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Many Years Later

Many years later we are sitting under the same roof. I made two cups of coffee so that conversations don't get awkward. We are at two ends of the room, I am on a couch beside the window, she is preparing for her competitive exams with scattered blank papers, an overburdened, cute, old bear pencil pouch, her favourite pens that she'd eventually use after trying out some of the new ones that she had bought, piles of blank notebooks and so many books. The favourites never change. Whether stationery sets or people, even from far apart. 

I very consciously sip my coffee, so that I don't make any unnecessary sounds, and look at the moon. We had the best of days together and today after many years and we are sitting under the same roof.

"Are you still looking for jobs?", she says. 

The silence had to break, or else the awkwardness would have gotten on our nerves.

"No. I'm taking a year off from everything. And writing of course."

"Oh yes, the year you always talked about."

"Yes, that one"

" Hmm"

I have to tell her about all the times I've missed her terribly, I have to tell her how annoyed everything and everyone would make me to bring myself to a position to not be able to share a thing, I have to tell her why I haven't talked about the most risky decisions of my life and why I had to keep them to myself and apart from all of these, I have to tell her that none of these had any relation with me wanting to see her badly, desperately almost. Neither on those days and nor after I realised we'd be this uncomfortable and awkward when we meet.

I look at the moon, trying to paint all those years with my eyes still on it. 

The car honked. Twice. 

I put the empty cup back on the table. I think to myself if I should say a "bye" and "see you soon" before I leave.

"Do you still write personal stuff or is it just for the clients? "
" I do. "
" Hmm"

" I have written to you too. In my mind"
"Hmm" 

The car honked. Again. Almost transversing me between times and memories.

I have to leave. I don't know what to tell her for the last time to express how much I wanted to see her. I am struggling with constructing the one sentence that I should tell her, at least to express that I still look forward to making everything right. I have less than a minute. I stand up, take the cup again to sip on it, before I put it down. 

I wish if wind could convey my words, I wish if the clock could speak, I wish everything in nature could talk right now or something at least, because I couldn't and there's so much to say.  

I walk towards the door.

We look at each other. 

"Bye" she says.

I leave with a smile

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