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It was supposed to be white. Plain white. Clean white. She always agreed it would be white.

It was what she was wearing the first time she caught me looking at her. I would steal glances otherwise. But she never caught me till that day in our apartment’s shared kitchen. She was cooking; I was doing the dishes. We barely spoke though we had been rooming for over 2 months. We avoided all forms of contact. Her house and I just lived in it for cheap rent.

Over time, we got close. Not like friends, but occupy space and not be disgusted. For me, it was enough. For her, I never found out.

When it came down to all the critical moments we spent together, I still remembered how she would laugh off the serious and angry bits of her life. Hysterically. Dismissively. A white flag would be plastered across her closed door forcing me, her flat mate, to every other corner of the house. This happened like clock work three or four times a month. I avoided her during this phase better than I could fathom.

We agreed that when we parted ways, it would be smooth and not fussy. But without a word, she merely painted her entire front door white. All my stuff packed in boxes was left outside. I got the not-subtle hint.

But I couldn’t believe it had come to that. No reason. No discussion.

‘Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better even of their blunders’, the note said.

‘Typical,’ I whispered to myself in our lonely stairway.

She had wiped her memory clean and started afresh with a white and blank space. Time for me to return the favour.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

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When she met people for the first time, she was always nervous; she ruffled her short, messy hair before she walked into the coffee shop.

The helmet had made it oily and flat. She hated that style. She preferred the mad look it always had. She searched the coffee shop for him. She almost crashed into the really clean glass on her way in. She spotted him seated alone at a table fiddling with his phone. Should I say hello or just sit down at that table, she thought.

She just walked up to the table he was seated at and sat down. She chair made a nasty creak as she pulled it close to the table.

He must have recognised her from her photo as he didn’t look surprised. He put his phone aside.

“I was just going to text you. You were last seen on Whatsapp this morning at 1 something. Who were you talking to?”

Snap! I heard myself lose it.

“This is the first time we meet face-to-face and that is the first thing you want to ask me?”

“It has been bothering me since I woke up this morning.”

“That I was awake at 1?”

“Yea.”

“I hardly know you, Ramesh. I agreed to meet you cause I thought this was going well. I no longer think so. Good bye and good luck.”

She walked out. The door slammed behind her. He sat in his chair staring at the closed door.

She walked back in.

“Couldn’t resist?” he asked, all smiles.

She sneered at him, picked up his phone and tried to unlock it. Luckily for her, he didn’t have a swipe lock. She looked for the contacts list and deleted her number.

“Poof! Just like that I am out of your hair. No need to spend any more hours wondering what I was doing awake.”

She walked out again; this time with class and shutting the door gracefully. She will never let Neena set her up again. She seemed to associate with a new kind of idiot. The kind that used technology to stalk inappropriately!

 

 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

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We walked down a crowded street.

The hustle and the honks

made hearing very difficult.

She refused to hold my hand,

her mood was crankier than ever.

She kept looking out in the distance,

She looked exasperated or bored.

I asked her, “What’s up with you today?”

She replied, “I want some pie to eat.”

I heard the last bit as ‘lie to meet’.

The noisy streets made my hearing weak,

so instead of checking again,

I apologised profusely,

over and over again.

She stared at me blankly

till we reached the end of the street.

There she found a bakery.

She dragged me in and

ordered some pie.

I watched her gobble it up.

I asked her what she had told at home?

She said, “I said I am out with you”

“But why do you ask.  So suddenly that too.”

“Then why did you say you lied?” I asked

She looked at me bewildered.

She pointed at her plate and exclaimed,

“I just said I wanted some pie!”

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda