Of signs and miracles

We are always looking for a miracle, a sign that would help us believe, that would show us the way to give us hope, reinforce our shaken faith. When all is lost and there’s nothing we can do, there’s that hope for that one miracle to pull us through, a hope against all hope.

When we know not what to do, and are lost with no answer, perplexed what to do, we look for a sign to show us the way, to guide us where we need to go, what we need to do. Something small, nothing grand, is all we need to keep us going, to believe, to hold on to our beliefs, our faith. We seek a miracle, a healing, so that we may see and believe.

We seek miracles and signs and healing never truly realising each moment is a miracle in itself, each moment is a sign, a sign that we need to continue living, never giving up, never giving in, to continue to believe, and that time is the greatest healer, healing wounds, mending the brokenness in us.

I remember attending a healing service with mum and aunt, who was in the advanced stages of cancer. It is not that I believed in the healing, but I knew that it would give her hope in her darkness and despair, in her pain. And as the preacher came to bless her, she gave them a blank stare, and when they tried to make her stand she winced in pain, and let out a little shriek. I instinctively rushed to her side. And wheeled her out of the church, where I had people asking me if she was cured.

I am not too sure in what way was she cured, what way was she healed. A few weeks later she passed way, after living almost three and half years with cancer, longer than other people who had it at her stage. In a way you could say death was the healing touch she required, the soothing balm from the pain, cause no matter how much I tried to get her through another day I was only prolonging her pain. It may have hurt, but it was for the best.

No matter what, I have continued to believe in miracles and signs. But then I also believe that they are everywhere and happen all the time. We just need to know where to look and how to interpret them. But the  let not your beliefs, your hope, your be anchored on them. Just continue living cause life in itself is the greatest miracle, living it is the greatest sign.

Said I Love You... But I Lied

She had said yes and with it accepted that she was ready to say I do, but still something felt strange inside. She said I love you but she knew she had lied, cause what she felt was more than love.

She couldn’t bear to be away from him. A moment apart made her feel like a lifetime, leaving her counting down the minutes till they were together. She could give anything to be wrapped up in his arms, cause there she was safe, it was her home. She wanted to spend each waking moment with him. His was the last face she wanted to see at night, the first thing to see when she woke up in the morning.

She wanted to lay down by his side, all wrapped up in his arms, making the whole world slowly fade away, nothing else mattered, cause by his side was where she wanted to be, where she was meant to be. This was all novel to her, she had never felt this way before. All she wanted was the touch of his skin against. She loved the way it felt, his skin against hers, the smell of him, his peculiar musky smell.

She didn’t want to seem clingy, desperate, but she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help herself, she was falling deeper and deeper into the great abyss. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking of him, feeling insecure when she didn’t here from him, wondering if he felt the same way too. She just couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t shake this uneasy feeling when he was not with her. Though she scolded herself for overthinking, she couldn’t help but overthink every moment. 

She didn’t want to seem desperate or feel like a fool. But when she missed him she felt herself incomplete, felt an uneasy feeling within her. He had chipped away at her exterior, broken her down and melted her away, only to make her while once more. She had swore to never to let anyone rule her life, but then he was ruling her mind. She had not just given her heart to him, her life was his. She knew that he felt the same, or she hoped he felt the same. 

This certainly couldn’t be love. Love couldn’t be more beautiful and cruel at the same time. Even though she said I love you but she lied, cause this more than love she felt inside. She said I love you but was wrong, love could never be so strong.

A Runner in the Dark

We runners are kind of nocturnal animals, often waking at ungodly hours when the world is sound asleep, wrapped up in their dreams and their sheets, lovers arms. Waking up only to take to deserted parks and streets, where nothing stirs, not even a mouse (well scurrying rats would be more like it).

To beat heat and the crowded streets, or to avoid being trampled, or run over by the hustle and bustle, we dare to run in the pitch dark, when dawn is yet to break. In a hope of squeezing in that run before the world awakes, before we run out of time in our busy lives, our busy schedule, a risk we are willing to take.

So we take to the deserted parks and streets with our senses all heightened, always wondering what just brushed against our feet, was that a rat (yikes). A cat, or god save us if it something else. What is it that lurks in the shadows, making us all jumpy. What was that strange sound, what’s behind the dustbin? Always prepared for someone to jump us, mug us, the sole bakra running in the dead of the night, or a spirit looking for a soul to possess. Always trying to dodge those pesky strays that come barking, snapping at our heels, difficult to shake off.

Running in places like the national park can be stressful thing from being constantly worried of being mauled by the wilderness. Everything that glistens in the dark leaves us wondering if it’s some animal staring our way wondering, fool or food. Constantly trying to keep to the road, till the eyes adjust to the dark, stepping carefully lest to trip and fall (as I have a number of time). All leaving the mind distracted, and with it goes the form, the breathing pattern, foot strikes, leaving us too tensed to correct the mistakes we are prone to make. 

But then we continue to run till we see other souls taking to the streets, grateful at their sights, knowing we aren’t the only morons running in the dark. Grateful to know that it will be dawn soon and by that time we would done and dusted ready to take on the day.

Though we may fear the dark of the night we still take to the streets, the parks, to get that run in the still of the night. And by and by we get used to the the darkness around us, not letting it envelope us with fear. The strays too used to the sight of this running soul, giving up the thought of giving chase, just lazily lifting their heads to see the moron who has taken to the street while the whole world sleep. But then there’s nothing that will stop our running feet, not even the dark, the fear of the dark and all it beholds, cause we know they will not stand still.

Boy on a run: the raging mental debate

You wake each morning to the buzzing of your alarm, shaking you out of the la la land and into a raging debate with yourself. You question if you really need to put your body through the paces after all you have put it through during yesterday’s gym workout. Somehow you manage to win that debate. You brush your teeth and try to gulp down that black coffee, still a little groggy cause sleep has not totally abandoned you, just like a true friend. 

You fry the chicken and prepare the salad. You toss some lime into it and push it into the fridge. Once done, you don your running gear, grab your house keys and carry your water belt. As a routine you step outside your house and wear your shoes on the step, like you always do, either out of habit, or a superstitious running ritual. That’s when it hits you. That nagging thought that you’re forgetting something actually meant that you have forgotten something. You’ve left you earplugs at home. Too lazy to open the door and grab them you decide to forgo them for today.

So after some stretching, trying hard not  to use the adjective quick, you are off. Today’s speed intervals, 5 intervals of 4 minutes each, your mission, if you choose to accept it, yeah like you have a choice, is to do at least 800 meters in 4 minutes, trying to maintain a sub 4 pace. Doesn’t sound easy and it isn’t, and you don’t have your music to boot. So it’s just you and the sound your feet make and your thoughts.

The initial kilometre is just a warm up, getting yourself into the run. And then its off on the first interval. You try to pick a breathing rhythm that will help you maintain your pace that’s not laboured, not ragged. You look straight up and letting your chin lead you, like you have heard your app speaking to you before, which for some reasons doesn’t play any longer. 

You try to maintain your strides and your foot strikes, trying your hardest to land on your fore foot but somehow you keep striking with your heel. You play in your head all the advices that your received from the coaches and speedster, doing your best to correct your self and improve your form. Unfortunately you are the least technical person and very often what they have said has either flown over your head or just bounced off you.

Just like that your done with the first interval. You have two minutes to recover before the next four minutes of running. You try to bring your heart rate down. By now your breath is jagged and you struggle to get it normal. By now the humidity has reduced you to a puddle of sweat. Your tee makes you look like you have entered a wet tee competition, who knows you could even win it. Making you you feel like Mandakini under the waterfall.

After 2 minutes you are back to running, and just like that you are through the 2nd and 3rd intervals. You are halfway there. The heat and humidity are killing you, and you trying your best to maintain your breathing and wipe the sweat from your face. You visualise the speedsters you have been blessed to run with, to push you to inspire. The effortlessness with which they run, strides as smooth as silk, is a sight to behold and experience. You think of your fellow runner who without fail get in their runs while you struggle haul your lazy arse. You do it for yourself, to inspire you and through you, others. 

Come the 4th interval and you feel the fatigue hitting you, the heat tormenting you, sweat dripping, pouring out of every pore in your body. Is this the famous wall you’ve hit. You know your struggling and there’s a slope to come. You curse yourself under your breath. There’s no use of cursing the weather, it’s not going to change and it will not help. If only you didn’t wake up in the morning, you wouldn’t be suffering the heat and humidity, battling the elements and the fatigue that’s sleeping into your limbs. You wonder where did your speed do, if you ever had it, what has slowed you down? Was it the extra weight you have put on, the one you can’t shake off, like the Taylor Swift song, no matter how hard you try. Or is it age slowing you down, but then there are runners who are getting better with age and your trajectory is going in the opposite direction.

Finally you’re at the last interval, time to give it your all. But by this time fatigue has already set and you’re battling the elements. Your legs feel like Jell-O when you want them to feel like butter. At the same time adrenaline too kicks in, its go big or go home, anyway you’re heading home. You give your all and once dine, it’s time to cool down. 

As you still have a km to go you break into a slow jog. Reaching your garden you try to get in some core workout and stretches only to have your bacchas come around you and try to lick your sweat off. With that you have completed your run and it’s off to start a new day, albeit a bit tired from all the effort you put into your run.

The Judas Mystery

Who was judas? According to the gospels, Judas was the betrayer, who betrayed Christ for 30 silver pieces, betraying him with a kiss. Throughout the gospels, though not implicitly stated, or as per my interpretation, Judas appears to be a greedy, calculative man, who with his betrayal set in motion the passion and death of Christ. You can say that his actions made him one of the antagonist, if not the chief, of the gospel.

But still there’s this lingering question (again this is an interpretation, an observation, not a fact, and I am no theologian to interpret accurately, just a lay man’s interpretation) why did Judas truly betray Christ? Was greed the true motive for his betrayal? Was he truly the person he is seen to be in the gospel? After all he did realise his mistake and repented for it, trying to return it back the silver pieces he took for Christ.

Was he a disciple who was slowly disillusioned with Christ? Who felt that Christ was growing bigger than his purpose, overshadowing it. Was he someone who felt that Christ’s popularity was getting ahead of him losing sight of his mission, losing focus on the task at hand. Was he someone who believed that something needed to be done to bring some semblance of sense to what he interpreted as madness, something that would destroy their hard work. Much like the way Nathuram Godse felt about Gandhi.

Or was Judas the unfortunate soul who was marked from the beginning to betray Christ, destined to be one of the villains of the gospel, forever to be known as the betrayer, for no apparent fault of his. His actions were prophesied much before hand, by the prophets in the Old Testament, so his actions could be seen as a medium to fulfil these prophecies, in a way enabling the building of the foundation on which Christianity is built. A poor unfortunate soul.

So who was Judas? Was he the Betrayer, a disillusioned believer, or was he a poor soul destined to betray the Christ and forever to be seen in the negative, only to be forgotten who he truly was. So who was Judas will be something that we will never truly know, except what it’s in the gospels.

A Quietness Necessitation

The quiet can be very disquieting while noise can at times bring about fear along with irritation and annoyance. 

When you watch a movie where majority of the movie is in silence and dialogues are delivered in sign language, sound can be quite unnerving. When being as quiet as possible is the way of survival, of not being hunted down, noise amplifies fear. 

Imagine a situation where a woman goes into labour, gets pierced by a nail on the stairs, painful contraction, but can’t scream cause there’s a creature out there, who though blind has an acute hearing. Or you are trapped in house of a blind war veteran, whom you thought would be an easy target for a home invasion, but then you assumed wrong, and the hunter is now the hunted.

In all these scenarios remaining quiet is paramount, you can’t breathe, you can’t scream, cause it could mean death of you., the end of you. The quietness holds a razor sharp tension, it cuts through atmosphere like a knife. You can feel the tension in the air, the first noise can jarring, can jolt you, surprise you, could startle you, could fill you with a sudden fear.

Coming out of the theatre, every little sound feels like it has been amplified by several decibels, leaving you wondering whether would you’d be attacked for all the noise around you? But then you wished such creatures could attack the morons who mercilessly honk their horns, or think their bike noise is the most musical thing you’ll ever hear.

All said and done we could do with a little quiet. Not that we would be attacked for making noise, but because we need a little  quiet to hold on to our sanity.

All Quiet Uptown

She sat on the stone bench in the rain. It was all quiet up town, with only sound being the patter of the rain. She sat quietly by herself staring into space. The quietness was unsettling but it was what she needed right now, to find a little bit of peace and quiet, a little time to herself, to find herself.

She seemed calm but there was storm brewing within her. She felt all grey and gloomy like the weather around her. She appeared strong and collected but inside she felt shattered and falling to pieces. She was grateful to the rain cause it helped cover up the tears that streamed down her face.

What she would not give to see him once again, to hold him in arm once more. She would willingly trade places with him in a heartbeat so that she could have him here, in this world.

She had been so consumed by herself, her grief that she was guilty of ignoring him, though it had been unintentional, and now he’s gone and there’s nothing she could say or do to make up for it. She was so consumed by her pain, her grief, her betrayal that she didn’t see that he was hurting too, he felt betrayed too, shattered and heartbroken.

She saw him from her distance. He had betrayed her, broken her trust, brought her life crashing down on her, the partial cause of her pain. But the man she noticed coming towards her was broken, shattered, drooping. Gone was the ambitious and pompous man she had known, in its place was a grieving soul who had aged more with the pain of the outcomes of the past day. She thought she would never bring herself to forgive him for what he had done to her, but now somehow she felt sorry for the man who was coming towards her, cause somehow he was in the same boat as she was, sharing her grief. 

She had chosen him despite of he was, his short comings, his ambitiousness. Her family and friends had warned her that he would end up betraying her, hurting her, and he did as they had forewarned. She would never ever forgive him but now was not the time for it. They needed each other, they needed put aside what had happened between them and be there for each other in their moment of grief. 

He joined her on the stone bench, siting besides her,  holding the umbrella over her head providing some respite from the rain. She rested her head on his shoulder and he put his arms around her. They were two lonely souls bound by grief. Together they sat on the bench staring at the spot, the grave where they had just buried their first born.

The Honking Exasperation

You are trying to concentrate, focusing on the road ahead. You are one of those riders whose eyes and attention are constantly on the road, trying not to let your wandering mind, and eyes, shift from the road. You are determined and focused, totally in the zone. 

Out of nowhere comes the first blast of honking. You try to ignore the sound and continue to focus on the road but the honking doesn’t cease. You check your mirror wondering who the impatient moron is. You decide to give him way so he can go ahead and continue to honk behind someone else and leave you at peace to your riding. 

You come to a signal and like all two wheelers you try make your way between vehicles, making the most of every inch given to you till can go no further. And again you here that incessant honking. To your utter dismay it’s the moron once again behind you. You wonder what more way you can give him, considering the signal is still red and there is no further you can go. You feel like turning around and giving him the finger.

You wonder if every blast of his blessed horn is giving him some sort of high, a release of endorphins, vibration to his G-spot (if he did have one) leading to an orgasmic climax. He seemed so passionate about honking, wished he had more of common sense than passion, alas he lacked that. 

The signal turns green and you let him go before you so he can go ahead and be pain behind someone else. He went ahead  continuing with his incessant honking as if in love with the sound. You are glad to be left alone to yourself and the road. 

Once again you hear a another blast that shatters your concentration. Something that would bring the dead to life, something you hear on the highway. You wonder if it’s a huge truck behind you, only to find a puniy rickshaw blasting it’s horn.

Suddenly your ears becomes conscious to all the honking around you. People who are more passionate about their horns than they are of following the rules. For whom their horn is a sweet melody that needs to be shared  with all. Every honk is met with a louder response not bothering where they were, whether they were in a silent zone or not.

When you finally arrive at your destination you are totally exasperated with all the honking that it driven your poor nerves to its limits. You glad to have made before you lost it. But then Just as you are parking suddenly you hear another honk, the final straw, all you want to beat up the moron but then it’s just your friend trying to catch your attention, who then becomes the recipient of a series of colourful words.

The Single Boy in the City

It’s not easy being a single boy in the city. Yayaya, I can here the laughter, or may be it’s just the voices in my head, I can imagine you keeling over in peels of laughter. Never mind my age, for this write up I will refer to myself as a boy.

And you thought only single ladies had it bad and men could get away with it. Well think again, we men have it bad too but it may not be the same level of bad. There isn’t a day where there isn’t some auntie, someone, who wants to see me married off, who is concerned why I am not getting married.

“Baba don’t you want to to get married? Don’t you want someone to keep mumma company, to look after her?” But what about baba, auntie, I feel like asking them.  Why should I marry for mumma? How do you know the one I marry will keep her company and look after her? I that was a case I would prefer to keep a caretaker for Maa. 

The sole purpose of these people is to see you married off. They made it their life’s vision and mission to remind you this every time you see them. I don’t think they like me Happy. I wonder if they would like their daughters to look after their mother-in-laws, I wonder if their daughters would be interested in taking care of someone else’s mother. In all fairness, it would be unfair to expect that from someone.

Then you have another set of people who live to gossip, who can’t help themselves in spreading rumours. If an empty, idle mind is a devil’s workshop then  they have a whole manufacturing unit in their head. Cause they have nothing better to do and their head is empty and their brains have turned into mulch.

Who I choose to meet, to hang about, to help and support is my choice that doesn’t mean that I am seeing them or having an affair with them or going around, hooking up with them. How I wish they kept their perverse, narrow minded thoughts to themselves. 

I guess they subscribe to the Rajishri school of thought, ek ladka aur ladki kabi dost nahin ho sakte hain, or is it the KJo school thought, whatever, god save their souls. Just when you thought that such people only exist in Hindi serials, they surprise you with their absurd thoughts.

So there you have it, two sets of people who you really wish had something better to do, something better to spend their energy on and let you live life the way you want it. Or may be they just can’t see you happy, your happiness burns them with envy.

You try to let their mindless questions and gossips roll off you, but sometimes they do effect you, no matter how hard you try and not let it affect you. Ao you put down this write up to rant about it, in a way.

The Ambassador Quandary

Let’s face it, even though you may not acknowledge it, flat out deny it, but in your hearts of hearts you want it, long for it, pine for it, pray for it, like the desert praying for rains. You want to be known, if not famous, you don’t want to be just another face in the crowd, but definitely not infamous.

So when you are selected to be one of the Ambassador of the IDBI Federal Life Insurance Mumbai Half Marathon, for 2018, (phew that was quite a lot of words to type) you let a big wooohooo, because you have finally made it. But then you ask your self what did you do to deserve this honour (if not accolade... but then for someone like me it amounts to something like it)? This replaces the previously silly niggling question, what do I need to do become an ambassador (come on, I know you too must have thought about this)?

Perplexing and confounding as it sounds (and downright silly) let me try and analyse what could possibly have led to me being selected for this profound honour (ok now I sound like a typical Miss India... but hey let’s go with the flow) not just for my sake but for the sake of every person whose brains are definitely getting fried with this burning question (and for some... why him and not me... Us may kya hain jo muj main nahi (wow I am seriously trying to flex my silly Hindi)). So for these poor lost, perpetual envious souls, let’s analyse. 

Being a runner, the first requirement would be podium finisher. But hey I have yet to get my podium. Still waiting for it, hoping for it, longing for it, praying for it. Maybe I just need to hit the big four oh and then I get to compete with the seniors, people more or less my age, may be then I could stand any chance (come on, I can’t run at the speed of runners  half my age and let’s face it, I am not getting faster with age). The only time I stood on the podium was in school when I ran track and I don’t think anyone knows about it (or do they now).

Another possibility is being an ultra runner. But hey I haven’t run anything beyond 42km and that too I have struggled (still smarting from not completing my 42 at TMM), and I have shied and refrained from all the 12 hour and 24 hours runs. So this is definitely not the reason for my selection.

Another point of contention would be popularity. But hey as compared to my fellow ambassadors I don’t think I am that popular, or so I think (just not trying to be humble). Yep I have seen a spike in the number of friend requests on Facebook and follow request on Instagram but really I don’t think I have a dedicated followers. Heck I have just one follower for my blog. So I am not sure if popularity has anything to do with my selection.

Another reason, which I can think of, is being an inspiration. But then I don’t have no inspirational story to tell. I haven’t had to overcome adversity or had dramatic weight loss. Dang I am still trying to loose weight but it doesn’t want to get lost at all. My life is definitely not what inspirations are made of, in fact it is far from it. But then I do find joy cheering others on and seeing friends finish on the podium.

Shoot it seems like I am running out of reasons to analyse but I am still far from the true reason. It feels like the truth is out there but it is eluding me. Dang I am even begun to be over dramatic about it.

Well two people who can surely throw light on this predicament (hey this is not my predicament). Maybe I can ask Sunil Sir or Sangeeta ma’am (or just ask both of them) on why did they choose me, cause the nation wants to know, ok ok, not the nation just curious people, me included. So till I get their response, I will revel in my newfound popularity, as well as responsibility, while those who envy can eat their heart out.... just kidding.

Alfie: Not your typical love story

I have known Alfie since we were little but the one standing in front of me bore no resemblance to the boy I had once known. Gone was the happy-go-lucky, friendly child and it’s place was a sullen, withdrawn, rebellious youth. There was not a single shred of the boy I had spent my childhood days with, the boy I had spent so much of my growing up with, the boy who I was totally inseparable from. My best friend forever.

They said that his family fell on hard times and they moved to a cheaper, poorer part of town. That was the last I heard from or saw Alfie. Their departure sent the rumour mills in overdrive. There were talks of dishonest dealings, investigations, dealings with the mob that had gone sour, abuse, affairs, bad investments. Rumour seemed to be swirling everywhere. I was too little to even care. What I did care about was about my friend who I missed dearly. The boy who I saw was someone else. Though most of his childhood features were gone there was still something familiar about him. 

From the moment I saw him I knew that he would be preyed upon by the jocks, the snobs, the princesses and the brats, the queen bees and their sidekicks and their minions. He didn’t conform to their standards and refused to bend to their ways. They targeted him with their meanness, their tricks and pranks and spread rumours about not just him but also of his past. For them he was an itch they needed to scratch off. They spread all sorts of rumours speculating on what brought him back to town.

They tried to break him but he refused to be broken. He stood up to them, always ready to take them head on. He challenged them and their position, much to their annoyance as they hated to be challenged. This made them even more mean. Sometimes I wondered what would I have done if I had found myself in his place. I am sure I would have cracked under all that meanness. That made me admire him even more.

But despite of all my admiration I found myself guilty of not standing by my friend. Maybe it was the fact that I was one of them and mixing with him would get me disgraced and disowned. This would not be what I wanted and would not bode well with the family too. 

I stood by, a mute spectator of their meanness, never joining them but at the same time not stopping them. So it may have hurt to see and hear them slandering him and spread false truth but I didn’t do much to stop it, at first. 

But I came to a point where I couldn’t be a mute spectator any longer. Maybe it was the age old friendship kicking in, or the feeling of protectiveness towards someone dear to me, or something that I just couldn’t figure out what. Nonetheless I tried my best to make him understand their ways and then began intervening, where I could, trying my best to ensure that things didn’t get out of hand. Much to the annoyance of all the parties. He warned me that he didn’t need my support, not knowing that he needed it. Sometimes I wondered what would I need to do to thaw this icy exterior to find the friend I once knew underneath it? What did I need to do to make up for all the time we had lost?

At the same time his grades were not too good so I was assigned to tutor him (good for me and bad for him as he was trying to avoid me). Initially he was resistant to this saying that he didn’t need any help but later on grudgingly accepted that he needed it. During this period I felt we did make progress, albeit a slow one, in reconciling. Slowly but steadily I got glimpses of the friend I once knew. His grades did improve and he became a bit more cordial to others and others more accepting towards him, he even made a few friends. But more importantly was that we were getting to spend time with each other and this time was helping us rekindle the bond we once knew. 

Then one evening, while I was returning from my grocery shopping, I heard a ruckus in the parking lot. When I reached the spot from where the noise was coming from, I found him being held back and beaten up by a group of jocks who had had it in from the day he refused to tow the line and back down to them. They were throwing punches at him while a couple of their minions held him back. They mocked him, taunted him. He winced in pain with every blow but still tried to free himself from the hands that held him back. 

I dropped my grocery bag and ran to his side pushing away his attackers, shoving them away. They taunted me too and warned me that there would be dire consequences for my action. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t care what they had to say. I threw in a couple of blows and landed a couple of punches on the intended target. I freed him and together we fought them off. They ran away with their tails between their legs but not before they hurled a few abuses, taunts and curses at me.

This was the first time I had been in a street fight and it felt exhilarating. Could feel the chill and excitement of the fight. I could feel the adrenaline pumping in my vein. In a strange way I felt more alive than I have ever felt before. A glorious sense of victory, even if it was only just a small one.

I turned to see if he shared the same sentiment as I did. I saw him bent over trying to catch his breath. There were a few bruises where they had rained blows on him. There was a cut on his lip that was bleeding. I reached out to him to check and see if he was alright. He pushed my hand and shoved me. “Why did you do that,” he said angrily, “why did you put yourself in harms way, you could have got hurt.” “I don’t mind that, I am not afraid of them or their threats,” I said hottily, “You needed my help and I was there to help you.” 

“I didn’t need your help,” he said angrily, I could sense the anger growing in him and this perplexed me. “I could have easily handled them myself, I didn’t need any help from you. What do you care?” “Well I could see that,” I said with a  growing annoyance that was threatening to boil over, “I could see how well you were handling them. They outnumbered you and you needed my help. Don’t you see that I care for you. You were my best friend and I want that friend of mine back. You need my help and I came to your aid”

“If you cared so much where were you all these years, where were you when I needed my friend the most,” he said finally bringing down the wall that he had built around himself, “when I was used and abused, physically and mentally. When I was in a dark place and needed my friend but I had none,” he said trying desperately to fight back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

“If I would have only known,” I said trying to find the right words to say but struggling because in a way I was hurting through this revelation. “But I was only a child, what could I do? Who would have believed me?” 

“Bullshit,” he said angrily, “that was the thing that I told myself too and let the abuse continue. People knew about it, your parents knew about it but chose not to do anything about it. They just looked the other way.”

I looked at him stunned, beginning to sob myself. “If only I would have know I would tried to do something, I would have done something, anything.” I said with tears welling up in my eyes too.

“No child should go through what I had to go through.” He said through the tears. “I was scared and in pain knowing not what to do. People just used and abused me taking advantage of our situation. I even contemplated on put ending it all but couldn’t find the strength to go through with it. I thought that things would improve coming back to the setting I once knew and felt safe. But things didn’t get better. Friends I once knew, turned on me making my life a greater hell than it already is. They treated me like a pariah dog.”

He finally broke down. Here he was a person who I had learned to care about, who I cared about, all broken and wounded and aching badly. Nothing that I could say would soothe the pain he felt. So I did what I knew would be the best. I just hugged him, a warm, tender hug, a way of telling him that I cared for him and would not let anything bad happen to him, cause everything will alright, eventually. I pulled him towards and held on to him tightly. He sobbed bitterly as he buried his face in the embrace, I on my path tried to hold it together and not let my emotions show, not for him, trying my best to comfort him.

We stood that way for quite a while, how long I couldn’t tell, two souls in their own way trying to comfort each other, in a warm embrace. I finally broke the embrace and took his face in my hand. His eyes were red from the tears but grateful to have poured it all out. I wiped away the tears that stained his face. In that moment he stared in my eyes and saw the emotions that I was feeling, damn my eyes for betraying me, and in that moment he leaned forward and kissed me. For a second I was taken aback with what happened, not knowing what to do. But then my feelings for Alfie took over me and I kissed right back.

So there we were, two souls standing in the dark parking, sharing a tender moment. The warm embrace had made way to a passionate kiss, laying emotions bare, raw and right there. For those moments we didn’t care for the world around us, didn’t care if anyone would see us and what would they say, at least not at the time. We were lost in the moment.

I was the first to come out of the moment, and with it came the realisation of what transpired in those moments. Not knowing what to do panic set in. All I wanted was to get out of the place, escape the moment. I just left him standing there wondering what had gotten in me to cause a total 180 degree flip from what had happened just a few moment ago. Left him feeling hurt and confused.

For the next couple of days I tried my best to avoid him, to avoid anyone. I started to feel ashamed of what happened. What if someone saw us? What would they say? I knew there were enough that happened to get the rumour mills running overtime. I cancelled our tutoring sessions and bunked lectures saying I was not feeling too well, had caught a bug. I couldn’t bring myself to face anyone, to face him. Whenever there were people whispering, looking at me, I wondered if they were talking about us and what happened between us making me even more paranoid, making me want to run for the hills, bury my head in the sand, to stay in my room and refuse to come out.

I avoided his calls, finding some excuse or the others to avoid it. But as time went by I began to realise the foolishness of my behaviour. My behaviour was pretty immature and uncalled for and only ended  hurting and damaging the both of us. So I made the call and agreed to meet him at the local coffee house.

When I saw him sitting there, waiting for me arrive, I felt a dagger go through my heart, felt the burden with the guilt. He was sad and broken and hurt and tensed and I was to blame for it. He must have been crying all night as the colour had drained from his face. It seemed like he aged in those few days.

When he saw me, he smiled feebly, trying to smile, trying to put on an act. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me,” he said, “I thought you would never want to see me after what happened between us. Trust me I don’t know what got in me.” His voice betrayed the pain he was feeling although he tried hard not to show it but you could see the pain in his eyes, you could feel it in his words. “I am sincerely sorry for my actions,” he said, making me feel all the more guilty, “You were kind to me and stood by me when others taunted me,  mocked me, ridiculed me, spread rumour about me. And I did this to you. I do not want to loose your friendship cause  it means the world to me, even though I may not show it. I am glad you never gave up on even when I was indifferent towards you.”

“If I may dare to say this,” he finally said with hope replacing the pain in his eye, “can we forget what happened and continue to be friends?” He said hopefully.

I looked at him, trying to find the words I wanted to say, I needed to say. “It won’t be easy to forget what happened but we always can and need to move on,” I said slowly, measuring my every words. “I worship I could  but I know I can’t, we can’t take back what happened but what we can do is to try to makes sense of it and what it means.”

“I too owe you an apology,” I said, “ I have treated you badly and there’s no logical excuse for it. What happened caught me by surprise and I ended up not handling it too well. I really care about you and the truth be told, I like you too. What happened caught me unaware. It was spontaneous, it was beautiful, but it also scared the bejesus out of me, left me feeling all confused.”

“As I said, I do like you, but what this is I don’t know. I have never felt like this before, definitely not for any guy, “ I said truthfully, “But I really care for you and you too mean a lot to me. I am not sure what this is but what I do know is that this is definitely not a silly infatuation, there’s some attraction.”

As I said this I could see a smile break on his face, a first for him in a while, I guessed. Seeing him smile brought a sense of relief to me, and I smiled too. “I don’t know where this will lead us, will leave us,” I said, “but I do know that that I will be there for you whenever you need me. I promise to be by your side at all times as your friend, and we can see where this will lead us. So would you be my friend?”

“Of course I will,” he said, smiling from ear to ear, “You are the best thing to happened to me in a while, the best thing that has ever happened to me. A bright light in my darkest day, my knight in shining armour.”

“Ok ok,” I said, unable to hold back a laughter, “I am definitely not all that. But I am honoured that you feel that way. So now with your permission can we order coffee and something to eat, I am famished from all this talking.”

“Of course we can,” he said joining the laughter, for the first time in a while looking all the more adorable, all the more handsome. And I swear he looked even younger as a tension lifted from his face.

So there you have it, an atypical beginning to a not very typical love story.