Adiós: Leave a Sign Ere You Vanish | By Debesh Paul
The monsoon sighs outside, a melancholic lament mirroring the ache in my chest. Raindrops race down the windowpane, blurring the world into a watercolour wash of greys and blues. This room, once a haven filled with the music of your laughter and the warmth of your presence, now feels like a stranger’s attic, haunted by the ghosts of whispered promises and stolen moments.
We were a symphony, you and I, a melody woven from stolen glances across crowded bookstores and whispered dreams under starlit skies. We built a world within these walls, a world where worn floorboards sang stories of clumsy night dances and chipped mugs held countless cups of chai shared in comfortable silence. It was in the ordinary that I found the extraordinary — the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the nervous way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the symphony of clinking bangles on your wrist as you stirred a pot of simmering curry.
Oh, those bangles. The rhythmic jingle, a constant lullaby to my soul. I used to trace the intricate designs etched on their gold surface, mesmerized by the way they caught the light, mirroring the way your smile could ignite a thousand suns within me. They were my compass, those bangles, a constant reminder of the warmth that radiated from your hand nestled comfortably within mine. Our fingers, a perfect puzzle, their touch a silent conversation that spoke volumes more than any whispered words ever could.
Love, they say, blooms in the grand gestures, the sweeping declarations, the passionate embraces beneath a fireworks display. But for me, it bloomed in the quiet slurping of your ramen noodles, a sound both comical and endearing. It was in that moment, bathed in the fluorescent glow of a cheap diner, surrounded by the cacophony of the city, that I knew. You were my home, a place where imperfections were embraced and laughter filled the air like the scent of spices. You slurped your noodles with a charming clumsiness that sent a jolt straight to my heart. It was a peculiar love story, fueled by a shared love for savory broth and the way a stray noodle clung to your lips for a fleeting moment.
As the night deepened, we strolled hand-in-hand through the bustling market, a silent dialogue spoken in the language of intertwined fingers. Like ancient roots reaching for each other, our fingers whispered stories of forever under the twinkling canopy of stars. I used to tease you, a nervous habit fueled by the fear of losing you, “If you ever leave, love, leave a piece of yourself behind. A fallen piece of Jhumka or A forgotten Chunri with your aroma, or maybe A single Bangle from your collection. They’d be silent witnesses of our love, wouldn’t they? The Jhumkas, adorned with the whispers of a thousand ‘I love yous’ I’ve breathed into your ear. The Chunri, a testament to how I shielded you from every storm. And the Bangles, oh, the bangles, they would remember the warmth of our hands intertwined, the unspoken language of love flowing between us.”
But silence was your final word, a deafening roar in the absence of your voice. No single Jhumka remained, no glimmering echo of our whispered secrets. No discarded Chunri, no testament to the fierce protectiveness I felt for you. No shattered Bangle, no reminder of the way our hands were a language only we spoke. Just a hollowness that reverberates with a thousand unspoken questions. Did my love not bloom brightly enough for you to see? Was the universe we built just a figment of my hopeful imagination? Were my “I love yous” mere echoes lost in the wind, unheard by your heart?
They say time heals all wounds. But time, in your absence, stretches into a torturous eternity. The clock’s relentless tick feels like a hammer blow to my already fractured spirit. Will the warmth ever return to my hands, the ones that ached for yours in the quiet moments? Will my heart ever learn a new rhythm, a melody not laced with the bittersweet ache of your memory?
The silence grows, a suffocating shroud that steals the very breath from my lungs. You left, without a goodbye, without a single word to explain the gaping hole you ripped from the fabric of my existence. The lingering scent of jasmine on your pillow mocks me, a cruel reminder of a love story left unfinished, its pages fluttering in the nonexistent breeze. And in this deafening absence, I am adrift, a solitary star yearning for its lost constellation. The embers of our love may have been extinguished, but the memory of your warmth lingers, a flickering flame in the desolate landscape of my heart. The rain continues to fall, a relentless torrent mirroring the tears that fall unseen, a testament to a love lost and a future forever altered.
As I navigate through the wreckage of our love, I am reminded that some stories are destined to remain unfinished, some wounds destined to remain unhealed. Yet, amidst the pain and the longing, I find solace in the memories we shared, in the moments of pure joy and unconditional love. Though she may have left without a farewell, her presence lingers in the whispers of the wind, in the warmth of the sun, in the depths of my heart. And perhaps, in time, I will find the courage to bid her farewell, to release her from the confines of my longing and set her spirit free.
Contact Me:
If you’ve resonated with my story or simply wish to connect, feel free to reach out to me via email at debeshp6@gmail.com. I welcome your thoughts, your stories, and the pieces of your own journey that you’re willing to share. Let us find solace in each other’s words, in the shared understanding that we are never truly alone in our experiences of love and loss.
Warm Regards,
Debesh
