“I do not, I, uh, I do not, but I just can’t stop feeling like there is a part of me that does belongs to her. See, I told you I feel guilty for a reason. Maybe I did cheated on you, after all.”
“How? I mean I, uh, I don’t understand why do you feel you cheated on me. You didn’t slept with her, right??
“No, not about any of…” my voice trailed away. I didn’t know how to verbalize it, so I just simply decided to give up and said, “Would you mind if we talk in the morning?”
I would have understood if she would have said no but then again, she was the least judgmental one, wasn’t she, so she simply said, “Sure.”
And as I fell on my side of the bed and settled, staring at the ceiling fan, my thoughts drifted back to the morning Sandhya cried, the morning we cried together. How could I put the memory away and find my way back to the normal again. What the hell is normal anyway? These thoughts were something I couldn’t control. They were finally emerging from the darkness a little. My eyes had long adjusted to the darkness and yet it felt as if they were burning.
On that particular morning, once our false sense of comfort was shattered with the reality of Sandhya’s confessions, wait, why were they confessions? She wasn’t guilty of anything. All burn out one day. Her innocence was destroyed, the asshole who did it lived his life the way patriarchy allowed him to. Afforded him to. And yet Sandhya was broken. How was that justice? How was that humanity?