"Why?"

The question was out in the air.

He stared at the night sky searching for his answers. The clouds frowned at him. The guilty is asking questions, they mused. But what they had still not learned was how they were not the ones to declare one guilty.

"Why?"

He rasped out, the alcohol working its magic. But he was an experienced drinker, it would definitely take him another bottle to get knocked out. And at present, he only had a half-filled one next to him.

Memories are meant to fade. Clearly, they don't. An echo of the very same question he asked right now, was shrieking at him in the past. Even she had asked him.

"Why Neel? Why should I agree to your proposal?"

"Why not, Amrita?"

"You are the person I would trust my life with! The first and the only one who would get to know what would be running on my mind. Every idea, every thought, every opinion! And that means that you are not just anyone for me Neel! You are the person who knows me better than myself, but is that enough to spend our lives together?"

"Won't you prefer to spend your life with a person who understands you, rather than 'hoping' for a stranger to understand you, Amrita?"

And that was their story. Despite whatever happened afterward, Indroneel never regretted his decision. Never. She was the right woman for him and till date, he was sure of that. She had asked him whether he would keep her the happiest woman alive. And if her happiness meant consenting with her wishes, then that's what he had done.

Even when he got to know about her affair.

Even then.

Sighing he surveyed the photographs again. Angling them and examining them from every possible direction, his eyes stuck to the back of the photographs. They were blank. Or that's what he thought till the faded words reappeared on the surface.

"Her eyes shall put burning embers to shame,

Amrita, she says is her name."

— B. M.

The letters were all very pointy, he noted. The beauty of the lines taken away by the scrawny handwriting. Of course, not that he would appreciate them at any cost. After all, he was the very man to whom he lost his best friend. The initials were bold, the pressure applied unnecessarily. It showed that the person was authoritative, then how come she fell for him?

One of the leading industrialists of their city, the heir of the Aashiyana Manor, and also the person who owned the whole of the West Port of their city. Bipin Mukherjee was a well-known man. Let it be their city or their state. A very private person. Only three times in his entire life was he mentioned in the newspaper or in the media.

One, when he took over his father's legacy.

Two, his unannounced marriage.

Three, his mysterious death.

And with his death, the whole West End was sealed away, left in nothing but ruins. For a time being the media spurted out conspiracy theories left and right. It was quite a shocker as few days before his death, even his wife's body was recovered from the riverside. Ranging from 'Someone killed him' to 'His dead wife haunted him', all sorts of theories were built.

Alas! Death takes the pleasure of taking away the living secrets along with him.

That is when they gave up the chase and settled for the most practical reason. His wife passed away and he was depressed. So he killed himself. There, all settled.

There were only three people who knew what had happened that night. Three. Bipin, Amrita, and he. Only one of them was living. And those secrets would die with him. They had to.

He read the snippets and messages which the rich landlord left behind through the photographs. And forgetting whatever happened, he understood why Bipin fell for her. The same reason as his. Where could they find another Amrita? He further read another snippet.

"She is nice, punctual, and obedient. 
Sweet and kind.
Paakhi, she's all that.
But is that really what I want?
A person who would stand by my side but not understand me, no matter how hard she tries?"

Indroneel wanted to snarl at him, wasn't the man too late for that? He had a three-year-old son for god's sake! But at the same time, he could empathize with him. His difficulty, his tale. Who was he to measure another man's misery?

Flipping the photos, he reached for a few of the last ones. Fingers brushing over the words, he sensed the mood from the shorter lines.

"Paakhi flew away. 
Like a bird.
All at once."

He could decipher the timing of that short poetry.

The four of them had destroyed their lives. Through and through.

In the case of Amrita, Paakhi's death had brought all the guilt. She was restless. And that is when he had decided, enough was enough. Then came the confrontation, the cry and hue, the spat, ended by silence. Ridden with guilt, she was uncontrollable. That's how she walked away from the fight and stormed into Aashiyana Manor.

Hunting Bipin down with her hurls and screams.

And he at the receiver end was not the one to be quiet. He shouted back at her, equally ferocious. Things got heated. His three-year-old son who did not know why his teacher was yelling at his father, stood there still, watching the scene.

Things had already gone out of hand when Indroneel reached there. The only thing he could do was softly ask the three-year-old to move back to his room. And the kid followed his instructions without a second thought.

The affluent businessman with a hunting rifle in his hand, aimed towards the air. One-shot, the chandelier had fallen. Looking for a new target, he found it right in time and aimed it towards the man standing at the doorstep.

She was quick. She was always quick.

Putting herself right in front of him, she was his shield, then and now. Her eyes put the rifle to shame. They were nothing compared to her swirling magical browns. One moment, she was in front of him. The next, she was at his feet, still and silent. Her lips curved into a serene smile.

Her head on his lap, he held her. Words were unnecessary. For the Maths Masterji words were always unnecessary. Her cold fingers reached out and touched his sunken cheeks. Gasping barely with any life, she whispered.

"I loved you as a friend should.

I loved him as a lover should."

He sighed. He knew long back that he had lost in that game. Clutching his skin tighter, she breathed out her last. Her last lines treading all over his heart.

"But who said love of a lover is greater than that of a friend?
 The world is delusional.
It's all the other way around."

There she lay. Another shot echoed. And another one lay.

Shuddering he leaned against the wall. The night was still young after twenty years. Old Monk clasped tight in his hand, he sat still. He was lost, so lost. It was just one o'clock at night. And he had time till sunrise to drown himself in his grief.

Speechless was she, the city. Her old memories washed away, rained on her again on a chilly winter night.