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That missing toothbrush in the holder reminded me you were gone. The night was long.

I searched for the missing face in front of the mirror.The white towel had a remnant strain of your body,the foggy mirror masked your lips.I stood in the shower with moments flowing through my mind.I came out to find the lights were off in the house.It was quiet. The white bedsheet was creaseless. The curtains didn't flow anymore.A sip of Bordeaux floated aimlessly at the bottom of the glass on the side table.

It was over.You were gone. They told me it would sink in slowly- but I had to see it myself.

I reclined on the rocking chair.

It must've been the crowded economy seats perhaps, that you first came across the curtain, and nonchalantly sat next to me.Your eyes betrayed the smile your lips attempted valiantly.The solitary drop of sweat chose to trickle down your calmness. 

Your quivering lips concealed so many stories untold and unheard,just like mine. Though,I must've bored you.I guess I still had the sand in my shoes from that lost childhood.That flight night, you rested on my shoulders, and I stroked your hair, ever so softly hushing your pain away.

And then that moment came,unannounced. As the aircraft plunged into the dark embrace of the startled ocean,I had to make a choice.It was a moment of clarity,a thought so pure that it was almost like  a spontaneous combustion.

I let you go. 

The tip of my fingers still remember your final goodbye.Those screaming eyes frozen in time, as the stars witnessed your presence, and my absence.

Gyanban Thoughts : A short story after a long time. The story is narrated by the dead protagonist however written with twists and that's by design.Some of the inferences are left to the readers imagination.Actually wrote this for the Fiction section for Femina -just simultaneously posting it on the blog as well. Some of the inferences are from current events as you might have guessed.Even the title has a bit of a story to it if you notice carefully.

Also,This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.


  1. Good one GB..:) After a long time

  2. Ah, beautifully done. Perhaps this is one of the most painful feelings.


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It's 5AM and the clock is late,
the rush to dress up and change my fate,
but the wrinkle is annoying the mane,
and the greys are flaying the vein,
I carry the mirror in mind,
leave the resigned sigh behind.

The train is packed with eyes,
I stand under the strain of lights
the dark skin is brighter,
maybe they'll like me better,
their shampoos leave no clue,
only the fan comes to my rescue.

Waiting for the elevator,
a minty breath drifts over the shoulder,
the noose around my neck chokes
gasps for breath and the heart pokes
the lights are incandescent inside
empty faces on the outside.

The tube-light and the guard flickers
People wearing strange monikers
floating close to the floor
a door opens, the stupor
he sashays along leaving them behind,
my eyes lose him and hope to find.

Clocks go by and the hours shiver
the cardigan shrugs off and the  lips quiver
a sudden surge of reason, cold air ,
aimlessly slides off my ruffled hair
witness  to the porcelain teapot stare,
bits an…