Unfinished Love story Part 2








Touching your tattoo, I remember thinking to myself, “I am going to get one someday just like that.” I remember telling you about it 3 years later. You immediately got up and took me to get a tattoo. You asked me what I wanted. I knew what I wanted, but somehow I never managed to muster up the courage to tell you. I only blushed. You laughed the loudest I had heard you laugh. I finally decided to get a shooting star. The reason was simple. You were my shooting star, my wish. I guess you understood. That was the day you finally understood but never uttered a single word about it to me. You were scared I guess. You were scared of losing me. Scared of facing the bigger reality. More than breaking my heart, you were scared about breaking your own. But why, I always wondered, did you never take that chance?


So now that it’s finally time to go, why can’t you let me? I remember once I asked you “Do you ever feel scared of death?”
“Death is inevitable. It’s a fact of life. It’s oblivion that scares me. Not knowing what would happen next. Every second somebody dies. But what scares me is not knowing if that somebody is somebody that I know. Not knowing whether my words would be the last. That why we always say good bye you know. Every time you part ways with someone you say goodbye. Because it’s driven from the fear of oblivion. From the fear of not knowing whether you would ever see them again.”

But now you know. Then why do you hesitate to let go? You were always a mysterious little person who I never figured out. But who am I to say.
Your husband walks up to you. He has a look of torment on his face. I remember the first time I met him. He has an aura that could light up the entire street. He is a writer, the kind who could make you so extremely uncomfortable with his words and yet be able to provide a sense of solace. He was the kind of writer who could make your heart stop only to revive it with a thunder of emotions. The first time I saw him he had this big smile on his face, the kind that without uttering a syllable could communicate an entire story. He intimidated me. I knew in my heart you would be with him. You had taken me out for a cup of my favourite hot coco and there he was waiting for us. You introduced him as your friend, but i knew behind that silly lie laid a vast array of emotions and feelings bursting and exploding the tiny little world it was encapsulated into. I knew who he was and he knew who I was. It was like the moment of clarity. I remember I refused to drink my hot coco. I remember throwing a tantrum all along the way. I remember not sleeping that night. I remember crying and screaming. But most of all I remember your face, the look of torment sweeps across your entire face. I remember wondering what it was for I had never seen that face before. I remember wondering why that face pierced right through my heart and made my chest empty and hollow. I wondered how a look on your face could move mountains inside me.

Suddenly you lean in closer to my ear say “Take care of Hazaria”

Hazaria, the name that stirred so many emotions within me. I never saw her. I never met her. I had only heard of her. She was like the wind that gushed in to fill the empty spaces only to never be touched or kept. She came; she filled the cold hollow space with the warmth of her name and left, leaving behind the trace of her departure. I never really knew her, except from what I had heard. She was like me. Special. Hazaria. How was I to take care of her? But you kept repeating.


“Promise me you will take care of her!”



So I promised. I promised a hollow heart the hope of healing the pieces long gone. What else was I to do? I promised. 

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