She believed in karma. I told her it was rubbish. She was spiritual and religious. I mocked her relentlessly. She fasted twice a week for god. I ate meat at every chance I got. She prayed and I laughed. She told me I needed to go to heaven. I told her neither heaven nor hell existed. She asked me to join her to the temple, which she visited everyday. I laughed louder.
We never discussed it. We adamantly held our own points of view. So tightly that neither of us even brought it up. After a while we got on with our individual lives without reacting towards the others’ behaviour. I told myself there was no solution anyway. So we continued to live in an uncomfortable stony silence. She held on to her belief systems and I held on to my mockery. Even if we ever spoke, I couldn’t fathom what we would say to the other. Years of ridiculing on my end had made her belief possibly stricter. She announced one day that she was praying for me, too, to relieve me of my sins. Though I was angered, I didn’t ask what sins. It ate away at me for days, weeks, months.
I broke our silence and asked, “What sins you speak of?”
“There is no greater sin than denying god’s existence,” she said.
I realised that day we didn’t love each other. We probably didn’t even know each other. What we built in that house was a compromise. Not a relationship. I lived with a stranger and shared my bed with one, too. I packed my bags and left the same night. There was nothing left to save. Even the final ‘sin’ was committed. Obviously by me.