Forty Days

Photo by Paul Dufour {From Unsplash.com}

Thankfully, I remember the name of the society he mentioned once. Just he didn’t mention that it’s very near to my house. It's a posh society. Suddenly, the image of my tiny flat flashes in my mind. I shake off the image, as the security guard asks for the details. 

I feel jittery, as the lift ascends. It's the first time I am visiting him. We are going to meet after forty days. I couldn't stop thinking about him in the last forty days. Strange and annoyingly sweet how sometimes you don't get tired of thinking of a single person.

Maybe, it’s my fault. He was just being kind to me. Too kind, actually. I was unwell and he came to check on me, as if he got a message. The way he cared, oh it still moves me. Everything seemed too good to be true. And then I said something odd that hurt him, perhaps. I was just being practical, you see.

I thought our relationship, if I can call it a relationship, was unique. We understand. We don't judge. We have another level of connection, but he disconnected himself, just like that. He responds to my messages though, sometimes. Like when I said I was sorry, he responded with a 'never mind.' and when I congratulated him on his new project, he messaged a thank you. This is not the way we communicate even though he is not talkative or expressive. 

The lift door opens at the 14th floor and my heart starts running. I press the doorbell and wait with bated breath. How would he react?

He opens the door, looking disheveled and sick. He stares at me blankly.

'Don't recognize me? Should I leave?' I say.

He runs his finger through his longish curly hair and steps aside.

'Are you unwell?' I ask, closing the door.

'Fever,' he says, his voice hoarse. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ My palm, involuntarily, reach for his forehead. He closes his eyes, making me conscious of our closeness. I remove my hand.

'I’m okay,’ he says, as we walk towards the large living room.

'Have you taken the medicines or seen the doctor?' 

'Yes,’ he says without looking at me and flops down on a couch. ‘You didn’t need to bother.’ He looks at me finally, his expression unfathomable. ‘I can manage myself. And I have so many people in my life to take care of me.'

It hits hard. I force a smile. 'I'm sure you have.'

An uncomfortable silence is hanging between us, as I stand like an unwanted guest.

'Sit.'

'Ah no, I should be going now,' I say, expecting him to say, 'Stay.' but he says, 'As you wish.' And it feels like a slap.

'Please take care.'

He mumbles something I can’t comprehend.

'Sorry to bother you,' I say and rush out of his flat. A hard lump has wedged itself into my throat. No, I'm not going to cry.

I close the door of my flat and weep. There was something between us, I have always felt. Something unsaid. Our camaraderie and conversations flash in my mind like a film. I'm still standing near the door when the doorbell buzzes.

Who's that? I run towards the bathroom and splash some water on my face. The doorbell buzzes again as I approach the door. I open it and freeze. It's him!

Just the way I left him a few minutes ago. I open the door. ‘You could’ve called me. You’re not well.’

He simply enters the room and reposes on the bed, breathing hard.

'I'm sorry for my idiotic behaviour,' he says after a moment, his eyes closed.

'No, that's okay.'

His eyes fly open, and he straightens himself. 'It's okay?' His gaze is so intense, almost smoldering, that it makes me uncomfortable. 'We are not talking to each other. We are not meeting. I'm not responding to your messages. I behave like a shit and it's okay for you?' 

I open my mouth to say something but don’t know what. 'It's been forty days, for God's sake!' He raises his voice a little, for the first time. 

'Look __' I sit beside him. 'I understand. There must be something bothering you ___'

'Yes, something is troubling me and I don't know what to do.' The way he looks at me, I feel like wrapping him in my arms. 'I tried to busy myself in work. I thought I could deal with it. I went to my home town so that I could find some solace but no. That's insane. Nothing bothers me when I'm home. But this time I couldn't stay there for more than 3 days.'

Now, I am worried. What's wrong with him.

Then he smiles. 'But, Maa understood.'

'Understood what?'

'That I'm in Love.' His glance is looming over me. His enchanting eyes look misty. 'I didn't know whom to talk.'

It seems that I've forgotten to breathe. I exhale a deep, quivering breath. I don't know if I should feel happy for him or feel bad for myself. 'Wow, you love someone so much that you fell sick?' I am astonished. Can anyone love someone like this? 

He is fidgeting. 'But why are you doing this to yourself?' I ask.

He ponders for a moment, clenching, unclenching his fist. 'Exactly, why am I doing this to myself?' He whispers, his eyes fixed on the floor. 'I think I was testing my own feelings.'

'So, the test is positive?' 

'Yes. 100%'

'Then why don't you go and tell her?' I say, even though it hurts.

He raises his head and fixes his glance at me. 'That's what I'm doing,' he says. 

What did he say? 

'That's why I have come here. To tell her that I love this silly girl madly. That she is driving me crazy. So much that it hurts to stay away from her.'

Wondering if this story can be a sequel to 'What If I Tell You...'