"But you said you loved me." "I meant it then."
She watches him, her eyes wide and swollen with tears. The first rays of dawn are creeping in. His arms are crossed, his eyes blank. “You don’t love me anymore.” She manages. He grimaces. He continues to stare at the ground. “I’ll be going,” He says, the last bit of his sentence catches. She knows she won’t be seeing him anymore. This is it, she realizes. It’s over. The tears begin to fall but he doesn’t react. He doesn’t wipe her tears away like he used to. There is no hankerchief tossed at her, no teasing jab. Instead, he mounts his bike. She watches as the bike ramps up and disappears into the distance. She cries until she falls asleep on her doorstep. What follows next is a blur of unending days. A lot of phone calls and a lot of tears. Sheared off hair all over the ground. Eventually she begins to go to classes again. Her long hair is now uneven and jagged, there are cuts on the insides of her wrists. People avoid her. She hardly notices them. It is the twentieth day when she sees him again. His hand envelops another girl’s. They are laughing. He freezes when he sees her and his eyes go blank. He doesn’t drop the girl’s hand but he holds it stiffly now. The girl looks up, momentarily confused. She looks like her. Like the old her. Laughter lines and fair skin and wavy blown away hair. She looks away. The days become mundane. Some days her hands shake of their own accord. She keeps dropping mugs. She doesn’t drink coffee anymore. She only wears sweaters. They hide her wrists. There is a tar road. She sees herself lying on it. She sees his hand inside that girl’s hand. Not many things make sense.
