She was his early morning wake-up call and late-evening, after-work chat.
He loved her. But there was little he could about it. Maybe, he chose not to. He had learnt to keep silent. There were days she brought out the worst in him but he also never forgot the days she made him smile. Occasionally, the silence would gnaw at him. On some other days, he’d find a way around it. And every once in a while, he’d let his imagination loose to slip into a make-believe world.
It tore apart the illusion of platonic love with the opposite sex. It took away from the innocence of a warm friendship. Yet, it made him feel terribly good about everything. One day, he’d be on cloud nine thanks to an unexpected phone-call and two days later, he’d have hit rock bottom over a meeting that did not happen. He’d disappear for weeks with no phone calls and then chatter excitedly for days.
I saw him struggle with this see-saw of emotions for almost two years. Some days I felt like a therapist. But mostly I hated to see him like that. Not because he loved her. But because he did not allow the time or space for someone else’s feelings.