She reckoned that it might work. Despite the distance, she felt that they were pretty much in sync with each other. Conversations that flowed easily, emails that wrote themselves and moments that morphed into memories. Perhaps, sorted would be a more appropriate term. Little space for melodrama. No doubt, there were some spells of silence but she didn’t read much into those. Thought they wouldn’t matter in the long run. And she saw herself get increasingly attached with each passing conversation.
His emails, infrequent, left her wanting for more. The year for her had begun with emails to him. She smiled a lot more in the last few months than she had in the entire last year. All those weekends they spoke, she became a nervous, giggly teenager hanging onto every word he said. For a few hours every week, she kept aside the cynic and over-rational self to enjoy each moment with him. The voice was his; the words were hers.
She never admitted to being in love with him. Perhaps she didn’t know it yet. But there was a strong attachment, yes. In her mind, she had them strolling on the streets of Bombay, in deep conversation, oblivious to the world.
He thought otherwise. Wasn’t able to sense a connection between them, it seems. Perhaps, he needed more time. Some time away from her, if only to understand what all their conversations meant.
They parted on a cordial note, civil, with hardly any tears or emotions. He spoke, mumbling numerous apologies in between; she heard him out. Blankly. Passively. With her ears burning with each word. She wished him good luck. A tad bit reluctantly. But she didn’t have to luxury to fuss over her aching heart. There were chores to be done, people to be met and a life to be led. Yet, it all seemed so unfair.
She harbored no ill-feelings or resentments. There was also little she held against him. All she envied him was the luxury to say no.