" The trinkets he gave me fell from my hands and broke, tears flooded my bed, making me look like a broken China doll . I had planned a beautiful life with him only to be broken unexpectedly by the sudden news. I had been waiting for the train at the train station but it never came, running after something that doesn't exist anymore. I feel hopeless......."

The sound of my name being called by Dad jolted me awake from my nightmare, these days I only have nightmares to keep me company. My parents think I need professional help  seeing the number of times I go paranoid .

My maid served me coffee and breakfast before Dad sat beside me and took my hand in his, I looked up at him like a five year old wanting permission .

" You know your mother is unusually calm today, considering she is worried about you and I think that is assurance enough that she will be able to handle everything by herself ", his eyes twinkled with joy.

Mom was a touchy subject and we seldom discussed anything about her. She feared Dad was having an affair behind her back which even Dad couldn't justify to her .

The ringing of the door bell stopped our conversation midway, Mr Chowdhury stepped inside in his khaki shorts . Mr Chowdhury is a senior Accountant at the oldest accountancy firm in the city and a dear friend of Dads.

" Adjkal khobor shob kichu bolle nah tai khobor rakhte hoi shob shomai, kemon acchis Dev ?", Mr Chowdhury asked Dad over tea.

My Dad contemplated taking a sip from his tea, " the usual, kaj toh tumi janoi kemon ei shomay , meyetar ashook niye chintai achee, wife er paranoia bhallo lage nah "

Hearing Dads confession Mr Chowdhury laughed loudly , sensing a guest in our house Mom came to see.

I watched as my mom smiled at Mr Chowdhury and ordered for more refreshments. I sat there thinking how everything changed and hoped I would find a cause to live .

For me nights are the worst, I keep tossing and turning till dawn when sleep would overcome me. I feel his voice saying sweet nothing's to me, his hands untangling my hair, his breath caressing my cheek . Every part of me screams to be with him and that's how every morning is sunshine after storm , struggle to be free of his memories.

My story is about a broken hearted girl Nealanjala Mitra lamenting the loss of her boyfriend who died because of cancer.

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Mr Chowdhury's conversation is about checking on old friends and asking about his friend.

Mr Mitra speaks about his wife's paranoia, his job and sick daughter.