like internally two sides of the coin are attached. Her one sentence had cut the coin into two.
He was angry. Angry at what or whom, he did not know. Was it her or was it her choice or was it his own fault of accepting what had to happen. Somewhere, something died between them. They would not, and could not be the same.
Well, it’s going to be an awkward time from now on. Betrayal hurts. When close friends betray, it cuts, worse than a knife. Is it betrayal or is it his over estimation of a person. May be, it was the latter. He was an open person. Nothing was hidden. But may be people are not like that. They tell what is asked. May be it was time for him to change.
He looked at the road. It continued till it blurred into the horizon. He picked up his bag, patted the dust off, and took out a small knife, cut his life mantra on to a rock. Another milestone, which he would remember someday, sitting and smiling about. Surely he would.
Dedicated to
The Lives I have Lived
The Deaths I have Died
And
The Women I have Loved.

He wrote, and walked away into the horizon.