Monotonous Mumbling

I walk out of this Guest House every morning. I notice that the softy-shop at the corner is closed.
I come back every evening and notice that the shop is open. Its owner stands right next to the freezer. He wears his spectacles and stares into his old phone. Occasionally, he fits ice-cream scoops into a cone.

The same watchman welcomes me into the office every morning. He gives me the same keys to open the same door as I do, almost every other day. An empty office invites me in.

I walk out of my Office and the tea shop at the corner is brewing tea. The hotel behind it has a man standing at the door. The same man whom I see everyday. The same man in the hotel shows me to my seat.

The number on the bus I take is the same, everyday. The ticket costs about the same. The time I stay on the bus for is the same, everyday. I get on at point A. I get off at point B. The same points of reference tell me when I need to stand up and go to the door.

I walk back home and the diner next to the bank has the same old ambience. The man at the counter is invisible, as always. A man shows me to my table and takes my order. He is a mellow man. He doesn't smile much but he could light a candle with whatever little he did.

I walk by the shoe store. The same kid who tries to attract customers is standing there. The sweet shop has the same man standing at the counter. The coffee stall on the roadside has the same woman standing there. The stationary shop has the same couple running the box. The same three people keep switching places at the Guest House reception. 

I come back to a room that is exactly the same as how I left it.

It feels like home when everything stays the same till I settle down. The monotony is like home. The monotony is like the song that plays on the car radio every morning; you would feel odd if you missed it.

The other day, the man at the ice cream counter was at the tea stall instead of standing next to the freezer. The man who took my order at the diner was nowhere to be seen. I felt uneasy. He then came to the table. He seemed to have dropped his matchstick smile, somewhere. I felt a bit cold. The bus I took, yesterday was not 102. It was a 11. I got dropped off somewhere else. The same things don't catch my eye. Now, I see a grill roasting chicken out in the open. I have co-interns, now. I don't think the Office bothers to invite me, anymore. I feel unfamiliar- like when you go back home but your mother had your room rearranged. New. Lost. Unsure.

I feel comfortable reading the continuous, plain, disconnected sentences in the same tense, at the top. These other sentences, though? Well, there's too much going on, too, suddenly, isn't there?

"I'm sorry," he said.

He was sitting at the counter with his friend, one day. A girl he was acquainted with approached his friend. She was fair and tall and lively with twinkling eyes. She resembled her. As she spoke to his friend sitting next to him, he saw her talk. For once, he didn't want to know what was being spoken about. His eyes were stuck. He noticed every single gesture her hands made, every single curve in her smile, every single time her eyes rolled and possibly, the thoughts that flowed through her mind in every instance. The girl who came to the counter didn't matter. The girl she reminded him of mattered. She resembled her; in her smile, in the curve of her nose, in her walk, in her skin tone, in the twinkle in her eyes, the calmness on her face, the melody in her voice. Did his mind drop into an eerie? Of course.

'Archived Chats (1),' the label read. It was too valuable to block and too precious to delete. 'Archive' seemed like a safe door to him, back when it all happened. Months down the line, he felt like opening the door to see what was really left when the storm subsided- one broken soul and one that lived in denial of one. Did he have to open the door? Of course. He had put it away for far too long.

The pain he was once deaf to, the pain he was once numb to slowly, in every word they sent to each other, crept into his mind, his heart and then into his conscience. Now, it bore down heavily and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew how she used to feel as she knew how he used to feel, once, about each other- absolute trust, immense faith, reverence, undaunted love and cherished affection. He broke each and every string. He knew what he was doing when he did it. He knew why. To him, it was all justified. Perhaps, even today, if one asked him, he would say it was justified. Or maybe not. Maybe, he would silently walk away on the inside. What they held was like a father's promise to take his 4-year kid to his first airshow; or to that Spider-man movie which the kid absolutely wanted to see. He broke the father's promise and she did what is expected of any kid with a broken promise. In that time, he behaved like a parent caught up with his own life to pay heed to his child's ruckus. Now, he regrets letting her cry making her cry. Did he think it would not come to this? Of course. He was too blind.

A week went by since he saw the girl walk to the counter. Time has no meaning to him, anymore. What is a year could be a month and what is a week could be a month, as well. A week went by. But, the thought of his sin didn't leave him. It only dug deeper. And with every wall it passed, he scrolled upwards. With every scroll, he felt the pain she must have felt then. He read through all the chats he had. He then opened his mail inbox. He read all the mails they sent to each other. He felt each and every message like he did the first time he read them. Treasures don't get old. Did he want to go back to it all? Of course. But, how fair was it? Not at all.

He read all the rainbows, all the storms, all the butterflies and all the worms eating through. He remembered how she said he stayed for the rainbow and left during the storm. After all these months, now, he found himself agreeing to it. He was, of course, "justified."

Happiness, sadness, anger, anxiety, regret, despair, helplessness, bliss, grief, excitement and a lack thereof; from months ago.

After all this time, he accepted it. He was wrong. He had to apologise for what he did. Did he? He can't.

The image was that of  a cheerful, lively, lovely girl when he thought of her, once. But, now, he couldn't help but spot those lonely tears and a glow that vanished. Were they only in his head? He couldn't know. But, he was sure they weren't. Months down, he knew she was better. Could he apologise for what he had done and pull her back into the pit? Could he apologise to one whom he led to believe that there is no such thing as love? Could he apologise to one he gave reason to never break her walls again? No. "Be selfish. Let's see how far you will go," she once taunted, in the aftermath of him letting go. He now realized that being selfish cost him a lot.

One night, a month from the day he saw the girl walk to the counter, he saw the moon, glowing bright- the same moon which he once associated with her. What he once felt very close to his heart was now really that far away. And he wouldn't dare to try and reach. He stared intently at her with an apologetic, regretful face. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry," he cried behind his eye-lids.

He dreamt of her, that night. He woke up twice. He dreamt of her all three times. In the first dream, she was still crying and waiting for him to come back. This time, he did. He held her hand. She cried more and then smiled.

In the second dream, the two of them were going somewhere. They were happy and he truly believed in what was going on. Towards the end, when it really mattered, she left. She drove away and he stood at the crossroads, alone. He felt it.

In the third dream, they were in a bus, holding hands. The bus was going to some place both of them wanted to go to. Or maybe that bus was their forever. And that's all it was. It was going somewhere with both of them smiling at each other. It was a dream he could die in. But, every dream ends and so did this one. Or perhaps, he ended it for himself.

Today, when I asked him about it, he said he hopes to run into her sometime. He hopes for her to talk to him; just so that he could tell her how sorry he is. He said he didn't expect forgiveness; didn't expect anything. He just wanted to tell her how he felt, like the very first time he told her he loves her.