The Song of Ache

Same night when I am in forty winks, I apprehend a song. Soon, I realise that it is the same song that she used to hum. Once, I recorded it while she was singing and since then it has been my ringing tune. I open my eyes in the dark night. I soon realise everything - why I am here. I cry. Darkness and silence disperse everywhere. The only sound happening is her voice, coming out as a song. I check for it and I find that it is an alarm. Well, I don’t remember Why would I set an alarm for 2:55 am. I cancel the alarm and even change the ringtone to something else, I had earlier.

I read our conversation that we had long ago. I watch her pictures. Engulfed in half-wakefulness, I lit a cigarette in the balcony. The next instance I wake up realizing thunderstorm outside, further examining that I left my phone in the balcony itself, during the night.

                                                                               ~ 

Hours later, I learn that my mobile is not working and it is dead. I lost everything with my mobile. Her photographs, her texts and her songs. The bridge to her memory has broken, like other things in my life.

Next morning, I walk out on the washed roads and glooming trees alongside. I see a boy selling roses in a small bouquet. I choose two dark roses and ask him about the price.

“Twenty-five for one.”

I move my hands in my pocket only to find that my wallet too is missing. Before long, I realize that I have lost it in the bar yestarday. Also, I lost her passport photo. I have no money with me. I have no photo of her. Also, I'm disheartened by the fact that I don't have her to give those roses. I keep back those roses in their bucket and walk away.

AS I walk a few steps away, the small boy calls me by my name and hands me the two roses without any money. I try to smile. I thank him in a dim voice.

                                                                                  ~

“We are going to land.” I feel a soft intromission. The voice is vacuous, yet it is loud enough too aware me. The diary has glissade from my hand and is lying in my lap. 

In a while, the flight slither on the land. Out of the landing field, I receive my small bag and keep the diary inside. It is around 11 in the night.

While walking on the stairs I hear some unusual sounds but I ignore them and keep walking. Seconds later, I hear something unusual; as if someone is following me. I turn behind but no one is there. In a little, I hear something that stops me from walking forward. I know it’s just my illusion and I decide to visit a doctor the next day itself. This has been happening with me for a long.

I swarm up a few more steps and then the voice is clear. I decide to check it out. An intuition can never be so clear. I step down and soon I find out a small muffed box lying in the corner. This voice is coming out of the box.

I am sadly surprised. The voice is a song in a memorable voice. It take minutes for me to get guaranteed that this is her's voice. I look around but no one is here. I unwind the case and I'm utterly-bitterly surprised to find my old dead mobile inside it. It is the same mobile that had gone dead in the rain years ago; it has her text messages, photos and her songs. I sit on the stair. I replay the song. I repeat it again; and then again and again. I feel my blood running from my neck to my legs.

Magic exist. I hear tapping sound of multiple shoes. All of a sudden, I watch a lengthy haired boy with lengthy beard and goggles. He just stands still looking at me. He speaks nothing. I took moments but realise him soon. He is Manish - my old friend, whom I havent met sincle a while. He offers me something - a large flat rectangular girded box. Back in my flat, I undo the cover and open it – I find a large framed photograph inside; I gently take it out. 

It is us. . . I and her.  

I control myself. She is smiling with me. square face, curved shimmering hairs, straight nose, sharp eyes and small lips...  I watch our all selfiees and feel her presence somewhere around me. Hours later when he returns back, I read all our conversations still in the mobile. 

We sit together; I and She...

My face defaces and I look bad. Well, I don’t care; how I look. The worst thing about grief is that you cannot control yourselves. I weep.

There is dust on our photo and I clean it with my palm. She is smiling and I know that she is the most beautiful girl of this world. I gently pat her face and admire her for minutes.

Her smile is pretty and unique. 

~

The Next morning, I find myself in a chair. A lot of times when I have have nothing to do, I go those landmarks where we used to meet. Those places seem incomplete now and since she doesn’t exists, emptiness prevails everywhere.

Next, I check out the call logs. Her mobile number? Still in the dialed list, with the date, the most unique number in this world. I know I could never talk to her on this number again, yet I call on her number. The phone is taken but its a wrong number, the receiver says. Still, I save her mobile number in the contact list along her photo.