her emotion

She looked at me and she gave me that look of her's which I despised the most. That look which made me feel as if there was a lot about us that I didn't knew. That she had taken our relationship to be something different from what it was. Or maybe the way she viewed us was the right way and I was the clueless dimwit all along?

"I love you." She said with her voice holding so much conviction that I was convinced love was something that I had be unknown from. Her smile that reached her eyes which were gleaming with relief that she never appreciated. Her freckled face all red as a blush covered her face. She loved me....that she did. But the question was, how much did she love me? Love me enough to forget about others? To forget about Ishan? Love me enough to not opt for a practical way when it came to us?

Her face started getting blurred as the pain on the palm of my hand returned. My eyelids felt heavy as if they were glued. There was not a single sound and I could feel each breath that I took and that left my mouth. Finally when I opened my eyes I found myself staring at a white ceiling. Keeping my eyes open was a task. Someone in the room made a call and I looked at him.

My father.

"Yes ,he's awake." He said while looking at me, he seemed worn out, with bags under his eyes and his hair an unkempt mess.

" Yes, I'll let you know. The doctor came around ten minutes back, he'dsaid he'll wake up. I'll call you back. Let me have the doctor look at that idiot again." Saying so he muttered a bye and kept the cell aside.

Now his full attention was on me as he glared with eyes that held nothing but worry.

"You're not scaring me dad, put a little more effort to it. Maybe anger would help." I muttered and throat burned as if I'd downed a few shots of vodka. I hated vodka. I needed water and more that that I needed to sit.

With little efforts and an aching back I sat up on the bed with my feet dangling down. While I was doing so my father had brought a glass of water for me.

I took it from him and he had dropped the act of anger. I gulped the water and my throat felt a little better, it still burned nonetheless.

I sighed and closed my eyes. I had no answers for the question that were gonna be thrown at me. There were two things that my father would do in a situation like this.

1. Ask a ton load of questions which would irritate me to no extent and then scold me for being an irresponsible person.

2. He would give me the silence and my personal space and wait for me to come around. He was an understanding father that way.

I prayed he opted for the latter and opened my eyes to give him the smile of a freak.

Thankfully, he didn't say anything and simply stared at me.

" Keep that to yourself. Do you know how much time I've spent staying in this room waiting for you to open your eyes? "

He asked and on cue I looked around for a wall clock. And while doing so I realized I was on a hospital bed with an IV connected to my arm. The skin around it had red rashes and needle seemed to prick as I moved my arm.

The events at her apartment came back to me and I went still, not moving or even breathing at that. Finally I took a deep breath and looked up to meet his eyes.

"You make it sound as if it's not your responsibility. I'm your son, don't be a prick now, would you?" I raised an eyebrow and he shook his head.

"Good to know you're back to your spirits."

"That I am, I think the house is empty without us, let's leave. "

"The house sure is empty and so I think I'll let you be and leave in a few minutes. Talking about you , you're not being discharged till a day or two more. You've lost a lot of blood yesterday. Luckily they found a blood donor in the hospital." His voice was calm as he spoke and I simply nodded my head.

I looked around again as I recalled that I had carried a bag to the apartment, a bag with her diary in it.

"Where's the bag?" I asked him and I was sure he could feel the desperation that dripped off my words.

"Home. You'll find it in your room when you return and no I'm not bringing it here. That diary is fine without you for sometime. "

I stared at him in silence as I registered his words. He knew about the diary? He knew about Hayat?

He probably read the questions in my eyes because he answered them anyways.

"Your are my son, you live in my house and I know what goes around my house. I know everything about you. From the hidden half emptied alcohol bottles that I didn't throw away to the girl whom you went to meet everyday."

He said and there was silence for sometime. Silence that made my skin go pale. If he knew about her then he knew about how I felt for her and that was not appreciated one bit. To know how I felt and to what extent I felt was something that I liked to keep to myself. If it was when she was alive then it wouldn't have mattered. But now? No. It felt as if my own father was intruding in my personal space. That he knew something about me that no one should know. Her death had changed the scenario.

"I know how that brain of yours works and I don't want to burden you. I'm sorry. "

He apologized before leaving the room. Was there a need for him to apologize? No. But he was right, he knew me well. From now on, my house wasn't gonna feel welcoming. I knew I'd always feel as if living with a criminal whose only offense was to know how I felt. He wasn't supposed to revel in that knowledge. I was always a secluded person when it came to my emotions and now I'd feel as if I was living with a stranger.

After two days I was discharged and I was back to being recluse. My room felt better than any other place because here there weren't any questioning gazes that kept torturing me. Her diary was still in that bag and I hadn't touched it since I'd come back from the hospital. My breath already reeked if the beer cans that I'd downed to keep my emotions in check. My eyes burned from recalling every moment that meant something to Hayat and that I had deemed unimportant.

My days were all the same, I'd wake up in the afternoon, ate something for the sake of eating, convinced myself that didn't need to read her diary, then watch a series that I couldn't register in my mind and at the end lay on the bed and try to sleep.

Staring at the ceiling was something that I did more than anything during those days. I'd try to sleep but the moment I closed my eyes I'd see her. I'd turn in my bed for a long time before sleep would come and when it did it was mostly filled with dreams of her dead body that I had found.

I hadn't left the house for more than a week and after I'd received a few calls from Aniket and Tejas I'd purposely stopped charging my cell phone. In the afternoon at some point I'd find myself by the diary that now lay on the table and then after I'd spent some excruciatingly slow going time staring at it I'd turn around and curse her for leaving it behind. I'd visibly lost a few pounds and my father had tried talking me into visiting a therapist.

It was morning time and I had just woken up, for the fist time I hadn't dreamt if her and it was unsettling. For once her image was not plastered on my mind when I'd woken up and I felt filthy just thinking about it. I needed her that way! I needed her to visit my nightmares, I needed her to remind me that I'd failed her and I needed to remind myself of how I wanted a lot more from her. I sat up with my hands curled into fists, my nails digging in my palms.

"Don't touch it....don't fucking look at it ! "

I told myself for the hundredth time in the day. Loneliness had never been a hindrance in my life...it had been a companion. I'd lost my mother, I'd lost what little hope I had for loyalty...not of mine of course...of others. And after all of that, I'd made friends with the loneliness that gave me company. When someone spoke to me and I talked to them, when I ate and when I'd refused to eat, when I sat with my family and laughed with my friends... It was always there, the loneliness I mean.

That feeling at the pit of my stomach which screamed at me that company of anyone was not something that I should allow myself to be entertained with. That the wild entertainment and fragile support never lasted beyond one's comfort zone and so they weren't permanent. And that loneliness was so obstinate that it lingered in the air around me. I breathed it in, I lived on it and somewhere along the line I lived because of it. And the loneliness convinced me that it was the utter and almighty truth. One I should worship and the only thing to believe in...that at the end of the day it will always be you and only you.

But Hayat.... For some reason her death had defied that feeling of being alone. I felt the need for her existence....it was so primal that even the walls screamed at me to bring her back in my room. To bring her back in my room where it was our safe heaven. To bring her back to my house where her laughter was etched in every single brick that made it. To bring her back in my arms where she truly belonged. And no matter how hard I tried.....I couldn't shun that voice down.

And she was...sitting on my table. Her voice in the form of words, her thoughts all valid and just in the form of her entries and her existence as pure and sane as it had been a couple of months back. She was ALIVE! In the bound pages of her diary that still dictated every thought of mine.. and kept me in touch with my memories. But that's the thing! She was ruling me through her opinions and memories that she'd left behind. She was gone and yet I'd started living on her through that damn diary. It was a pity shown to me which I was taking for mercy. Aasavari was right. .... I'd started living her life.... Each day that I read her diary entry I lived her memory and I forgot my own. I forged her life in my mind and lived by it... I'd started to lose myself.

" Don't touch it...you don't need it " I tried to convince myself. Where's that fucking loneliness that always loomed around me god damnit!

Taking a deep breath I convinced myself that if...if I just sat there and ignored that damn diary then I'd be fine. And I could concentrate on other things

I ended up reading a diary entry. For some reason she never mentioned the date when she wrote in her diary.

**********************************************

There's so much trapped within that words can't convey.

An emotion which dominates all our beliefs and is the only form of justice.

Words fail to take form of that emotion.

Words can't display it's pureness in its true form

Words fail to present our true form.

That form is what we feel and for whom never really matters...does it ?

Isn't everyone a person and we feel for different people, so why should the whom matter?

Point is.....words can't define our being...so why give them so much importance?

So much so that they hurt our emotions.....more like THE EMOTION.

Why must that emotion ..which is us...which is me....be dictated by someone's words.?

That emotion is rattled within...it scares us, it hurts and it ruins us...

It isn't supposed to be that way...

It's supposed to dominate words

And that's the only reason behind all the sins we commit.

Behind our wrong sense of right.

Behind us dying within.

Because words matter and don't do justice to us.

And these words have ruined me....they always have though. Words have failed me over and over again. His words which echo in my ears, which never left my mind. He's tainted all my memories and no matter how hard I try I can't hate him for that. I can't hate him for the way he'd lied and manipulated me into believing he understood my emotion....the way my soul spoke... I thought he could read that language in my eyes and I trusted him enough to open up to him. I trusted him enough to deny my own desires and hunger and accepting him as my owner...

It's not easy to let someone be that important..to let someone 'own' our emotion. The emotion.

And I let him. I let him dictate my thoughts and I let him enrapture in the way I molded myself into believing he was my sole lover.

Now his foul words, very cleverly twisted and formed so they shunned me down, those tricky statements haunt each place I visit where we were together. Now his voice echos from off the walls where it might be trapped for the eternity to come. And the way his small hands, those soft ones with small ugly nails.....I imagine them. Neither running over my bare skin nor caressing those mounds of mine.... they're just hands. The hands he'd move in the air and eat with. Those hands are imprinted in my head. I can't get them out. The way his hollow eyes shone with depth of a concern so fake, which might not be fake, those eyes are still alive and in front of me.

But then I recall the way his lips felt cold...cold as ice and his hands on my cheek and the way he kissed me... Despite a subtle and clean NO escaping my lips...the way his lips felt cold on mine...and my mind ponders on the way my boyfriend's lips welcome me in, warm and assuring. The way his lips never felt that cold and lonely and the way he his hands never touched me without my consent. The way he'd kiss me....those kisses are imprinted on my soul. And I know Ishan was a mistake..... I know my lover isn't. I know from the way his touch feels on my skin that his love is true... I've long since stopped trusting words....those lies uttered with no faith and no fate. But I know now that my emotion.....my soul... opening up to him wouldn't be a mistake...

I hope.

I know.

Even if it is a mistake, then too it'll just me another nightmare added to my train to lost world