Please play the song 'Remember When' by Alan Jackson when you're reading this, for the best experience <3 thanks for the votes and comments, FAM! Keep it flowing, love to read them hehe! :3

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Present day...

Manik

I flipped to the first entry in the journal.

18 August 2010

"You don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope."

― Suzanne Collins

I generally don't write diaries because in my house, if anyone finds out, I will be in deep trouble. Diaries are meant to conceal secrets, but if it lands in the hands of anyone else, then? Like how my mother wrote about my father, and it landed in my custody.

"Nandan, you were hope, and filled with it. I didn't seek you or seek love, but I found both and if you're wondering how I know it's love–you heard parts of me that screamed my love to you, when not once did I mention it myself. My fireflies, you believed in." I highlighted this, because my mother herself was such a beautiful author. Her voice always wandered off into a story, and countless ones did she mention in the seven years she was with me.

But Chikkamma (my paternal uncle's wife) reassured me that my experience in Mumbai will be worthwhile, because this is the city of dreams. So far I have no best friends, so I think you'll be my first. I'll hide you where nobody can find you. I'll also be as informative as possible because who knows, maybe a few years down the line I would be on a hospital bed diagnosed with amnesia and all that I feel now, I'd be feeling again for the first time. Okay, I'm kidding!

I'll start off with how much I hate this city–Mumbai, Maharashtra, not because of how different it is, because it practically isn't, but because of how out of place I feel in these tiny confined cubicles called rooms, that aren't even the size of Bangalore bathrooms! We moved here only three nights ago, but it feels like it's been forever, out of which one night I couldn't get a second of sleep because of two rats locked up in the bathroom next to my bed. Only three out of the twenty boxes we packed up while shifting have been opened and the little space resembles a dislodged dungeon, with plastic wrapped over anything that is immobile.

This colony-like place we now 'belong' to–entire streets and crossroads full of houses­–is not where I want to be, not where I thought I would make friends on the first day! Unpacking was an exclusive Murthy household task, since not one courteously reached out to us. Not to mention, nobody here speaks anything but Hindi or Marathi, sometimes English–but only sometimes!

Abhi though, the same day we moved in, went off to play basketball with Aiyappa knew who! He already established a friend group here, which is not surprising and I'll tell you why in a minute. When I do wish I should've gone to play too, I think about the possibility of ten other 12th grade big boys, who were experts at the game and thank my stars for being socially awkward. I would've gotten trashed otherwise.

Abhi has been in a boarding school called SPACE Academy for three years now. He moved out of home from Bangalore to a larger city better renowned for its science courses, than the ones our town could provide. Unfortunately, I had no such intentions but fate has always played with my faith. It is only fair, I don't blame him, since Chikkappa and Chikkamma are the only ones we have and they can't bear to stay away from him, their 'little baby' either. Rishu and I missed him too!

Tomorrow's my first day at school–tenth grade for me–and I'm afraid I'll not have any friends since I'm coming in two months into the academic year. Worst comes to worst, I decided I'll take guitar classes in the neighbourhood and try to mingle with kids my age–learning the guitar has always been on my bucket list. I'm not over Bangalore's goodbyes yet, Aiyappa, I loved that school! Rishabh could understand what I was going through; how hard must it be for him–my baby 10-year-old brother–to adapt to the void of his comfort zone.

Overall, only time will tell if Mumbai is the city of dreams or the city of doom. Anyways, I'll have you, my patient listener. I should call you something... Babbu!

I feel relieved after writing this, Babbu, so probably I'll write again tomorrow. Now I need to find a place to hide this bad-boy! Oh, also I need to brush my teeth and braid my hair. Lots of things to do. Good night, Babbu.

Nandu

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Manik

As I read through her words, the names, I found everything coming back–like rising from the burial I'd pushed them into, in my brain. I could picture her mouth chattering off to some random storylines in between a conversation about something completely different. I didn't know if it was weird that I could hear her rants out loud, as if I had known her long enough to imagine it was her conversing with me if I was Babbu!

What a ridiculous name, I thought. Not once did she ever mention anything about a diary to me, in the 11 months I knew her. Nevertheless, we were all young and stupid, and made regrettable choices. Naming a book Babbu had to be the least regrettable of them all.

Not too bad yet; so far.

"What is it about?" I couldn't believe that woman was still there, pretending to do her thing of course while interviewing the hell out of me. She was getting on my nerves for whatever reason she stuck around me for. I liked my space and liked it only when it was my own.

My phone pinged at a convenient time—nevertheless, by a not-so-convenient person: my father. He just wanted to know if I landed safe and settled in.

I shut the hardback cover closed and put it to my chest. "Not sure yet, but I don't think I am supposed to read it either. I'll give to her, personally." I shoved it into my shoulder bag that I had carried with me to SPACE.

She gave me a look at first, unable to decipher my next move. I raised my eyebrows at her, after which she threw on a small smile, "Sweet!"

"Where's everyone else?" Only I knew how I couldn't wait to gointo the spicier details, the parts that ratted me out in them, all in hervoice.

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Diyah

It had been four whole days, ninety six long fucking hours. I'd sent fourteen long paragraphs about how much he meant to me, how much I loved him despite the turn of events and how I just wanted to see him for one last time before he made up his mind about us. Or maybe he already did, but I refused to believe it.

Not one of my texts was seen, or replied to. He's not on his phone, I reassured myself, he must be busy with something else. I tried, I genuinely tried to give him his space like everyone around me suggested. I didn't contact him for two nights straight, more so because I was upset with him for bailing on me so easily.

This is what happens when you get too attached, you fail to see the reality as it is. You hope, and hope is a slippery trail. Unless you're steady, and wearing the right footwear you'll land straight on your bum. Constantly, the fear of losing him, the two years we spent together, the memories and the naked secrets we shared spread shivers down my spine: it didn't seem worth giving up yet.

We'd given so much of ourselves to each other, that now without him I had forgotten what I was; he rubbed off onto me in a lot of ways, as I did on him as well but mostly our lives just blended in with each other. It was all perfect, not the ideal kind but the kind I loved. He was all I needed, and in return I was ready to do anything to make him feel deserving of my love, this relationship we shared. I always thought there was so much more to come, and starting over with someone else... it's not worth it.

Jess and I were in my living room, sitting on the carpet in front of the coffee table but on either sides of the mahogany. I was resting my head on my elbow over it lost in my own little world, checking my Messages app every ten seconds for a notification I might've missed. She eyed me with that pathetic look on her face, and slid the plate full of treats over to me. "Here, eat some crackers at least."

"I'm really not hungry, Jess."

The rejection really spun my moods around. I didn't enjoy staying up late night, binging on television shows–in fact they'd become my only escape from reality, a compulsion as I found myself struggling to go to bed. I hardly had a couple of apple slices for breakfast, a banana before bed and limited my fluid intake too. I just wasn't in the mood. I only wanted to get myself to reach him.

She observed my restlessness and snatched the phone out of my hands. "Eat, bitch. You've been starving for a week now!" I reached for it again, while she stretched it higher up to tease me.

"Tch. I'll try calling him again."

She have me a blank stare, as to how I could say that. She could see how vulnerable I was without him, and why not, I had lost myself while moulding myself into that bond we shared. "Dump his dumb ass, he doesn't deserve you." Her assertion was complete, and valid.

She would never do anything that was not right for me. But I just couldn't, not after coming this far. I just needed to see him, talk to him and explain myself; just once.

"I need him to come back to me. Can I have your phone?" I knew I was being desperate, but I couldn't see a way out for myself. I was in love with him; how could everything end just because of such a stupid mistake I committed? There had to be some way, something I could do now, to rectify my foolishness.

Then, in a reassuring motherly manner, she brushed the back of my hand with the pad of her thumb and murmured, "If you really love him, and if he really loves you, you wouldn't have to chase him and he wouldn't have to run from you."

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Manik

The hotel we checked into was a five-star penthouse styled one, located in the hotspots of Andheri East. Right outside was a white-stone fountain welcoming us on the way in, with a tiny dove sitting on the water spout quenching its thirst. I snapped that sight on my phone and subsequently I was the last to walk in with my four-wheeler suitcase, that I spun along the tips of my fingers just for the flex.

"The girls can share a room, right?" Rita and Pamela nodded at each other, already bonding over some girly things I was the least interested in.

Everyone else went about chattering about God knew what, so I decided to butt in.

"What's the issue?"

"We have only three rooms booked."

"What the..."

Cabir seemed chill about the whole thing. "No problem guys, I can share with Manik." No, no way!

I slipped my hands into my pockets, stiffening my spine and casually flicking my head behind. "Fuck that, I need my own room."

He chuckled blatantly, as if he had forgotten how volatile our relationship was, before mocking, "Fuck that you're definitely not getting one." Can someone sedate him forever, or maybe sew his nasty mouth shut?

"Alex," My authority made him shift in his place. "I'm staying with you." Cabir scoffed, covering it with a lame cough that would make anyone roll their eyes.

"Some people just want their ways, even when they cannot do shit about it. Alex is with Bill."

"No. Only Alex and I will share. You and Bill can share another, right guys?" I waved my index finger, as a matter of fact, to impose the rule on Cabir in specific.

Everyone seemed to understand Cabir and I had some shared history from the get-go, but they were getting tired of our non-stop battles as well. Somehow, neither of us gave up for our own reasons.

I headed out first with the keys, hopefully allowing myself some quality time for a relaxing jacuzzi session too, that was installed in every bathroom. I heard a few of them mutter in the background, but I really couldn't care less about their opinions.

All I needed were a few more minutes to peek into her diary, that I was since forever waiting to go through. It was something more than curiosity alone; because those days were the carefree ones, I wanted to keep them fresh in my head. In hindsight, I did recollect her existence in my life, only couldn't ponder too much since something else overshadowed those moments with her. Only time would tell what inference her tale would lead to, and this time I was keen to surge through.

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Sometimes, especially when you're younger, you don't know what and how to deal with yourself and new emotions you experience. This is what my mother says. It feels like your comfort zone is snatched away from you, and you rebel, and you hurt. It is a natural instinct, but facing it is also a part of growing up. Learning to accept change the way it is presented, and giving it a chance motivates even the weakest hearts, and there's nothing to lose.