We had a dinner date every Monday. Most days, the date included a walk back home with a brief detour for some dessert. She always remarked how dessert never failed to lift my spirits. She called it my Cheshire cat smile.
We met at a friend’s place and bonded over common interests, movies and books. The turning point in our relationship was when we both admitted to our respective crushes. We became inseparable after that heart-to-heart.
Her friends became my friends and mine, hers. And then we’d come home and dissect each of their lives. While weekend plans usually included other friends, the Monday night dinner was our exclusive time together. It was a gentle reminder of comfort before a long week ahead and kept away the infamous Monday morning blues. Some nights we’d team that up with a corny Bollywood flick where we laughed our heads off. Oh and she was also my 3 am SOS phone call!
It was the perfect relationship. We barely fought or disagreed on anything. There wasn’t one thing that I’d change about her and I am pretty sure she felt the same towards me. It helped that we led different lives and came from different backgrounds.
But somewhere in this perfect relationship, I had begun blocking out other people in my life in a bid to spend more time with her. Dinner dates were longer restricted to Mondays. By and by, ice-cream dates got more frequent and spontaneous.
I left the city a year later. It was a flurried and hasty goodbye with promises to write, call and meet. We had even joked about traveling across the world to gate-crash each other’s weddings.
I got busy with a job in a new city and she went back to picking up the pieces of her old life. We spoke a few times, exchanged a few emails but never got around to meeting each other. Eventually, distance got the better of us and we both stopped pretending.
She last wished me on my birthday six months ago.
I miss you, P. I miss you every time I crave a scoop of blueberry ice-cream or some pizza. But mostly I miss us when I see two girls giggling away over a meal.