Romance Hypothesis

It's a cautious touch. Pressing but delicate. Lingering but urgent. As though he is studying me. Trying to make sure that I'm all in one piece. Memorizing me.

I lift my eyes, and for the first time I notice the deep, unmasked concern in Acraman 's eyes.

His lips move, and I think that, maybe--is he mouthing my name? Once, and then again? Like it's some kind of prayer?

"Acraman? Acraman, is she--"

My eyelids fall closed, and everything goes dark.

It was drizzling outside. I drove the car through the occasional mist, climbing the winding roads up the high ranges. She didn’t say anything. We knew it was our last journey together. The last time I would be taking her to her workplace.

I remembered all the moments we had together from the moment I first met her. How happy we both were together! The great Indian wedding cliché just spoiled our relationship. She belonged to a different religion and our parents denied our insatiable love and desire to be together. My rage and grief reflected on the speedometer of the car.

“Please, go slow”, she said at last.

When I had a sideways glance, I saw her rummaging in her bag.

“Can you please pull over?”, she asked.

She looked sick. I stopped the car under a Gulmohar tree which stood magnanimously by the road side, shedding flowers all over the place, bathing the ground under it in blood red. I looked at her.

“Why did you want me to stop?”

She took out a bottle of imported perfume from her bag. Her favorite brand.

“You may take this. Please don’t forget me, I beg.”

I could see her eyes welling up. I didn’t know what to say. I felt my heart drowning in icy water.

“No,”. I said, “I can’t take this dear. This fragrance will remind me of you every day. I can’t have that pain all days with you gone forever from my life”.

Her eyes started to spill even before I finished my words. That was the first time I ever saw her crying since I met her. I couldn’t hold back my tears either which found their way down silently. I took her hand in mine.

“Please don’t cry, darling”.

My words were broken. I held her hand tight, like I never ever wanted to let her go. And I kissed the back of her palm. My tears kissed her even before my lips could do. The drizzle and the fog that adhered on the windshields curtained us from the rest of the world.

A few hours later I was back at the same place, alone, after dropping her off at her workplace and leaving her forever. I had the perfume bottle clenched in my hand and her fragrance all around me. The best gift she ever gave me.

“This is now the last!”, driving by my anger and ego, I gave them ball pen and paper in front of the parent. I instructed them both for a spelling test.

“ Number one, write the word English”, that’s my first instruction as I asked God to send His Holy Spirit to guide me in detecting the wrongdoer for His people.

“Number 2, write the words To: Miss Aparejo”. By this, I will surely know who was the thief due to punctuation and the letter formation. But I should not end there, I told myself to avoid detecting my purpose. I had to continue saying “ number 3, write…”

but I was interrupted by the boy saying his pen had no ink anymore. I stopped and instructed him to go and get his pen in the room. While waiting, my hand picked up his paper and found another truth! HE WAS NOT THE ONE! The conclusion was made due to the absence of semicolon after the word “To” and the capitalization of my name. God, hope I ended this misery. I moved my pace to the girl’s side and picked up her paper. To my surprise, I had seen the things I wanted to see! The semicolon after the word “ to” and the capitalization of my name!

“YOU ARE THE ONE, HOW COULD YOU DO IT TO ME!,” in my unified stern, agitated and irated voice. I wanted to shout for the fury of betrayal and for joy for winning by getting the offender and protecting the innocent in front of the parent. I asked her again twice and thrice “ HOW COULD…!”

Her body began to tremble, legs shuddered as she covered her face from the agitation of the parent’s presence with her quivering hands of fear- fear of unfolding the secret of her life and fear of losing every good things about her!

That time, I never made another investigation again.

–END–