Prologue of Not a Love Story

I was lying on my bed. Thinking about something. I heard a sudden sound of unlocking the door. Once again I forgot to lock the door. Someone opened the door halfway. Someone was peeping from there. I wanted to see who it is.  I wanted to ask who this is. But my throat seemed choked. I tried to get up from my bed but felt like I stuck to the bed with glue. My legs felt numb. I was feeling completely drained from energy. I tried once more to do the same but still no voice came out from my mouth and no energy to get up.

Someone was talking in front of my door and there was complete darkness. I hated darkness. Darkness makes me think of her. Her memories start to flash in front of my eyes on darkness.

Someone pushed the door to full open. The door was open now both ways but still no sign of anyone.

“A ghost?” I thought. I was an atheist, I didn't believe on god or ghost either.

“Fuck the ghost, if there is any.” I thought in my mind.

The sound of their conversation increased further and it seemed to be known voices. Both of them. My mind was numb to correlate the sound with their owners. They were talking less and laughing a lot. Like they were enjoying their conversation in full.

I got a glimpse of one of them. Fuck! It was Poorvi. The numbness was less now. I could feel she was there. In a while they both were visible. I can see them clearly now but unable to do anything. My body was still not in a state to move. The other one was Akhil. They were kissing right in front of me.

The door was open and I was seeing them doing so. I was seeing them kissing. I was seeing the girl I last loved kissing the Mother fucking bastard, my biggest enemy. But I was not able to do anything even if I was trying a lot to do something. But every try was like forcing a wall and try to move it from its place, nearly impossible.

She was facing me. She was kissing him and looking at me. I wanted to punch him till he died. I tried to gather all the energy I had to make myself out of the bed and finally I succeeded. But there was no one there now.

I was breathing heavily. Realizing it was a nightmare. There was a time when nightmares of her was a general thing for me but now it was no more. Maybe because I forget the void that she had created. But my heart knew there is still a void. And her come back in my life pump that void again.

I wanted her back but not needed her anymore. I wanted to cry in that moment but I couldn't. My eyes were refusing to flow even a drop of tear for her. I took my cigarette box and the car keys. Locked the door and drove towards my favorite place. Where no one can be around. Only me and the silence. It had been 3 years since I last came here. I had accepted my fate. But today I was doing everything which I have done when she left me for my bastard best friend.

It took me 15 minutes’ drive to be there. Generally, it took more than 30 minutes to be there but the night in Delhi are always known for no traffic. Delhi loves to sleep at night.

I was in one of the holy religious places in Delhi. The dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin. It is a very old dargah located near the Nizamuddin railway station. As it was one of the holy places, it never shuts down and people there are always ready to offer you if you are in some need. Especially if you are searching for mental peace then this place is just made for it.

I was an atheist, not completely but a part of me don't believe on the profound statues, I believed only in power. I loved to visit these places. Gurudwaras, dargahs, I was very close to these places. Yeah, I never visited any Hindu temple. Nor I did any worship or even lit up any incense or something like that in front of any god after Poorvi left me.

I entered the premises. The whole premises scented differently as always. The chants for the power. The Sufis singing for their holy beliefs. They are the truest lover of power. They don't love God for anything else. They just love God because they want only God and every child of God.

I searched for a place which was a bit alone. There was only a girl sitting there. I asked her to move herself a little. She turned towards me. It was Komal. I was shocked. I was stunned seeing her there. How much I know her she hated the dargahs. She was an anti-Muslim. Seeing her in Hazrat Nizamuddin dargah was really a surprise to me. She pulled my hand to sit down before I could have asked about her being here.

“What are you doing here?” I asked surprisingly.

“You are not the only one who get hurt. Everybody get hurt by someone they had died for. Everyone is so hurt in the past that we don’t accept the present fearing it will hurt in the future.” She replied with tears in her eyes.

I was speechless. The girl whom I always saw happy and cool was crying in front of myself.

Everyone have a story but while some people choose to make it public, some people choose to keep it private. Everyone cries. Even if they are cold hearted. There is always a reason for being the person we are which is always unknown to the normal people.