I like building sandcastles by the beach,

He likes playing with the waves as they rush over the sand.

I love speaking to the stars at night,

He loves gazing at the moon, waiting for the sun to rise.

Despite knowing we differ, why do we still fall for someone?

To love someone is to cherish the thoughts we associate with them.

The truth is, more than the person themselves, we spend most of our lives with our thoughts of them

Thoughts that belong solely to us.

There is no room for impurity in these thoughts.

True or false, they are ours to hold.

These are the beautiful castles we build for ourselves.

Can we ever love someone’s reality as we love the imagination of them?

And if we accept this love, are we not living with a version of ourselves that isn’t truly us?

“Once we’re old enough, let’s visit Australia to see black swans together,” he used to tell me. 

Talking to him felt like basking in the warmth of a fire at dawn on a winter morning; the occasional chill breeze that brushed against my skin was like his mischievous presence. With these metaphors resting on each shoulder, I cherished him as much as I loved the February sun. Like the fire burning behind the sun that reaches us in fragments, I now realize this feeling will return to me, piece by piece, for the rest of my life. But it’s too late now. I might be able to escape the rest of the world, but I cannot escape myself.

I have known him for seventeen years. The time I spent with him is longer than half of my lifetime.

“Everyone is asking where you are. Come quickly already!”

Despite declining her call six times, Amma still sent me an angry text. Going there felt like walking to my own execution. But because our families had grown close, perhaps even closer than we are now, I could not avoid this day. His wedding was at dawn.

“I’m on my way! Stop calling me so many times,” I replied to Amma before starting to get ready.

Why do they have so many mirrors in hotel rooms and elevators? No matter where I look, I see myself. And no matter how many times I do, it’s always the same sad, mopey face staring back at me.

The driver he had arranged to pick me up called to say he would arrive in about fifteen minutes. From the hotel balcony, the view of Ramakrishna Beach in Visakhapatnam greeted me. Not every city has a beach, but everyone has at least one story tied to the sea.

***

Up until sixth grade, my studies had gone smoothly. Later, my father decided to transfer me from a Telugu-medium school to an English-medium one. He took me to Visakhapatnam and left me in the care of my uncle.

My uncle had a small private-sector job but earned most of his income from running tuition classes. Every evening, about twenty-five to thirty students would gather in the front yard of his three-bedroom house for lessons. One night, when my aunt was out of town, my uncle came and lay down next to me after midnight. From that moment on, I was terrified of staying in that house. I couldn’t bring myself to tell my aunt. Being childless, she cherished the affection my uncle showed me. Even when I tried to hint at my discomfort, she failed to understand.

“Eat what they give you and do what they say. Study hard.”

These were my father’s words the morning after I ran away overnight to return home. He took me straight back to my uncle’s house. It was one thing for my educated parents to find my concerns trivial, but it was astonishing that they dismissed them as nothing more than homesickness. I was stunned by how easily they brushed off what I had said.

It was around the time of my mid-year exams. I had a mathematics test the next day. That morning, my aunt hurried to town after receiving a phone call about my grandmother’s declining health.

“Why are you always lost in your own world?” he asked that evening, just as our tuition class ended and everyone was about to leave. I was only just getting to know him then.

“What’s it to you? Mind your own business.” But the look in my eyes was not as biting as my words. 

I didn’t feel like eating dinner that night. Although I was sitting in the front yard trying to study, I was paralyzed by the fear that my uncle might call me inside at any moment. As the clock struck nine, he arrived at the house with his mother.

“He’s afraid he’ll fail his exam and couldn’t stop crying, so I brought him here. Could you please help him study through the night? Perhaps they could help each other,” his mother said before leaving.

“At least I’m here today. What are you going to do the next time?” he asked, laughing as we studied late into the night.

“Did I ask you to come?” I replied, not bothering to lift my head from the books.

“Fine. Check this out! I can write with my left hand just as well as I can with my right. I learned how to do it two years ago when my right hand was in a cast.”

“What do you want me to do with that information?” I asked, irritated. He just chuckled, offering no response. I didn’t say anything, but that night, for the first time in a long while, I slept well.

After ten days, my aunt returned home from the market in a frenzy, clutching a letter. ‘Every time you leave town, your husband gets cozy with another woman. Stay safe,’ the letter warned. She burst into tears. I wasn’t sure how much truth the letter held or how suspicious she should have been, but the rumor spread through the neighborhood like gospel. As Amma used to say, ‘before the truth can put on its shoes to step outside, a rumor has already boarded a plane and circled the globe.’ 

From that day on, my aunt never left my uncle alone.

“I’m here for you, whenever, whatever you need,” he told me while we played at the beach on New Year’s Day. True to his word, he never let go of my hand.

***

“Looks like the entire town decided to get married on the same day. Crowds everywhere, baaraats with people dancing and celebrating. It seems our arrival might be delayed by another thirty minutes,” the driver said as I got into the car. On the way, he struck up a conversation with me and, after a while, showed me a picture of his two-year-old daughter, which he had set as his phone’s wallpaper.

“Adorable, she looks just like you,” I said. He seemed quite pleased with the remark.

“If we take this other route, we can reach your friend’s wedding sooner,” he suggested, seeking my approval while maneuvering the car into a side street to avoid traffic.

‘Friend…’ I chuckled to myself and assured the driver that it was alright. 

Friendship, love. He never really let me put a label on our relationship. Every time we spoke about it, he would break into an old Hindi song, a habit that started because he liked it and eventually grew to be one of mine too: 

Sirf ehsaas hai yeh… Rooh se mehsoos karo… Iss rishte ko koyi naam na do…
This is nothing but a feeling, one that must be felt with the soul. Please do not give this bond a name. 

And so, just as he had asked me to, I cherished this feeling all along. But what am I supposed to do from tomorrow?

As we neared the wedding venue, my palms and feet grew clammy. Driving past our old school, my knees went weak.

***

On the evening of the engineering entrance exam, I went to his place. He was packing old books, clothes, and other belongings into a suitcase. Among them was the shirt I had given him.

“Why are you packing all this now?” I asked.

“It’s only when you clear out the old that you can make space for the new, right?” he replied.

He handed the suitcase to the house help, instructing him to keep what he needed and discard the rest. After that, he remained silent for a while, simply sitting on the parapet of the terrace, gazing at the colors in the sky. I assumed he hadn’t done well in his exam.

“Don’t waste your time sitting there. Let’s have some pani puri at the end of the street,” I called out to him.

“Nah, I’m good here.”

“How come?”

“They only have the sour variety of the dip here, not the sweet one. I like it when it’s both sweet and sour.”

“Come sit beside me,” he said, pulling me close by the hand and seating me next to him. He held my hand in his for a while. Somehow, his touch felt new. As we talked, his lips brushed against mine. Even though he was someone familiar, he behaved rather strangely that day.

On returning home, I felt a deep, unfamiliar longing. Was he feeling the same way I did?

My father had been transferred to Visakhapatnam, and my mother decided to take voluntary retirement so they could move there. I joined the same college as he did for engineering. Despite a forty-thousand rank difference in our entrance exams, I was determined to attend the same university as him, perhaps the first decision I ever made that was truly my own. College brought new faces and even newer habits. In our second year, he called me one evening.

“My parents are headed to Tirupati for a trip. No one will be home tonight, and they won’t be back for a couple of days.” 

All these years, he had never invited me over so explicitly. After that, I never turned him down when he called me, never asked when I wanted him. Sometimes, I wondered if what I felt for him was love, while what he felt for me was merely a need.

During our four years of college, many people came and went in his life. Introverted by nature, I never really got close to anyone else. He was always the first, and perhaps also the last. There were times when I felt angry. Maybe I was just easy for him, a guilty pleasure. But no matter how many people passed through his life, the way he made it seem as though my place remained unchanged was something I cherished. I believed I found all the answers I needed in his laughter, in his touch. And I was happy with that. No one at college knew of us apart. Back then, and even now.

After college, we both landed jobs in the same city, so there was never a reason to leave him. Not that I had ever considered it. People often said that the way I spoke or behaved resembled him. It was like I was possessed and I didn’t know how to separate him from myself.

About six months ago, he mentioned a girl. From what I recall, she was the eighth girl who had formed an attachment with him. But this time, he stayed with her, moved to Chennai for her. He asked me to come with him. But my heart had no desire to move to another city by the sea. Instead, I was curious to see how I would spend my days without him. For the first time, loneliness befriended me.

***

“Where are you? The reception is almost over.” I got a text from him. 

“On the way..” I replied. 

He was typing something. His WhatsApp display picture showed him standing next to the girl, who was laughing shyly. I switched my phone to flight mode and tossed it aside.

How could you marry someone you barely know and suddenly be so in love with them? Do they really trust the future that much? Honestly, I think they’re just caught up in the honeymoon phase. When you give a toddler a new toy, they won’t stop playing with it for two whole days. By the third day, they’ll spot another toy and forget all about the old one. The forgotten toys will be left to gather dust in the closet.

But they’re just toys; they don’t have hearts. And even if they did, what good would it do?

New relationships, new marriages, they’re the same. There’s an initial curiosity, a desire to know everything about the other person. But once you do, disappointment sets in. Because in the end, there’s only so much to discover.

A huge cut-out was placed outside the wedding venue, featuring photos of his and the girl’s friends and family congratulating them. Among those faces was mine. It felt like a reminder of my place.

“Is this the time to arrive? You look so different. You’ve completely forgotten about me and your aunt,” my uncle said as I stepped out of the car. He had been standing by the door, playing with the children, before approaching me.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Ah, what about us? Should we start looking for matches for you too?” he said, touching my shoulder and laughing oddly.

“You haven’t changed at all, have you? Mind your own business. If I ever see you hovering around children again, I will kill you.” I shoved his hand off my shoulder, pointing to my shoe. “I’m letting you go for now, for my aunt’s sake.”

As soon as I stepped into the wedding hall, his friends and family, whether standing on the stage or mingling nearby, immediately surrounded me. They chided me for arriving so late, pulling me into warm embraces and teasing that the celebration lacked its charm without me. I managed to force a smile onto my lips, but my eyes betrayed me. In the commotion, no one seemed to notice.

Upon seeing me, the bride held his hand as he was about to descend and gestured for me to come onto the stage. He was glowing in his favorite black suit. I stood beside him for a family photo, and he hugged me tightly as soon as he saw me. He said that his heart wasn’t content until he saw me, and he wouldn’t let me leave for a while, holding my hand as long as I remained by his side.

“I’m hungry,” he said as we entered his room. The reception was finally over, and there were four hours remaining before the wedding ceremony.

“Should I bring you some ice cream? That’s probably the only thing we’ll find at this hour,” I said, glancing down into the dining hall.

“Hmm… vanilla.”

“With chocolate,” I added, laughing as I made my way down.

***

“Why are you so busy? You didn’t even attend the engagement!” He looked at me angrily.

“I told you I had my visa interview, didn’t I? Besides, anger doesn’t suit you. Don’t pretend.”

“Hmm… but why do you look so dull when it’s my wedding?” He wiped the sweat off my forehead and slipped his handkerchief back into his pocket.

“This handkerchief…?”

“Yeah, it’s yours. But tell me. Why are you like this?”

“It feels like I’m chasing down my thoughts. The fatigue is finally catching up to my eyes now.”

“That’s why you should stop running at some point. The way I stopped with her,” he laughed, pointing to a banner in the distance.

“Why get married? Aren’t things good the way they are?” I chuckled, looking into his eyes.

“Just because things are good doesn’t mean we should pause there, does it? Shouldn’t we see what’s on the next page? But tell me, when are you getting married?” He bumped his shoulder against mine.

“You’re getting married; isn’t that enough?”

“Come on now! You should get hitched too. And we should stay like this even after getting married.”

“If you wanted us to stay the same, why bring in someone else between us?”

“If one of us were born female, that is exactly what we would’ve done.”

I didn’t say anything.

“We want love, right? I want children too. But whoever comes into my life, they will only be after you. Enough about me. Tell me, what can you do without me?”

“What do you think I can’t do? You’ve taught me so much since childhood…” I replied, lighting a cigarette.

“I’ve unnecessarily taught you how to smoke. You used to choke so much in the beginning!” He grabbed the cigarette from me, took a long drag, and passed it back.

“Every day brings something new for everyone, and then they get used to it. Like how I’ve gotten used to you.”

“Not everything is good for everyone! Fine, forget it. Come to Chennai, please! I know you can’t stay here without me,” he implored. I don’t like it when he cries.

“What about you, then?”

“Don’t you remember? I told you that no matter where I go, I will always end up with you, right? In any case, what’s the point of announcing to the world what’s between us?”

“What should I tell myself, then?” He couldn’t look me in the eye.

“Can you two stop chatting for once? It’s almost time for the ceremony,” both our mothers hurried us out at once.

Four days after the wedding, he was all set to leave for his honeymoon. As he was leaving, he told me about a hundred times to look after myself. With great difficulty, I managed to pull my hand from his grasp.

***

“You could also get married and leave, couldn’t you? Lord knows when you’ll come back…” Amma looked my way as she packed my clothes into the suitcase.

“I told you not to bother him. Be however you want to be, son,” my father added as he entered the room and opened the windows.

“Alright, alright. Oh, listen, here are your belongings that you had hidden safely, four suitcases in total,” Amma said, counting the luggage in the corner of the room.

“Those are old. They probably won’t be of any use to me anymore. You can throw them away.”

“Okay.”

Struggling to close the suitcase, she removed the clothes, rearranged them, closed the suitcase, and stood up contentedly, smiling and waggling her eyebrows at me. Before he returned from his honeymoon, I had left the country and reached Sydney.

I doubt myself from time to time, perhaps I left him too easily.  When we feel the need for someone with all our heart, we’re ready to fight the world. If not, we just fight ourselves. He couldn’t tell the world that he wanted me, and I couldn’t fight for him only to share him with everyone else. I wonder if my physical and emotional needs have been fulfilled by meeting him. Yet, my uncertain journey feels easier from here on. A solo journey, with no baggage left.

“Where do you need to go?” the driver asked.

“Olympic Park,” I replied, sharing the location.

The February sun greeted me as I entered the car. My shirt caught in the door, tearing along my back and leaving a mark on my shoulder, where his name, inked into my skin, still weighed heavy. The driver handed me a band-aid. 

The sun shone on my shoulder from behind, prickling the wound. As I looked outside, my gaze fell on my palms. The lines on my hands glistened with sweat; perhaps they held memories of him. By habit, I cupped my face with my palms and closed my eyes. I was reminded of him. Some habits are hard to break, especially the ones we hold dear.

In the distance, I saw a black swan. 

The End.