She looked out of the window, questioningly at the rain. She saw them fall, not drizzle, furiously on the garden she had cured painstakingly. She doubted the very existence of the tadpole droplets. She wanted to know why they were important and what right they had to dictate her life. She wanted answers and she was not ready to wait for them nor was she ready to accept them. So what if it was raining? Was it so necessary to think or relate every single detail in her short life to Him? Did she not have a life to call her own? She detested the rain from that very moment. She squirmed in her chair, her shorts wrinkled from the effort. The coffee she was sipping was cold now,
the steam stopped rising away and settled to being in contact with the liquid.
They had forgotten how to rise. She had forgotten how to love.
The rain had never been something she adored, but she did not mind it either- The tiny drops made their way from way up in the sky to only fall, thrashing, on the ground and lose their very existence. She felt empathy towards the drops- they strikingly resembled the way she viewed her own life. Even she had risen to grow, she had grown to rise. She had become someone she wanted to be. She had realised what she could be and He brought it all down, He made her lose all that she had and she was thrashed back
on the ground, made to forget who she is,
made to misplace her identity.
She couldn’t let this happen to her. She couldn’t allow her life to fall back to where it had just begun. She did not want to lose who she could be in the process of erasing who she already was. And He was the one who was tugging on her past. He kept pointing it out to her. He kept bringing it back to her, wrapped under gifts and flowers. He did it intentionally. He did it to get back at her.
He did it for her. He loved her.
But she refused to see it. Why should she let go of herself for a man she ‘may’ be with? He should accept her the way she accepted him- with his flaws, with her past. She frowned at an imaginary figure of his, looking straight at the glass of the window. She traced her name on the mist; she carved out a heart and then
rubbed of the entire thing. She has to let go. She has to forget Him.
He has to let her forget him.
She gets up; the chair was warm from her sitting on it through out the morning. The Sunday was a lazy one, devoid of her usual house-cleaning chores. She had decided to let herself grieve. She heard sad songs to make herself cry, she stared
at walls only thinking of the fact that she was staring at walls.
Then it started to rain and all her effort was zapped right to the bin.
The day came flashing back at her. The day she dreaded.
The day she wanted. The day it happened- the day they broke.
Ayaan and Rhea had been together for six years, but it all came down to just two days which mattered. The day the met and the day they parted. The worst part being, she did not know why either had happened. She had asked him a
million times but he dodged the answer every time she questioned him.
She never knew why he liked her, why he loved her.
Then how was she to know why he left her?
She cursed herself for believing him or even believing in him. She held her hands to her ears as if to stop herself from hearing the words he had once said. She curled up on the bed beside the chair and cried. But she stopped. If she started now, she knew she would never stop. Her cell phone lit up. She saw that Sanaaya had texted her. Sanaaya was her best friend. They had been together since 7th grade.
They had been together; unlike Him and her. Rhea checked what emergency
had risen. Sanaaya used to avoid texting. She was more of a call-person.
“Whr in the wrld are u? I don’t even know hw textng wrks! God.Recve the phne atleast.EMERGENCY. yours. U need 2 leave tht stinky chair. Look, its rainng.”
That’s all that the text read and Rhea winced. It reminded her of the rain. Rhea deduced in her head and blamed the rain for everything untimely that had occurred in her life in the last few weeks. It rained and she reached late for her work. It rained and she broke the heel of her pumps. It rained and her sister went into labour. It rained and Sanaaya texted. It rained and He broke up with her.
She associated it to every morbid detail of her life.
Rhea rang Sanaaya and spoke to her. She did not feel like talking at all. Though they were best friends, they never really interacted under emotional stress. So, they hung up awkwardly; Sanaaya wanting to ask and Rhea wanting to share yet both preferring to keep quiet, just to assume everything was perfect,
that everything was like yesterday.
But it wasn’t. The only constant between yesterday and today, for Rhea, was the weather and the rain. Yesterday, she had a tomorrow to look forward to. But today she has a yesterday she wants to forget. A yesterday in which she wished it wouldn’t have rained. A today, she wished would have a rainbow. But it happened still. It rained yesterday, it rained today and there was no rainbow. It happened yesterday, it lingers today and there was no escape. She had Him then, she misses him now and there’s no rewind
She stopped shoving her face into the pillow and stared at the wall for some more time. She suddenly realised that it needed to be done up. It stared at her, as blankly as she stared at it. Sanaaya was right, it was raining outside. Rhea used to like the rain. But He made her detest it. He was the reason for what she had become, not the rain. She was the one who let him lose herself; not the rain. She had only them to blame- not the rain.
She then rang Hong’s for a delivery meal. She decided to go out for a walk and then, Rhea rose out of her room for the first time in two days. She bathed, washed her hair and decided to re-boot her life.
She dressed up well and even kohl-lined her eyes.
She realised that she wanted to meet new people. She wanted to be the master. She wanted to like the rain again. She wanted to be like the rain. Not in a way where she collapsed on the ground but in a way in which she drenched everyone with her aura; in a way, where people looked up to see where she came from; in a way, where she would be loved. She wanted to be cold like the rain and subtle like its drops. Instead of assuming that on falling, the drops burst; she imagined them to be the beginnings of a new fall. As if, each drop that fell on her garden signified that 300 more were on their way. She did fall, but she wanted to carve out the way for a new tomorrow- rain or no rain. She wanted to live her life. She wanted to be her life. She wanted to share her life. She wanted to close the doors to yesterday.
She went up to the door, opened it and walked out.
“Love is like a cloud, it holds a lot of rain”
And it’s hard to hold a candle, in the cold November rain