"when its lost, where does it go?"

all this love, when people lose it, where
does it go?"

"do you think this.. love between us will
leave too?"

"not everything i ask is about us"


Eepsita, always the questioning kind.
she is reading me a page from her favourite
short, our backs against each other, each
looking at two ends of this room that
Would soon be empty. we are moving to
different city.

every letter, being traced by her fingers
as she reads them out loud, is carefully
floating somewhere my attention is not.

I am busy noticing the details of this
house that has seen us go through so
much together. the first time Eepsita had
the courage to say that she wanted to
live with me. Our first monsoon spent
washing mud off each other's shoes on
sundays and mondays spent trying to
wake each other up for tea.
now that we are leaving, it feels like the
end of the beginning.

"you are thinking about it again, arent
you?" asks she, her face now over my shoulders.

"it's just.."

"scary?"

yeah, i mean, we are moving togetheer
but this place has so many things"

"memories," she corrects me, and recalls
Some of her favorites at this house. the
very first day we moved in together and
how we ended up finding an old
notebook in one of the cupboards. a
bunch of half-written letters to an
unknown somebody by another unknown
somebody.

in a way, i think that's what becomes of
Our stories. forgotten memories, half
written letters, lucky to be found when
Someone isn't looking. perhaps even
making it to another story in an entirely
different form.

Eepsita taps on my shoulder. she has a
bare notebook in her hand.

"shall we?"

"become stories for a stranger?"

smiling, I wrap my arms around her.

"it doesn't, Eepsita"

"what?"

"this love, when it's lost, why does it
need to go anywhere?"




#Oneminutestories