Fictional curry, longing, Love

And we moved on

On the night you came to my house, I thought something really bad had happened. My sister opened the door, and told me you were standing outside, crying.
I rushed to the entrance and when our eyes met, you held my hand and I remember you saying something very silly.
“I got married…,” you said, stammering, “…today”. It sounded silly because I obviously refused to believe that. I was right. You were drunk and so drunk, that you imagined you had attended your own wedding, instead of your friend’s.
We laughed about it the next day. But even as I was pulling your leg about the incident, you interrupted and said something sweet.
“You know why I cried?” you asked.
“No.” I was still laughing.
“I couldn’t have imagined marrying anyone, but you.”
That’s what you said, or that’s what I thought I heard. We were still just friends then, so I couldn’t hide how shocked I was. But I ignored you because it just seemed like the right thing to do.
Months later, I remember us sitting at your table, playing a game of scrabble, and you looking perplexed.
I asked what happened, and you said, “I don’t have great letters.”
“Yay! I think I have my dibs on a win here,” I said.
You were very engrossed though, either staring at your letters, or at the board, going back and forth, refusing to give up.
Minutes later, you smiled. You threw one glance at me, and then back at the letter board. You added a “Y” above my O, and “U” below my O. My letter was LOVE.
“I stiindexll beat you to the score,” I said.
“But I managed to Love You.”
I can’t for the life of me remember who won the game, probably that’s how lost I was. Never until then, had scrabble blown me away.
After that game, nothing of real consequence happened. Seasons came and went. Three summers just died, so did the winters, one bitter and many bland. I had forgotten about that incident and even about you.
You went somewhere, and said you were not hoping to return. I was with somebody else, and he really wanted to marry me. He was probably waiting for me to say “yes”. But, despite all that, we were going fine.
And then I saw you at the supermarket one day, scanning through pickles, along with a friend. She was petite, but had surprisingly broad shoulders. Your long hands wrapped her arms as she picked up some bottle. Her face was pleasing and beautiful, and she did not look anything like me.
Your presence riled me, and I could not tell why.
I was about to walk away, when you happened to see me from the corner of your eye.
It was stupid to behave like we didn’t know each other, so despite feeling awkward, I came towards you.
“Hey…long time,” you said.
I did not think you deserved a Hi, so I instead blurted, “I am getting married.”
I lied. And that was such a shame.
“Oh!,” you muttered.
You reached out for my hand to congratulate me, but as soon as you held it, I realised that you weren’t letting go.
“Your palm feels so cold,” you said looking intently into my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I released my fingers from your grip and tightly held on to my dress as if trying to hold on to the lie, wary of being exposed and stripped naked of this farce.
Suddenly, my eyes welled up with tears. I wish I had held myself together because your friend or may be your girlfriend was looking at me. She gave me a reassuring smile, so I did not feel too bad.
I walked out of the store, thinking of what you had once said:
“I couldn’t have imagined marrying anyone, but you.”

Standard