He was lost in thought that day. Too quiet for the unstoppable force of freedom of speech that he embodied to the spirit of the letter.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I read something. Not nice." He simply looked away, staring into nothing.
"Well... Do you want to tell me what it is?" I asked, participating.
I reached out and took his hand. Took his right palm and held it again my cheek like he liked to do.
He shot a blank smile at me. "It's nothing."
I got irritated at him patronizing me. My face didn't hide that one bit.
"Tell me."
He gazed at me, this time with a look of enquiry.
"Do you really want to know?"
I stared back, concerned.
"They say that when they amputate a part of your body, pain remains. It's called Phantom Pain." He said, distraught.
"I don't understand this." I did not pretend otherwise.
"Your brain thinks there's still the organ that was amputated and sends instructional signals to that part of your body. Your nervous system is so used to stimuli that it triggers familiar responses, only for the organ to fail your nervous system. That results into pain that is very very real."
"Why would you think about such things?" I said part dismissive, part trying to change the subject.
"Does it not bother you?" He asked, concerned.
"It bothers you enough for the two of us."
I forced his hand around me and burrowed into him.
"I don't like it when you think so much." I said with a concerned childish headstrongness.
He simply half smiled, amused.
.
.
.
He was supposed to leave the next morning. I had a strange, incisive feeling in my stomach.
I liked him, didn't I?
Then why did I have this gut feeling that I was never going to see him again?
He was his usual bubbly self, being ever the gregarious one throughout the evening. I too pretended that we had not been fighting the last few weeks.
I looked at him over my glass of water. For a moment, I just stared at him. His throaty laughter was so real, so passionate, so him. His dimples fascinated me and I drank that memory one last time.
"Let's go." I said. "I'm getting late."
He got onto his bike and I jumped up on the pillion. The pit in my stomach now transformed into uncontrollable silent tears.
I leaned into him from behind and let go my tears silently. I knew I was seeing him last, but he wasn't. I could not let him know that. Tiny mercy.
We neared my place and I got off. He pulled me with one hand into him and kissed my cheek. "I'll see you before you realize..!" He whispered, breathing down my neck.
"Of course." I looked straight into his eyes and lied.
.
.
.
"I am barely able to cope up here. Everyone's smarter than me. Everyone parties wildly, they want me to do that too. I thought I would make it to my dream company, but not even the next hundred took me. And you... You broke up with me less than 10 days ago in the middle of all this? Do you have no heart?"
He lashed out at me. I listened to him, emotionless.
I felt empty, vacuumed out. I gave him all I could.
There was nothing more. Not even empathy.
I knew anything I would say would hurt him. Or he would twist it enough for it to hurt him. I stayed silent, knowing him better.
"Say something. Now."
I didn't.
"SAY SOMETHING. NOW." He bellowed.
"I am here. I don't know how to make it better for you. You're miles away and I don't even understand half the things you're saying. I don't know how to deal with it or how to make you feel better."
"DO YOU NOT CARE? Did I not mean anything to you?"
I stayed silent again, empty. Not knowing what to say, not wishing to hurt him either.
"Do you like someone else?" He asked defeated.
I remained silent.
"Do you like him?" He asked again.
We both knew whom he referred to. We both knew the answer.
We both knew he'd opened Pandora's Box.
.
.
.
Many years later, we got in touch again.
I was heartbroken by the love of my life. He was married.
'You're my Phantom Pain.' He never said.
I heard.
I stayed silent.
