It is not Love-PART (2/2)

First things first. First parts first. So, here is the one for this longer short story.

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I do not think I should have had written that letter in the first place. And even if I had, I should have been responsible enough to at least make sure that the right letter was in the right envelope. How could I be this stupid!

My stomach feels sick at the thought of a letter for my fiancé in Josephine’s hand, and for Josephine in my fiancé’s. I wrote the right letters but sent to the wrong people. This must be the dumbest thing I ever did.

I’m not worried what my fiancé would read, but what Josephine would, is perturbing. I can only wish that she never received the letter. But that is far from happening, I know. In fact, as silly and weird it might sound, just today I felt, yes, I felt, that she has received the letter. The Letter she must never have received. The Letter that holds things which she should never have read. The Letter that holds my bare heart in it. The Letter that says it was never love, but it never felt like friendship either. The Letter that says things I never intended to tell her, things I couldn’t tell her, things I was entitled to keep deep in my heart, things only I should have known.

What I and Josephine held was way more than a bond of friendship; it was a bond yet unnamed, yet unrecognized. With her by my side, I felt what I should have; completely acceptable form of feeling for a friend by society. She held me strong at my weakest, high at my lowest, and happy at my saddest.

Having met my fiancé, two years back, in a concert, it was love at first sight, for her. For me? It was gradual. I took my time and realized that I should give it a chance, should give myself a chance. Just that one chance, and see where I am today – I’m getting married next month. Josephine might have had come had I sent the letter, which was meant for her, with an invitation in there.

Our song still reminds me of Josephine. How she had mocked me to hide what had just happened then. She always does that, I had thought, always tries to hide behind the façade of a smile and a laugh to hide any vulnerable emotion.

Not attending her marriage, their marriage, was partly an emergency, partly a conscious decision. I always wanted to see her happy. What better opportunity than her marriage could have been to witness the fair share of happiness she must have been experiencing? But what about the yet unnamed bond that I shared with her? I couldn’t face her with her husband on her side. Don’t take me wrong. I was happy for her. I very much was. But it’s just I thought, how do I put it here, that, you know, that she deserved someone better.

I miss Josephine. I miss her whenever I hear our song, whenever I see a clear night sky glistening with sparkly stars, whenever I meet somebody brunette with eyes as grey and smile as bright as hers.

She did what I never even thought she could ever do. Leaving her whole life behind, she moved thousands of miles away from her family, her country, from me. Without being selfish, I just wanted to advise her once, advise her to not to take such a drastic step. And the best, or was it the worst I should say, part was I knew she would have listened to me, she wouldn’t have gone, she trusted my instincts, she trusted me. But it was any instinct this time; it was just Sam who didn’t want Josephine to be gone. Once gone, he knew, that would be it.

My fiancé loves me and if she decides to call off our marriage, I wouldn’t mind a bit. But how would that happen now, with wrong letter in her hand! I’m the one who ruined it for us, for her. She loved me with all her heart and I couldn’t even give her a piece of mine. In secrecy, I still missed Josephine. In secrecy, I used to listen to our song. In secrecy, I used to sit by my window to gaze out in the sky, which, as often was the case, used to be as freckled with stars and disturbed by the interrupting clouds as was my heart this whole time. Was I cheating on my fiancé? Was it even possible to cheat on somebody with a memory?

‘Sam?’ A voice shook me. It is my fiancé downstairs.

I run down and a glance at her reminds me what made me stick around her this long, and what would be enough for me to stay here for as long as possible. The first time I saw my fiancé, this brunette head with grey eyes and a smile as bright as any, I knew I had to stay away. I resisted my best. But I couldn’t succeed. I gave up one day.

I gaze at her. For how long, I cannot say. But I gazed and wondered. Shall I tell her? Shall I tell her she deserves somebody better? What should I do?

She squeezes my hand and hugs me. Her happiness rubs over me and I smile too. Smile on the fact that perhaps this was how it was supposed to be, that this was how I and Josephine were meant to be, that this was how we both were meant to end.

It never was love. It never was friendship either. What was that unnamed bond? What was it?

IF YOU ARE A FIRST-TIME VISITOR OF MY BLOG, DO REFER ‘First-Timers’. IT WOULD HELP YOU IN EXPLORING THE PLACE.

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