I felt the droplets on my skin. The quietness echoed abruptly followed by the sound of the rain. For a moment I believed they were my tears even though I had no reason to cry. My only wish I had, has already been fulfilled.
Then why must a pain pulse through my heart each time I avoid thinking about him, Rashmond? He has submerged me, drowned me in the thoughts I have of him.
He has buried me in his memories.
I stay afraid to open my eyes. I hoped to see Rashmond's face. I yearned to see his face. I yearned to tell him, that he was not a burden to me.
I yearned to speak against any self deprecating thing he told about himself. He was never anything less than than my dearest invaluable friend. He wanted us to stay friends. On somedays he did not even want to look at me.Afraid that his gaze might taint my heart.
He always looked away from me. Then I began to question myself, is this my seven minutes of peaceful memories?
The first time we held hands and fell asleep together on a flower bed. We made too many promises that day. He upheld all of them, but not in the ways he wanted to.
If I opened my eyes and saw him. I would never leave him again. I would never let him leave me again. I would cling to him even if he brushed me away.
But that would never make him happy.
Being away from him has stinged my heart from time to time. The only thing that helped me at those times was the knowledge that my each of smiles would bring him peace at night.
I could see his face in my mind. One evening, when we were in high school I had gotten detention for the first time for being late. That day he sat next to me the entire evening humming songs and looking at me as I pretended to sleep on his school bag.
He laid his head next to mine on my table, looking at me longingly with admiration. And that day was one of few times I saw his eyes clearly. His eyes were brown, and sunlight was reflected through them.
As if the moon itself had kissed the earth, they shone golden brown. That image has been etched in my soul since that day.
I have always told him how beautiful his eyes were, after all because of them I had become passionately obsessed with hazelnut, chocolate, chocolate milk, jaggery, roasted nuts and every brown coloured jacket.
I have written so many awful poems about him. He had painstakingly followed each of my orders just to get a chance to read them. One of which was to look at me under the sun. Another was to be allowed to pinch his adorable cheeks.
When we grew older, we also had to grow apart. He went away afraid of himself and what he was becoming. Even then, he would send me food, clothes, books and every essential thing I needed, to ensure me of his presence.
I wanted to feel his presence one more time. And then for it to never leave me. If I had become a ghost I would not haunt him, as the opportunity to protect him had presented itself.
I opened my eyes.
All I saw was the sky covered in dark clouds.
"Is this... No it does not seem like a hospital. Where am I?" I asked myself. The sound of rain drowned out any possible explanations. I was probably not kidnapped, if I were I would not have been alive until now.
I felt no pain except for a raging headache. My fingertips graced the ground beneath me. It was slightly soft. It was not a road, nor a railway track. Perhaps I was dumped near a forest trail? I thought to myself as I tried to move.
Then I felt it. The pain in my stomach grew tighter. With all my effort I woke up, and looked around.
Long silky locks of hair touched my face. My head felt heavy, I touched them to see if they truly arised from my scalp. They did. But I never grew such long hair. Nor was my hair ever black in color. What is happening?
How many years have passed. I looked at my fingertips and the wrinkles on them had just formed. The rain started shortly after I was here. Maybe five or ten minutes ago. I looked at sky, it remained cloudy and unclear. Where am I? My arms did not have any wrinkles and my vision was clear. A decade or more has certainly not passed. Maybe few months to years.
I looked at the clothes I was wearing. They were very unfamiliar to my taste. My body was wrapped in loose, flowy garment. The sleeves of the cloth was wide and had intricate embroidery on it.
This were clothes of a rich person. The cloth was layered with wool at the ends of the sleeves, with many garments underneath. I was carrying a jade pendent and my pants were puffed.
These clothes were certainly meant to be woren in winter, why was I wearing them in monsoon? I got up and began to walk in hopes of finding someone to gather more information.
I avoided thoughts which brought pain to my heart. If such thoughts occupied my mind now, I would not be able to get to a safe place. And I knew the person who would occupy my thoughts soon, appreciated my safety first.
I walked down the path, looking back, it did seem like a path leading to the forest. I was supposedly dumped here to avoid suspicion? No that would not make sense. Framing my death as a murder would require too much evidence. It would be easier to make it seem as it I was one who had taken my own life.
I held the spot on my stomach which pained me. I also felt my forehead there were no signs of a bullet wound or any wound at all. My heart felt distant. It was not at 72 bpm, so was I feeling anxious? Maybe.
This place was too scary. No signs of light or people even after walking for about ten minutes. I must stay calm down.
I can not smell any scent of blood from my cloths or body, as it had been raining heavily.
This feeling of unease could a symptom of blood loss or looming danger. I thought as I slowed my breaths and blinked slowly.