That Long-Lost Someone

"Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you. For it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts, because you can't have the one you want."- Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

She was grumpy. She kept looking up at the sky and muttering. In her head, she kept thinking, 'Why can you never see the stars in the city?' Its a cold winter night. She shoves her icy fingers out of her pullover, and with slightly shaking hands, lights her cigarette.

Her mind, when not obsessing about the presence, or lack thereof, of the stars, was on him. Off late, he was all she thought about. A glance through an old journal, while clearing out her book cupboard, had brought all those memories rushing back. The first time she'd seen him. And then the last. Strange that at the time, it hadn't seemed so momentous. She hadn't realized they'd never meet again. At 15, it hadn't seemed important. The last conversation they'd had, was why the Bluetooth on his phone was't working right. If she'd known, would she have done or said anything different? She doubted it.

Now, twelve years later, she felt her perfect life come apart at the seams. She was getting engaged in a month. Her parent's had approved the son of an old family friend. Since he was smart, good looking, and had a great job, she could think of no objections to raise. Except..

Where was he? What was he doing? Had his life turned out okay? Would she ever see him? Should she send him a wedding invite? Would he somehow, declare undying love for her, before she married another man?

She needed to know. He had been the one person, who had made her feel special. She'd trusted his instincts, changing the writing that was her passion, into a career choice. And she had no regrets. 

Seven years ago, they'd finally lost touch. After attempting to hold onto a friendship, that had always been tenuous at best, they'd given up. She had changed cities, and her number.

And now, years later, he was back in her thoughts. She had no idea where he was, and even if she did, the thought of contacting him again, never crossed her mind. She was happy with the man her parents had chosen for her. Venkat Ramalingam was a nice man, who took pains to get reservations at her favorite table, in her favorite restaurant. And if he failed to twist her insides whenever she saw him, it was not a real loss surely.

After all, hadn't she craved a peaceful, calm and rational relationship? What had she gotten out of being with him anyway? Hadn't she claimed she no longer wanted the fire, and the emotional upheaval, that had marked her relationship with him? Surely rational, safe, boring Venkat was her ticket to a perfect life.

She walked back home to dress for her dinner date with Venkat, firmly telling herself it was simply nostalgia.

Then why was it that he was constantly on her mind? Why when she had picked out her engagement lehenga, she picked one in blue, his favorite color? Why did she lock herself up, reading and re-reading that old journal? And why, all these years later, did she catch herself wondering, if he was married.

He'd claimed he wouldn't. He'd been too career oriented, too focused on work, to spare marriage more than a passing thought. However, he'd always wanted a daughter. Maybe that is why, whenever she thought of being a mother off late, she pictured them with his eyes. Her smile though. Always her smile.

It hurt. She didn't have it in her to think, that if she were only to contact him again, it would be okay. It wasn't what she wanted. Somehow the reality of him, was never as perfect as her memories. But the loss hurt. 

As she brushed out her waist-length hair, waiting for Venkat to pick her up for dinner, she wondered if he looked any different. Had he put on weight? Or was he still awkward and lanky? Did he have a girlfriend?

The door bell rings. It's Venkat. He has in his hand, a book by her favorite author. She has to give his points for trying. Its not his fault, paavam, that she's read every single book by that author, not to mention knows entire sections by heart. Still, it irks her. He knew her favorite authors, discussed books, and their characters with her all the time. Surely Venkat should too?

As she picks up her stole, and walks out the house, a random thought flits through her mind.

I hope he names his daughter after me.