You turned twenty-eight today. I heard clicking heels and hushed voices as you helped your wife through the stairs, she was drunk as usual. Do not ask how, I just know. Your heavy boots tromped across the open garage, the sound snaked up my ears, crawling under the surface until it reached the thin mattress that sprawls on our cold, cement floor. I lie sleepless, conscious of every pin drop. It's a habit, I can't help it. Remember, how much you used to complain?

"You have too sharp ears. God! Even if I whisper you'll know."

I pretended to have never heard the endless I Love You's you muttered under your breath, over the phone. Even, the giggles often wafted through. And now I accept because I may not ever get the chance to tell you the truth-yes, I heard. Annoying, I know. What to do? I couldn't just stand guard! I needed another purpose.

The temperature has dipped a bit today, a little unnatural for the fourteenth of February, don't you think? The cement sips the cold through my thin mattress, the blanket is cosy, just serves the purpose. Yet, I don't shiver. I'm used to it, got more immune in the last eighteen months.

My father snores, soft and mild. The mosquitoes buzz. They reflect the commotion in my heart. Remember our quaint catch-ups by the side of the pond? The day you accidentally threw me into the water. I couldn't even cry for help. You panicked but dived in. I was fourteen, had started transitioning from skirts to salwars. I knew you argued with uncle and aunty, from your bedroom things are audible. And I sleep directly downstairs. I cried, the tears died in the pillows.

"What will society say? She's after all a caretaker's daughter!"

Yet you came, I went too-it was the only way we could communicate. Society shouldn't rule friendship, should it? "Money alone cannot foster bond"-your words, not mine.

That day's memories refuse to fade. Your warm hands on my wet skin, the panic in your eyes, the fear-it was real, there's no doubt about it. We used to tingle each other a lot, burst out in wild laughter. But, this time the touch differed. It seared. Your look transformed from raw scare to pure relief-proof of your concern. I was glad, my vulnerable heart relished the proximity. I guessed yours did too and from that minute onwards, something changed.

"He's my best friend, forever will be." I started chanting once distance raided our closeness.

Rahul Da, I still chant. Believe me. When you married, I silently prayed you to have a happy life. Yes, my eyes stung, the heart pricked but I repeated-"I want the best for him." Did you when I was sent to my in-laws last year?

We share glances, you bend your head and drive away in your posh car. I close the gates. We don't speak anymore? Why?

I understand. Class indeed governs relationships.

My heart reels every time your quarrels breeze through the window, I cringe at the accusations she hurls towards you. You stood by when everybody denied my existence. Born low but raised amongst well-to-do peers, I kind of belonged nowhere. You brought meaning, gave me a sense of identity. By going against your parents you restored my faith in humanity. I realised I do have value.

You must be asleep by now, embracing the comforts of your wife's soft skin, basking in the lingering fragrance of her Chanel. Or, maybe you are cleaning the puke from her black velvet mini, who knows!

I hug myself, arms encasing my body. My breath scans for any person nearby, to share warmth. Only the chilly air fondles my cheeks. Still, the fire burns. I have kept it inert for the past eight years, it doesn't listen anymore. It flares every time you walk by, every time you try to look at the ceiling or the trees. Yet, I know you secretly watch me, from your verandah just like you used to.

I now work at a youth employment centre, I'm saving to carve a better life. I know my worth, thanks to you. You were never my Dada, I do not regret a bit to say it out loud. I can scream from the rooftops if need be. Society molded our relationship, gave it a name-a false one and we carried it forward, cushioned in pretense. Funny, isn't it? Both of us knew the truth.

I chose to not forget that single afternoon. For, I have seen the lava flow, I have been scorched by sweltering heat and drenched in your longing. But, it was a mistake-the mistake that changed our lives, changed you, changed me. And now, I live and breathe that change. I cannot complain, I wanted it. I atone for my sins.

I don't know whether these words will ever reach you, though I want closure. But, if at all I have learnt anything from my twenty-six years of life, it's to make peace with whatever you have. What you want you don't get, what you get you don't want. It's the sad irony.

This is 2020-the year I rest my case. I'm officially burying you. I need to move on. You have done the same. It's not easy, but not too hard either. What can be harder than losing the most important person, my partner in crime? We tread the same path now-the path of pain. You succumbed to your parent's wishes, I never held you guilty. It's natural, we are too different. Not as persons, but by birth.

Rahul Da, I loved you. I still do. It won' change until someone writes it over. Because this longing has to find a better expression. It's a bud now, with the petals closed tight. The flower needs to spread its wings, unleash its fragrance and bloom into an exuberant beauty-just as Nature intended, the way Earth wished, the Sun envisioned and the rain blessed.

This February fourteen will never return, I don't want it to return. Through these years I have written endless letters, this is definitely the last. I have torn the others, I let go, set them free. They are floating in the cradle of wind, maybe will find expression through words of another hopeless romantic or a poet lost in the charms of his lyrical mind.

This night I bid goodbye, to us. You will remain, just as you are, not as you were. I will love because it's an emotion and unidentified. We started with love, we will end in love-as human beings, as friends, as acquaintances. Thank you for everything, Rahul Da. Thanks for being that presence.

Glossary

Dada/ Da- elder brother