The Day We Found Love, Again

Separation was inevitable, and we both knew it.

No, this wasn’t any case of her being in love with another guy, or me having a fascination towards my female colleague. It’s just that we weren’t meant for each other. Period.

Ours was a love marriage, full of passion, one that came bundled with the bright colours of youth, sparkling like gold, but with time, it faded away, the leaden metal exposed.

So, when she came up with the proposal, we didn’t argue, we didn’t fight. We just knew this had to happen, someday, if not today, then tomorrow, and I nodded my head in agreement. Was I sad? I know not, but yes, a hollow, a vacancy of unfulfilled promises did envelop my heart.

Divorce in India is always a lengthy process. It takes months, and even years, for the final verdict, and till then, you just have to go with the flow. Courts, dates, lawyers and all. We did get our divorce papers, signed them, and handed them over to our respective lawyers.

However, we tried to keep our relationship amicable. We were no longer living together, she staying in the 2 BHK flat where we had together woven dreams, while I had rented a 1BHK nearby. The proximity ensured that we were aware of each other’s whereabouts, without meddling into our affairs.

It was time for her to leave, to fly off to Chicago, for an official assignment, next day. As I wasn’t her ‘ex-husband’ yet, I decided to go with her to the airport. In any case, she didn’t have any other relatives, or friends, in this city who could see her off. A few gifts would do no harm, and I went to a nearby gift shop to buy something for her.

Her flight was at 10am. It was already 6. I got up, dressed, and ran towards my car. The engine reverberated, and I was off to her place to pick her up.

The gift stood still, alone, on my bedside table, isolated, forgotten.

~o~

I reached her place, and parked the car. I walked up to the flat and pressed the door bell.

No response.

Once, twice, thrice, and yet no response.

I took out my cell to dial her number, when suddenly the door opened. She was standing transfixed, her head bent low, tears in her eyes, and a red suitcase, in perfect equilibrium with the door hinges. She was wearing a light blue denim jeans, black tee, and a maroon jacket. We didn’t exchange a word, and silently walked towards the car.

We seated ourselves, and I turned on the engine, when her muffled voice broke the silence of the moment – “Do you know what day it is today?”

I knew. It was the day I had proposed my love to her.

I shifted the gear from second to third, and then to fourth. The car moved smoothly. I wished our relation had turned out to be as smooth.

She took out something from her purse, and asked me to stop the car. She then showed me the content of that ‘something’.

A dried rose, flattened with pages of time, a greeting card with “I Love You Marry Me No … Plz” written inside, and a diary, her diary.

“These are very precious to me,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, “and so were you. I do not know when I would return. Please keep the diary with you, as a token of the love, the affection we shared.”

Her voice trailed off, while I lost mine.

“Is it necessary to go?” I asked her, and then realized that I had forgotten to bring the gifts I had brought for her, the look of “oh-shit” visible on my face.

“What?” she asked amused, and I felt relieved to see a glint of smile on her face, “You forgot my gift?”

I just nodded. “Miss the flight.”

“Treat me then,” prompt came the reply.

We went to a nearby café, had sandwiches and steaming mugs of coffee, our eyes lost in each other, seeking answers, answering questions. We hardly spoke, as our fingers entwined, the warm feeling of past rushing back in my veins.

I ordered for a cake, a time to celebrate, and the waiter simply said, “It’s 9am Sir. We can provide you with the cake only after 12.”

We confirmed the order, and told him to deliver the cake to our (yes, our) address. We left, hands in hands, our hearts back to where they belonged.

“Let me cook for you today,” I offered, knowing pretty well how bad a cook I was. And yet, sometimes, you don’t care. It’s just the feeling of doing something for the person you love that matters.

“Ok. Mister, but are you trying to impress me?” she said, winking naughtily.

I came out of the kitchen, and chased her all around the flat. Finally, tired, we fell on the couch, breathing heavily, happily.

“I love you,” I said, rather whispered, in her ears.

“Ok. Fine. But rush to the kitchen. The noodles smell burnt.”

Oops. I had forgotten that it was me cooking today.

~o~

The food was ready, and the cake was delivered.

She looked at me, and her sparkling eyes danced with joy, ‘cause on top of the cake were two cute heart shaped platinum rings, that I had secretly ordered and bought.

“I love you, and I have made the lunch too. Will you be mine, forever?” I bent down on my knee, holding one of the rings, and proposed.

“Hmm. Will you cook lunch for me daily?” She asked, her lips curled, smiling mischievously.

“If not lunch,” I answered, grinning, “I will definitely ensure a delicious dinner, with an enticing dessert.”

She laughed, and I laughed too. She came closer, and we hug each other, our lips obeying the law of love, gently caressing the emotions that lay deep within us. We were together, now, and forever.

~ o ~

Needless to mention, the divorce papers were shredded and fed to the bin.

This is my official entry to "Platinum Day of Love" contest organized by Indiblogger in association with PreciousPlatinum.in.