I walk down the streets all my by myself. I look no further beyond what is necessary. I enter the supermarket at 9 pm and walk down. I grab a packet of cupcakes and some Lindt and pay. I move out into the street and find myself with no umbrella and a heavy dose of rainfall. I decide to wait outside under the shelter. I try to cover myself from all sides and instantly, my chocolate bar falls to the ground. Disgusted, I bend down to pick it up and with that, I accidentally, pick up some of my previously dropped memories too.
It was raining heavily that day. Thunder and lightening, it had not paused for over a few days now. There was no grocery in the kitchen and we had been surviving on left-overs. As our last cup of coffee and a packet of biscuits were on the verge of finishing, he told me, "On my way to the supermarket, come back before you know it."
And he came back, all soaked up with loads of food stuff. That day was one of the last times we enjoyed. After exactly seven days and eighteen hours, I was sitting next to his body wrapped up in cheap linen on the empty road in the never-ending rain. That was my last day in the city. I moved out as soon as his funeral was over. I answered no calls and nobody called me thereafter. I could not feel myself, it felt as if my heart was numb too. My blood had frozen and I could no longer speak or move. I stayed alone in my new flat with my books. I read a lot and wrote a little. I did not know when I fell asleep or when I woke up. I hardly looked at my watch as I was afraid it would show me the time of his death. Things started to get better when a guitarist moved up to the floor above mine. His guitar kept me engaged and it gave me a good night's sleep. But apart from having less baggy eyes, nothing had changed. I lived the same old life with same old grudges from life.
I pick up that chocolate bar and pretend that nothing earth shattering has happened a few years ago. I walk down the street, getting soaked, bringing home some food. That is what he did for me years back. I climb the stairs, the water dripping from my clothes and hair. I reach my flat and look for the key. The door opens up and I see a man with a guitar looking at me in total surprise. I was about to say something as I saw the room number which meant I had reached his floor. I was taken aback at my own stupidity when he took things from me and asked me where I lived. I point out towards the ground and follow him downstairs.
This was the first time I had seen a person since 5 years. The minute I spoke to him, I didn't stop for hours. After I was done with my story, he told me he was one of the reporters back then when the accident took place and ever since he always wanted to cover my story. But now, that he has got one, he does not want it any more. He looks at me with life shouting out to me and I have smiling eyes for the first time. I hear his guitar playing again.
