You found a cigarette container in the jeans pocket he had removed last night. Even after knowing the truth, you asked him.
"Do you still smoke?" you did not mention to him that you already know the reality.
"No," he lied holding your hands tightly, more firmly than ever.
And you believed him, even after knowing the truth, you decided to believe him.
Two days after you had a fight with him, over a silly issue, about going to a friend's house or somewhere. You both were angry at each other, you yelled at him, and he stayed quiet.
And after some time you sat next to him and asked as deliberately as you could, "Do you still love me?"
"No, I do not," he said sharply.
That night you were sobbing in your bed, and when he came by, you made him settle next to you, in those instances, none of you was angry, but none of you was happy either. He wiped your tears with his green handkerchief, just as he always does, just as he always does.
And after some time, you found yourself laying beside him, he was staring at the ceiling, and you were stressing about the things he said during the fight. And then, you turned towards him and asked,
"When you said you do not love me, did you mean it?"
Maybe you already concluded what he meant, but you asked him nonetheless.
He gaped into your eyes, and watch the space between you both. You have filled it with hope. That is the most awful thing he saw in your eyes. Hope.
"No, I did not mean it," he said holding your hands tightly, and more firmly than ever.
You recalled him doing this when he lied about smoking. This is what he always does when he lies - holds your hands tighter than ever.
But you choose to believe him again, you rest your head at his chest, and trusted him again, just as you always do, and he lied, just as he always does.
- Arshad Shaikh // A Cigarette Container #1
