I always knew when she was near me: I had told her I could feel her.
She never understood what I meant.
The first time, it was the instinct to make her understand, but from then on, I think I could feel her absence as soon as she vacated any space around me: something in the air dimmed when she was not around, as if, suddenly, all the lights in the room were flickering, away from their source of energy, as if there was lesser air in the room, as if it became harder to breathe.
Maybe I exaggerate. Perhaps I do mean simply what I said: I could feel her.
I always will be able to feel her, because with her, it becomes easier to breathe, easier for a few moments, to not be pressured by my name, by my position, by my responsibilities towards my family. I could simply be Shivaay (or as she would always put it, Billu ji). This guy was everything I was not: irrational, childish, always arguing over trivial matters, but also observant of the flicker of pain that crossed her eyes when she talked about her brother, or her past.
Today for instance, I was annoyed she stood there watching my vulnerability so clearly written on my face; she was not pleased with my selfish tantrums. As if, as if I had no right to be selfish, ever. This was the one space where I could be myself, and now here she was, intruding, as always. Typical.
She basically told ME, ME, to grow up and cope with pain with hope and happiness. Did she know that would get to me? Did she realize her eyes had an appeal, those flickers of pain that she blinked away as I asked her what she meant? Probably not, this girl is mostly unaware of what she is doing and where she's going, especially where I am concerned.
I could feel myself changing, getting calmer without needing to break anything.
She made me forget the one thing I have felt for so long that it had become a part of me: lonely.
And then she asks me how I always know it's her.
How can I not?
Current Affairs
