Missing you

Rohan and Alya have been in love for more years than he cares to remember, but then suddenly she stops calling him. The last call from her had ended in her shrieking desperately for him.

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1. Missing you

 

My mobile flashed *Calling Alya* as I hit the call button.

I could hear Enrique Iglesias’s ‘Addicted’ being played

*Hi, This is Alya Singh. Please leave a message.*her automated voice rang in my ears.

Why doesn’t she pick up my calls?

Why is she not speaking to me anymore?

Why?

 Why?

Did I do something to deserve this prolonged silent treatment? Or has our love reached its expiry date? Or has she become tired of the long distance between them? Unanswered questions bombard my brain. I've went over the past few months over a thousand times in my head, yet every time I came up with nothing but an image of her lush lips curving at the corners, her slender hand playing with her dark, soft and silk-like curls and her addictive rich chocolate eyes that had looked into my black eyes with so much love shining from it… and the her last ear piercing scream... like death itself was on her heels.

WHY DOES IT MATTER THAT SHE HAS MOVED ON? I’m a guy, I shouldn’t be moping around. I should be out and about; after all it’s been ages since I hung out with my friends.

 Just as soon as that thought stuck, I knew it would never work. I couldn't stand to face my own parents, much rather the nosey comedians. I've become a big time introvert.

Throwing the coffee mug at the wall, I watched as it hit the mirror and both smashed to pieces; the glass pieces and left over coffee splashed all over the wall and the floor. But I couldn't care less. Only the horrified face of my mom running towards me kept me from breaking more stuff. Quietly get up from the table and locked myself in my room.

Once inside I scream my lungs out. Even now I could hear mom’s sobbing and I wished I was a better son to her. Hurling myself onto the bed, I reach for the photo frame on the bedside table. It was Maggie, with her arms around my neck. Her happy, smiling face mocked me and so I let it fall and fill the floor with its broken glass.

After a while I couldn’t just let her stay on the floor, so I picked her up again, with the glass piercing my fingers and staining her face with blood. But once again her image only had fueled the suppressed rage in me and I flung it into the dark corners in the room. I tried to block my mind from thinking about her and went to bed.

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