Sole companion

It was a weekend like any other. He went about executing his meticulously planned agenda, keeping him busy throughout the day. But it was one of those days, the kind of day in which, irrespective of how busy you keep yourself, your mind and heart tend to wander into a territory that you would consciously want to avoid. And when that happened, he realized how lonely he was. All of his friends were busy with their wife, husband or children. Their weekends were packed with chores that couples and families do. No one texted him anymore. Only a handful called, or picked up the phone when he called. People went about their lives, and he wasn't a part of anyone's anymore. And there he was that weekend, in a mall, filled with people, and yet feeling lonely. He had long ceased to be good company to himself. He stared at the empty chair in front of him, and ate alone, like he did, every single day since she had left. He wondered where his life was heading, after losing her. But first of all, he had to decide where his bike was heading.

The heavy heart, the loneliness and flashing memories of her, had distracted him from his focus on the road. This wasn't the first time. In the recent past, on quite a few occasions, he had caught himself riding  his bike in random directions which had nothing to do with his intended destination. When he regained his sense of self, he gave the accelerator of his bike an almighty twist.

He was in the zone. He was singing random songs out loud, and twisting the accelerator to his tunes. He was laughing and crying at the same time. He wasn't sure whether he was laughing at the fact that he was crying at his situation, or whether he was crying at the fact that he was laughing at his situation. Nothing was clear anymore, least of all his vision. And a rush of blood to his head told him to push the limits, of his fears and of his bike. His bike accelerated to a speed it had never touched before - the empty, long and straight road helping it's cause. Only something as big as a bus could have slowed it down.

He overtook a speeding bus, and the bus returned the favor by overtaking him. And at the peak of his speed, he did not expect the bus to come to a sudden halt,a few meters in front of him. Time slowed down, and his engineering educated brain started performing at its peak. 

In a flash, he knew that his brakes were no good and the the treads of his tires were too worn out to create enough friction to grip the bitumen, and bring his bike to a halt. The grime on the road and the speed of his bike meant that his wheels would skid once he hit the brakes hard. He knew that the center of gravity would shift and throw him off balance, most likely towards his left, and in the direction of the rear wheel of the bus. He knew that his helmet was old but sturdy, and that it could save him, but only if his head didn't hit the ground and also the tire of the bus - it could take one impact, but two, would crush it, and probably cause some damage to his skull. And as these thoughts flashed through his brain, he found it fascinating at how his brain could process and compute so much information so quickly at such a critical moment. He could almost watch the whole scene unfold in his brain in slow motion, from a third person's perspective. And, he braced for impact.

It happened just like he had pictured it. The only thing he hadn't estimated correctly was how painful the blow would turn out to be. And the only surprise was how he walked away from the bike without a bruise,though his bones ached to the core. He dragged his bike out from under the bus and let it lean on the curb. He was surprised at how quickly he had come so close to his home, and probably to his death, owing to the speed at which he had driven. He limped towards his home, alone again, in the deserted street, reminding him again of his lonely state. 

The streetlight cast a long shadow of his limping self in front of him. And he realized that it was only his shadow that had been with him through thick and thin. And as he smirked at the thought, In a moment, the lights went out, and with it, his shadow. It was then that the truth hit him harder than the bus had hit him. In that moment of darkness, true light dawned in him. 

Losing her had spurred a burst of creativity in him. He had started writing stories. And more often than not, the characters in his story, and the stories themselves, resembled the characters and the stories of his life. At times, he could barely tell the difference between his story and his life. He found it to be an  avenue through which he could lose himself, and could also find himself. 

And as he limped into his tiny abode, he was already composing his next story in his mind, the story of his tryst with potential death - an accident, and perceived death - loneliness.

The final chapter

"He had gone through hell in the previous months. He could no longer go on like this. It was too painful. It had to come to an end.

The beautiful relationship that he and his lover had built over so the past four years started showing signs of deterioration in the past few months. Whatever he tried to do to repair the damage, turned out to be in vain. And when she finally broke the news to him, that she wanted to break up with him, it left him shattered to pieces. "It can no longer go on like this. It is too painful. It has to come to an end.", she had said.

He had been writing emails to her, but had never actually sent them to her. All the things that he wanted to share and to ask, but never could, for he did not want to make it hard for her, were all part of these unposted emails. He read them all that night, one last time. "I can no longer go on like this. It is too painful. It has to come to an end", he then told himself.

He made up his mind that his decision was the only way out of this misery. And so he clicked the 'Send' button on all those emails, and by the time he had clicked the button for the 50th time, he was too drunk, and too tired to go on. He collapsed on his desk, with the bottle of poison in his pocket.

He was woken up by loud thuds on his door. With his eyes half open, he found his mobile vibrating on the floor, it's battery almost drained completely. He dragged himself to the door and slowly opened it. The sun shone so brightly in his face that he could barely see. When his pupils finally adjusted to the morning sun, he saw her standing there, eyes as red as her lips. Before he could say anything, she embraced him like never before. With her head on his chest, drenching his shirt with tears, she said, "I read all your emails. What took you so long to send them to me? I knew we could never go on like this. It is too painful. We have to bring this to an end. "

The End. 
Or, more appropriately,
The Beginning. "

With mixed feelings, he printed out what he had just typed.

The next morning, he was found dead in his apartment, lying next to his laptop, with a bunch of papers in one hand and a single piece of paper in another.

His friends identified the bunch of papers as the final chapter of the book that he had been writing over the past few months, ever since his lover left him. His mailbox, which was open on his laptop showed 50 emails addressed to her, saved as drafts.

The paper in his other hand read,
"I can no longer go on like this. It is too painful. It has to come to an end."

A true friend

"I don't think I have anything to worry about as long as I have you by my side", he said with a smile. His friend smiled back.

His friend was by his bedside every day, talking to him for hours at a stretch, with seemingly infinite patience. His friend was capable of understanding his words and emotions, and even his silence. This friend was the best thing that had happened to him since that fateful day.

That fateful day, was his previous birthday. He had stayed up late holding on tightly to his phone, waiting for the call. He nodded off from time to time, only to wake up each time with a startle. He looked eagerly at his phone, and felt a squeezing feeling in his chest as midnight approached. "What if she doesn't call?", was the thought in his head. He hoped that it wouldn't be the case.

She had been the first one to wish him on his birthday every year, since they became friends, and eventually, lovers. She had always ensured this by calling him five minutes before midnight, and thereby blocking off anyone else from reaching his phone. And at the stroke of midnight, She would shower him with a flurry of wishes, prayers and kisses. By the end of the call, he'd be asleep peacefully in her virtual arms. This year though, his mind told him to expect far less, though his heart yearned for nothing different.

It had been three months since he had heard her voice, since she had broken up with him. He had tried his best to overcome the weight of her decision, but the decision had left him shattered. Trying to get over her, he often felt like a wave at the shore, incessantly doing its best to reach out to land, only to lose momentum, eventually, to end up where it  came from. He was hopeful that the break had been long enough, long enough for her to have the heart to at least wish him on his birthday. Deep inside though, he had hoped that the call would restart the beautiful relationship that they had shared for years.

He felt his heart sink as the clock struck midnight. She hadn't called. He continued to wait with bated breath; each passing second adding more weight to his chest. As seconds turned to minutes, his vision started to blur. He wasn't sure whether it was because of his tears or because he was falling asleep. The strange pain at the back of his head was starting to irritate him, and the fact that he had just typed the passcode of his phone incorrectly for five consecutive times frustrated him even more. He felt a seething pain run through his arm as he picked up the can of water lying next to him.

The next thing he remembered was waking up in a hospital, with a stranger sitting by his bedside, and smiling at him. And this stranger, about whom he knew nothing, became his trusted friend over the past few weeks. She hadn't called him on his birthday, and neither had she come to see him at the hospital. Maybe his other friends telling him that she had moved on, were right. The thought hurt him so much that the pain in his heart was almost physical.

This new friend was the only one with whom he felt happy to share what he truly felt, about his life, and about her. In a matter of a few weeks, his friend had come to know his life's history, and had shared his tears and his laughter without a hint of bias. He was glad that his friend never met his other friends or his family. He believed that it was in fact essential for his friend to stay uncontaminated from their perspectives of him. The doctors, his friends and his family who kept visiting him, told him that he'd be alright soon, and that he'd be back home soon. He didn't really care.

"I don't think I have anything to worry about as long as I have you by my side", he said with a smile. His friend smiled back.

Outside his room, the doctor addressed his friends and family. "The stroke has left his brain in a state of shock. Though he is out of mortal danger, we may now need to put him through a course of sedatives and some serious psychiatric treatment. Maybe then he'll slowly stop seeing imaginary people."