Home > Mirages > Choices


Me: We cannot continue like this. The feelings will get stronger and then it will be difficult to forget each other. This must stop.

I speak in a controlled voice despite my tears. He stares into space as he brushes them away.

He: Yes.

We sit in silence. The clock strikes 11. We exchange a look. He gets up, puts on his clothes and with a final hug, leaves.


At work, we are professional as usual. No one is aware of the changes that have taken place. Women still ogle at him, men still hit on me. I spend the day trying hard not to hate myself for doing the right thing. I start questioning the definition of “right”. I try to conquer the pain, the sense of loss. I dread the advent of twilight. It is inevitable. I gather up my things, steeling myself for a lonely evening, for a lonely life. I reach my room; straighten a few things on my table. On an impulse, I sweep the floor and clean up the cupboard. Numb. Robotic. I peel off my clothes, toss them into the laundry basket. I take a long shower, pampering myself, washing off the memories of his touch, his stubble, his naughty tongue, his reassuring whispers, the sweet tang of his body. Later, I make a cup of strong coffee and open the door of my book rack. I choose the metaphysical Franz Kafka. I quash all hope and longing that he will come back. I will not all myself to be hurt any further. Few minutes pass by. There is a knock on the door. I open it, expecting the washer man. I am wrong. He walks in. the nerves in my head are threatening to burst.


As I lie ensconced in his warm embrace, looking at the now cold coffee and the abandoned Kafka, I realise that we make our own concepts of right and wrong. It is all about choices. I chose an ancient concept of morality and a broken heart. Then, I decided to opt for love instead. I may have offended some God in some distant corner of the universe, but, if I die tonight, I will die a happy person.

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