|| He had always been one of those. You know the-unromantic-silent-brooding-Mr.Darcyish-angry-young-man variety, who you hate at first and then fall hard in love with later. The one who doesn’t believe in romantic gifts, sweet nothings, goodnight kisses. Get the picture? Yes, that’s the one.
So, basically that means no birthday gifts, no valentine’s day gifts, no anniversary gifts, and no surprise gifts (of course). Though that made him utterly cute and adorable somehow, this time she decided she wouldn’t have anything of that sway her off her feet. She wanted her gift this time.
“You never give me anything!”
“What else do you want? We spent such splendid times in these three days. Isn’t that enough for you?”
“You are just so lame. So unromantic. Sometimes I wonder how you even fell in love with me!”
“Who said I did?”
“Acha sorry baba! Now smile, I have to catch the train. You take care okay.”
And before she could hug him one last time, he left.
Next morning, she woke up with red swollen eyes and a wet pillow. Damn! These long distance relationships. Damn! And as she carelessly ran her hands over the wardrobe to look for her lenses, she found something clumsily wrapped in a newspaper. His old blue T-shirt. With a note that said – “Obviously I am poor. Hope this second hand thing helps.” So typical of him. She smiled. He always knew how to make her smile.
A year later they broke up. Little did she know, that T-shirt would be the only remnant of him with her. The T-shirt that has now turned grey. Pale. Crimpled. Like the T-shirt, the memories have faded too. Bit by bit. Layer by layer. Colour by colour.
The funny thing about memories is that when you look back at them, they are so alive. Vivid and colourful. Ever-lasting. And ever-revealing. ||