Traveller - Part One

It is 7 o'clock in the morning, winter. I feel cold, and have sneezed a few times. He's late. Mindlessly, I call him once. He doesn't answer. I just keep sitting there, I have no other option anyway.

My fists are cold, so cold that I don't feel them - numb. Same with my feet. I really need him to come as soon as possible.

"Dude, you're coming or no?" I text him. Last seen today 1.06 am. I am afraid he's still sleeping.

It's 7.20 now, I am thinking of going back home and sleeping again. As I make up my mind to finally get back home, the screen of my phone flashes.

"Bunny calling." Finally.

He says he will be there in five minutes and hangs up. And he really comes in the said time.

I climb into his car and the first thing I see is that he's shivering. He's dressed in a white t-shirt, a blue jeans, paired with a black leather jacket. He's wearing a cap - black, too - with Bob Marley written on it, twisted on one side.
"You have been waiting in this cold?" He asks, with an expression on his face that I cannot comprehend.

"Yes." I say, not knowing what to say any further.

"It's so crisp. Interested in having tea?" He asks, still shivering.

"Uh- I don't drink tea. You have it though. You really seem to need it right now." I say after a little thought of I don't know what.
He drives to a nearby tea stall, and buys himself a steaming cup of tea. He gulps it down within the blink of an eye, and asks me where I want to go.

I am clueless, as I tell him that I have no idea, and that will be happy to accompany him anywhere he goes. I just want to talk to him.

He adjusts his cap and thinks for a moment. For the first time, I look at him attentively. His cap reveals a strand of his hair. He has mild traces of beard that covers his jawline, and his eyes are smaller than I thought they were. He rubs his hands over each other and asks me to hop into the car. I do.

I notice a camera on the backseat of his car. He's busy in driving and none of us says anything for a little while. The music is playing loud, and I realize none of us would be able to hear if the other one says anything. I stay quiet.

When the song ends, I ask him, "So are you ready?"

"Yeah!" He says, with enthusiasm filled in his voice.

We again fall silent.

I keep stealing glances at him, he is so immersed in mumbling the lyrics of the song he claims to love, while he says he's gonna track down the lyricist and tell him how much he loves the song and ask what inspires him to write and that how can someone write this good. I just keep listening to him.

All this time, I am firm on one belief. He is not what he shows. He hides more than anyone knows. I have to know him. I have to know him. A few times I have conversed with him, he has seemed pretty sapient. I want to know what lies behind that wisdom.

We reach a lakeshore. Getting out of the car, we face the lake and let the cold breezes tickle us. I'm nonchalant, while he's restless as always. He steps back and rests himself on the front of his car, and looks at me. I stand facing him, not knowing what to say, where to start from. There's so much to talk.

Bruised.

Nostalgia runs through my veins, as I open my old diary, 10 years old diary. My handwriting is beyond the capabilities of a person to understand, exaggeration intended. The year 2006 is written in bold letters on the first page, and my mind traces back to the time my Dad gave that diary to me for the first time.

It was an usual evening, I had just come home from my coaching classes. It had been a tiresome day, and I'd collapsed on the sofa, whilst I threw my bag on a chair nearby. The sofa had made a creaking sound, and everyone had laughed hysterically. Some time later, Dad had come to me to give me this diary he'd brought for me from his office. He knew I was fond of writing. I had been more than happy.

Today, as I run my fingers on that paper, I have a heavy heart. Nostalgia has really hit me hard. I turn the pages of the diary without reading it, smelling the old warmth that once had comforted me. It is like I found a long lost best friend. I come back to page one, my name scribbled on it with different inks. Remember the pen we used to have with four refills of four different colours? Yes, black, blue, green and red. And then at the end of the page I find a futile attempt of trying to use all the four refills at once. I smile. 

2nd January, 2006.
So daddy brought me this cool diary yesterday, but I'd been so tired that I slept without writing. But I will write today. First of all, here are my new year resolutions -
1. Lose weight.
2. Try to study more.
3. Write everyday.
Though I am not sure about the first one. But I have to. There's someone to impress. Wink.

I had been in class XI then, and as I read it today, I have a wide grin on my face. I feel good, reviving those moments through this diary. I breathe slowly, everything is calm right now. I laugh at my resolutions, lose weight. Though I know I didn't. And study more? Well, I am sure there is gonna be a note for that too. I turn the page, and it's just a drawing, mountains, sun setting over it, V-shaped birds flying and a river, and a house nearby. Cliché. I cannot stop smiling.

17th January, 2006.
Just felt like drawing. And hey, I draw pretty well. 
Well, I haven't yet started exercising, nor am I writing regularly. Doesn't matter, though. I'll try again next year.

4th February, 2006.
I am bruised. My left knee is injured. We were in school, on the playground, and there were XII class boys playing football. I was nowhere near them, but one of the guys suddenly came and fell on me. He was so immersed in running behind the ball that he didn't see such a huge me. Dumb. I am angry.

I remember how my knee had hurt for an entire week. I had cried so much. But now, I have my entire self bruised, but I don't cry. Maybe I have gotten used to it. I don't know what happened, but now I have forgotten what it is like to let things out just by crying. I carry a broken heart with me, but I just work fine. What has happened, why have I become so monotonous?

28th April, 2006.
I didn't write for the entire March month because I had my exams. And today was my result and I just scored 72%. Mom and Dad have not said anything to me but I know they are mad at me. I really will study hard the next year. I'll make you proud, Mumma Papa. I am sorry. I love you.

I suddenly realize that I haven't told my parents I loved them since long now. Why? I try to think hard for a reason but nothing comes up. I have gotten so busy with my life that I have forgotten that I have them, too. I wanted to make them proud, 10 years ago. But have I? I'm afraid not. This thought pricks me hard and my eyes well up, for the first time in ages. A silent drop of tear falls off, followed by another. But my smile, that still doesn't go.

6th May, 2006.
Our school has organised a trip! Yay! All my friends are gonna go, and I want to go too. I'll talk to Mumma Papa today. They won't refuse, I know. It will be so much fun! Trekking all the way through the mountains with friends, I'll take our camera with me. I'll click lots of photos. Yay. I am so excited! Life is so good.

It's been 10 years, and I now realize that the child inside me, who used to be all excited about things is now no more. I used to be so full of life. Where did things go wrong? I have grown up, yes, but does it mean that nothing is gonna excite and interest me, ever? No. This can't be it. I am missing something. 
And life is good? I haven't thought this thought since years now. Why aren't things okay? I have no answer.

19th August, 2006.
I'm sad today. Veera and I fought, that too over a guy! This is so not cool. Friends are meant to be forever. She knows I like Jay, and still she meets him secretly, without my knowledge? But she says he likes her too. So maybe I should just stay away? She apologized to me millions of times today, and I said it's okay. It really is. Just I am not.

I smirk. This was the first ever heartbreak I'd had. Veera was my best friend, and Jay, her now-husband. I had been sad for three months straight. I didn't talk to people, didn't hang out with them on the playground like I used to, stayed away from them. But I'd healed. I'd let go. I'd forgiven her. Why can't I do that now? Have I lost the ability to forgive and let things go? Maybe yes. The world is a cruel place. 

I have written no more. I wish I had, except for the 'Byebye 2006' written on the page of 31st December. Re-living those feelings and no matter what, not being able to feel the same things today tears me apart from inside. Not being able to be the person I was some years ago makes me feel helpless. Things came into way, good or bad, and it is because of them that I am how I am today. By no means I wish to change those events, I just wish to change myself, to get back to who I was. I feel distant from my own self. And I can't help it. I'd been wounded. I'd even healed. But the scars remain. And they ache. Maybe I am bruised, for ever.

Your Stories - Do you?

Do you think and rethink about the things you said and the things you did, even though the moment's gone now? Do you love too much, try too hard to have what's never meant to be yours? Do you love to watch the moon and stars lying on the grass, that pricks you, but you don't care? Do you love trying to count the stars, knowing you can never get enough of it? Do you snooze alarm at least once before you wake up, just to complete that dream where she was yours? Do you think that any time is coffee time, even though you just had it fifteen minutes ago? Do you like walking on the lonely, empty streets late at night, just to feel the breezes against your skin, because it is soothing? Do you love the late night talks with that one particular person, oblivious of what it means to them? Do you love when your loved ones hug you without any reason, and you feel immensely good? Do you love reading books, and have that one fictional character that means the world to you? Do you treasure your relations the most, even when you know that no one is permanent in a temporary world? Hell yeah, do you love food, and cannot control your inner child when you see chocolates? Do you love walking in the rain, just because it satisfies you in a weird and incomprehensibly bizzare way? Do you not like goodbyes, because they're too painful? Do you not prefer lying, because you know what it feels to be lied to? Do you regret the mistakes that you have and haven't committed because no matter what it was, it has hurt you inevitably? Do you find it tough express yourself, so you use a paper and pen to cast your agony into written word? Do you love listening to music 24*7, just because they voice the feelings you cannot convey? Do you love listening to a particular song over and over again and sing aloud at the top notch of your voice as the lyrics take you over? Do you love to laugh until your stomach hurts, because that is the moment when you zone out of all the things that you worry about? Do you want to fight for what you want, but just can't, because you are a shy, litte creature wrapped up in layers that are soon gonna tangle around your neck?  Do you love watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S, because maybe that is the only bright thing in your dark life? Do you love reading stuff like this, and if whilst reading this, you got a smile on your face, well, then I have one thing to say - People like us need to stick together. Because, I do, too.

Note -
Your Stories is a special feature chain of posts, written by a friend, who doesn't want his name to be disclosed, and edited by myself. There's much more interesting stuff coming up. Stay tuned.

Solace

I escape the shooting questions, offered drinks, wild dances of the people I don't even know, and take the first step of the staircase. My head is buzzing with noises I can't handle, my feet are shaking due to the catastrophe I know I am heading to, I'm shivering because I don't know if I'm even gonna make it or no. Second step. I'm sweating already. My palms are wet and I rub them against the suit I'm wearing, which isn't mine, of course. Third step. I hear someone call out my name but I refuse to turn back. They'll occupy the little space that is left in me, I know, and I can't let them do that. I have very little of me left for myself, I can't let myself go now. Fourth step. I tremble. My body is aching due to fear and pain, I shouldn't have come here at the first place. I can't find any good reason for why I did come. Fifth step. My phone rings. It's the same person who was calling me a few steps back, remember? Yes. I look at the screen flashing bright enough to cut deep my eyes and let blood drip from it. But I keep looking anyway. The call disconnects and I slide the phone back into my pocket. Sixth step. I can feel myself fainting now. I have to remember henceforth, I am my priority. Never do the things you are uncomfortable doing, may it be for anyone that you immensely love or whatever. Just. Don't. Seventh step. I feel nauseated. Maybe I drank too much. I need to throw out. I can't breathe. It's difficult to go ahead with a heavy head that can burst out any moment and legs that are too stubborn to follow the instructions sent by my brain to move. I take a halt. I grasp air into my lungs and I run. Taking alternate steps I don't know how many times, I reach the terrace. And as the cold breeze clashes against my sweaty skin, I feel strangely good. Like everything I've been feeling until a few moments ago just fades away into the air. I can see sparkles in front of my eyes, but I know it's just in my head. I close my eyes and breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. And again. Deep. Deeper. As I open my eyes back into reality, I feel refreshed. I don't need to throw up anymore. I am not shivering, I'm not afraid of anything. It's like the night sky has liberated me into my own strength. I am strong. I feel strong. There's nobody around. I still hear vague noises of the loud music people are enjoying so much down there. But I'm past the phase that was running towards me as if it'd consume me. I take off my shoes and overcoat. I lie down on the floor, and it feels cold against my back that is just protected by a thin layer of the shirt I'm wearing. Even that feels calm and soothing. I look at the sky, the moon shines bright over my head, and there are lots of stars, some of them shining brightly while some of them are dim, but not so much that they go unnoticed. Looking at the stars, I feel all my worries washing away one by one. As I stare into the infinity of the universe, I somehow know that I am not alone. There is some spirit in the universe that guards me from everything, it's my shield. I sigh. The moon looks beautiful, and I realize how small my world actually is. I get this energy, indeed a positive one, and it engulfs me and breaks open a world of ethereality. Serenity. Calmness. Beauty. Solitude.

Heartbreak.

I don't miss you. You read it right. I don't miss you, at all. I don't even think of you these days, not intentionally. I can fake a laugh till my eyes get watery, and smile and smile, no matter what. Just that once in a day, maybe twice or thrice, all of it suddenly comes to a halt. I can't wait to be alone, because that's when I won't have to pretend that I'm fine. Suddenly time stops when I pass the spot where we used to hang out, and all the memories rush back at once. Sometimes, when a breeze passes through my hair, it reminds me of your tender touch, giving me goosebumps for a while. Just that when I laugh really hard, I am reminded of the moments spent with you. When it is the end of the day and I'm about to go to sleep, and I have all these things that I feel in my heart left unsaid, I remember you saying that you were here for me to listen to my rants. When I see others happily with their loved ones, I just wish you were with me, or me with you, or we could be together at some place. When someone mentions your name, I have this known feeling that I have stopped acknowledging, but it's there. My friends, who aren't really my friends, opine that I would be stupid if I still thought of you. When I experience something really overwhelming and my heartbeats increase their pace, I am vaguely reminded of the times I have been in love with you. Love, it's a word that has lost its meaning to me. But if someone talks about being in love and the feeling of it, you're the first thing that comes into my mind. When I look at myself in the mirror, and my sight falls over my face, the eyes you said you could drown into, the smile you said you'd die for, the beauty you said you'd treasure in your eyes forever, it all seems to be insignificant. I look at the places you'd touched me, and it feels like I want to rip off my skin from there, so that I can at least get rid of your presence in me. When I see my hand, deprived of yours in it, I remember how it was when you held my hand, saying it was for ever. But I know, it's all a shout in the void. I just feel it all intensely. But I'm firm on what I had said earlier, I don't miss you.

Death.

I sit alone in the dark room, illuminated by my thoughts. I can see the thoughts running on in my mind like a movie scene in front of me. As I try to blink, I realize that my eyes are already closed. Maybe I'm dreaming.  As I open them into reality, I freeze. I see him right in front of my eyes, holding a sharp, edged knife, coming towards me. I feel sweat drops dripping past my right eyebrow, but as it falls on the white marble floor, I realize it's blood. The red stains on my clothes are now clearly visible to me. He'd hit my head with something, and I'd fainted. And now he's coming again, to chop me off. But why? I don't remember. I'm horrified. I can't remember who he is, what my mistake is. Oh hell, I can't even remember who I am. All I know is a man whom I've majorly, majorly wronged is now coming to kill me. My mind instantly decides that I'd committed a huge mistake, and it is his revenge thing. I'm terrified at death, he's taking steps towards me, whilst I'm thinking of what I might've done to deserve this. Right now, more than knowing who I am, I need to know what I'd done. I still can't remember. He comes closer, puts his left hand on my shoulder, and paces the knife hard into my stomach. There's a sharp, churning pain that rushes through me, as I open my mouth. He takes the knife out to repeat the process again. I can't think of anything right now. I'm just engulfed by fear and pain. It's too much to bear for a single time. Maybe he could leave me like this right now and kill me later. But he slides back through my stomach again. And again. It's burning now, the pain is edged, and there's nothing I can do now to escape this. I can't run, I'm too damaged to even move. It's not only my stomach and head that's bleeding right now, but it's also my heart, for I don't know why he's doing this to me. Tears have abandoned me, I'm past the crying stage now. He hits me again, but this time, there's no pain, all of a sudden. Some scenes try to find their way in front of my eyes, but fail. There's nothing but blankness. Just a dark void stretches itself infinitely before me. No pain, no agony, no grudges. I feel free. Eternal.
Maybe I am dead.

Villain - Part Four

                                  OBSESSION

Wednesday arrives soon, as Amrita has been with me all the time. She'd asked me to stay with her at her place. I'd agreed, too, because being alone with my thoughts was not very recommendable by Dr. Mehnaaz.

I reach the café fifteen minutes early, and in a moment, Dr. Mehnaaz arrives, too. We both look at each other and smile. I get up to acknowledge her, but she raises her hand, as if signalling me to be seated. I still get up, and shake hands with her. Her hands are softer than me. Again.

"So, where'd we ended our last session?" She enthusiastically asks.

"Kartik," I say, staring at the table.

"Yes, so. What'd you like to have? Coffee? It was kinda good the last time." She says, and that makes me smile. She's cool, I like her.

“Yes.” I say, and she orders the same.

The waiter brings our order in five minutes, and I smile at the waiter. I'm kinda okay; I never knew talking helps this much, having someone to listen to us helps this much. I feel good, I'm recovering, I think. Maybe I will be okay.

Five years earlier.

My maternal grandmother passed away a month ago. I’d stayed with her since thirteen years, since my daddy got arrested (I think, I never looked back, ever) for killing my mommy. I'm 21 now. I've spent my teenage alone, with no friend other than my grandmother. She told me stories, made me good food, and had been with me throughout the darkness in my life. The final days I spent with my mommy, or you can say, my mommy's body, was the last time I saw her. The police then took her body, and then performed post mortem and after all the due actions, handed it over to my mommy's brother. He performed all the last rituals, and that's why I didn't get to see her. I was kept away; they thought it would affect me. Little did everyone know, the wound had already imprinted its dark shadow on my heart, never to fade.

The first few days were okay-ish. I’d cried a lot, but I’d people around me to support. My maternal uncle had been here with his wife and son all the time, so I barely felt alone. But now, when they’re no longer here, I feel this emptiness as if it would burst out of my heart, scattering over the floor. I desperately need some company. I need attention.

I go out for a walk, out of the house, as if out of the memories of my grandmother. I keep walking without a direction, thinking, crying. Suddenly, I realize a car is about to hit me, and I freeze. The person stops inches away from me, and gets out of the car.

“Oh, my God. Are you fine? Did I hurt you? I’m so, so sorry.” The person says. He’s wearing blue jeans, with a white t-shirt tucked in, and covered by a black leather jacket. He is attractive. There’s a thin layer of beard on his face, it makes him look even more desirable.

“I... I’m okay.” I sheepishly mumble.

“No, you’re not. You’re crying. I said I’m sorry.” He throws a confused look. I say nothing. He continues, “Come, I’ll drop you home. Tell me where d’you live?”

“I don’t want to go home!” I exclaim. He gives the same confused look again, and I make up for my stupidity, “I mean, I just came out. I, eh, I have some work.” I say, but he still looks unconvinced.

“Then tell me where to drop you?” He asks, to which I instantly lie, “I’m going out for a coffee.” I’m surprised at the ease at which I speak, though he knows I’m lying.

“Would you mind if I accompany you?” He asks, to which, I again yell, “What?”

“It isn’t a compulsion, I mean, I was just suggesting. You can refuse.” He says, turning to his right, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “Okay, let’s go.” I say. He asks me to sit in his car, and I do, without a second thought.

 I’m unsure, though. I’ve just met him, okay, not even met. I just ran into him. And we’re going for a coffee. Is it a date? Wait, I don’t even know his name yet. I think I should refuse, but he has already started driving. I stay mum.

“Oh, by the way, I’m Kartik.” He says, thrusting out his right hand.

“Shivani.” I say, shaking hands with him, asking him to leave my hand and drive. I think he’s into me. But it’s too early. Or maybe, I sounded desperate when I agreed for the coffee. Okay, maybe I am desperate for some company.

We reach the coffee shop and sit facing each other. He talks a lot. I like the way his eyes varies in its sizes depending on what he’s saying. I kinda like him. It is too early, I remind myself.

He asks for my phone and saves his number in it, when I tell him that I live alone. “Call me if you need anything, I’ll be there.” He says. I’ve carefully managed to hide about my past; I just told him that I lived with my grandmom who passed away a few days ago, and so, I’m alone. Some things are better left unsaid.

After the coffee, he drops me home. I’m overjoyed that I’ve finally found a friend, a person to be with. I take the newspaper and sit, looking for jobs. I need to work, too.

But then, it strikes me. Do I really want this? Can I trust him? I’ve seen my mom suffer; do I want to turn out to be like her? I like Kartik, and I’m sure he reciprocates, but am I sure to take things at the next level? I’m afraid so.

The next morning, I call Kartik to know what he is up to. He says he’s glad I called, and that he’s coming over. I’m hesitant, but I cannot say no to him. In half an hour he’s knocking at my door.

“I haven’t been able to sleep the last night. All I thought about is you.” He says, blushing a bit.

I’m so nervous right now; maybe it’s even visible on my face. “No, no, take your time. I’m just being straightforward. I’m bad at hiding things.” He winks, making me smile.

“Let’s wait, Kartik. I’m not certain about anything right now.” I say. He agrees.

Today.

“I had a thing about Kartik since the first day we met, but I decided to take it slow. I didn’t want to mess it up. It was special. He was special. But I didn’t know denying my feelings would...”

“Would?” Dr. Mehnaaz asks.

“Make me obsess over him.”

Four years ago.

It’s been a year of pure friendship, at least from his side. I can’t think of anything but him. What he must be doing, whom he must be around, who would hit on him, blah. I’m just insecure, insecure that he’d walk away. But why would he? I won’t let him.

It’s his birthday today, and I’m gonna confess that I love him. I’ve asked him to come over at 1, but it’s already 1.10, and he isn’t here. I’m calming myself down, trying not to get angry, making myself understand that he might be stuck somewhere. But why is everything else important to him? Am I not?

The door knocks, and I know it’s him. I open the door, and hug him. “Where’s my gift?” He right away asks. He thinks I’m gonna gift him some stupid videogame or watch. He’d once told me he hasn’t had his first kiss yet. My plans are wicked.

Being a girl, I get on my knees, and thrust my hand out. He’s SURPRISED, with all the letters in the uppercase. “Kartik, I love you, too. I always have. Do you promise to be mine, the rest of our lives?” I say, and he holds my arms and makes me stand up. “Of course!” He yells, and exclaims with joy. I’m so happy.

I cup his face in my hand, and plant a kiss on both of his cheeks. “You wanted your gift, right?” I say, and ask him to close his eyes. As soon as he does so, I kiss him, and he returns the favour.

Today.

“But, I always had a problem with his friends, colleagues, God, even neighbours.”

“And why did he leave?”

A month ago.

Our relationship was not an easy one. I remember my mom had once told me, to think about myself first, and my happiness as such. My happiness, but does it mean being without him? Maybe.

“Shivani, I’m fed up. You have a problem with everything I do. The people I talk to, the ones who talk to me. You want yourself to be always prioritized in my life, but get this straight. I have a life apart and ahead of you. You cannot impose yourself on me like this. God, let me breathe. Let me live, let me be free.” He says, and sits down on the floor, holding his head.

“Am I this bad?”

“Oh yes, you are this bad. Okay? You are. Four years, and you still don’t understand me. I don’t know why you are this way. Isn’t my love enough? Every story has a villain, and in ours, it’s YOU. You’re the villain in our love story. Chuck, I can’t take this anymore. I’m leaving.” He says, and I don’t stop him.

Tears flow out of my eyes, but I know I’m the one at fault. Maybe I am wrong in loving him to this extent. I understand obsession is bad, but how do I help myself? Maybe living without him will help.

He doesn’t even turn back, I know he’s done. He’s gone.

Today.

“He’d said, I’m the villain, but he never cared to ask me why I was that way. Everyone knows that a villain is evil, but what makes a person a villain? I wasn’t the villain. Maybe if he knew about my mom, he’d have a different view about me, maybe if he’d experienced the time I spent alone after the death of my grandmother, he’d think elsewise. I wasn’t the villain. There’s a reason I thought of only my happiness. I’ve seen my mom die, starving for happiness. I wanted him to prioritize me over everything because I know what it feels like to be left alone. I wasn’t the villain.” I begin crying. Dr. Mehnaaz puts her hand on my back, and rubs it gently.

Until then, I see Amrita coming. I realize it isn’t time yet. She joins us, and Dr. Mehnaaz says that we’ll continue the next time. We have a brief conversation on how I’m improving and then she leaves.

After Dr. Mehnaaz is gone, Amrita turns to me.

“I have something to tell you.” She says, and points to a person sitting on the next table. Seeing him, I freeze. I’m unable to speak, and just look at Amrita.

“How could you?” I begin to say, but the person comes up to me and hugs me right away.

“God, I missed you, Shivani. I’m sorry.” He says.

“Kartik...”

“Don’t say anything, I know, I overheard you and your doctor. I’m sorry, but I did. I missed you and tried contacting you, but couldn’t. So I called Amrita and she told me about your condition, and I felt so miserable for being the cause of your sadness. She told me you’re seeing this doctor, and I wanted to know what had made you this way. I’m so sorry, I love you. And all this while being without you, I’ve realized that I belong with you. I can’t be without you, Shivani. I love you.”

“Dr Mehnaaz doesn’t know that he was here, hearing everything. It’s against her privacy policy. But I had no other option, he had to know everything. I’m sorry, too.” Amrita says, and I melt down.

“Oh God, you two. I love you both. Thank you so much for everything, I love you.” I say, and hug both of them, and they hug me back.

I suddenly realize something, and release them. I take my phone and call Dr. Mehnaaz. “Did I forget something?” She asks, to which, I say, “I’m okay, now, Doc. I think we’re done. I’ll pay your fees, we don’t need another session.”

“You sound lightened up! Okay, great. Take care.” She says, and disconnects.

I hug Kartik again. “I love you,” he says. “I love you.”