I pick up my cup of coffee off the garden table. The coffee smells so rich and so strong; I sip it, feeling the caffeine overpowering my nervous system. It gently crumbles my sleep each time I blink. The neighbors dog trots into my garden, looking for a morning toilet. I growl aggressively. It jumps, yelps and flees back through the hole in the fences. I smile at my achievement.
Looking around, I cannot help but admire the crystal blue sky, the cool breeze and the autumn smell. Leaves, sweet with decay have started to litter the grass creating a melange of green and yellow in front of my sight. I somehow regret the Cigarette smoke that is un-clenching in the morning stillness just like it did every school day at the bus stop. I entered adulthood with dissident lungs and a 20-a-day habit and now I have years of cigarette butts squashed underneath the soles of my converse.
The tobacco taste makes my mouth stale and dry. I will have to brush my teeth now; Rupa will be home anytime. She is going to take me to the doctor today and she won’t, if I smell bad. She is very particular about things, just like her mother. So particular, that you will prefer sitting on the floor rather on the made bed. They both hate creases. I don’t know how will I vanish the crease on my forehead but I guess, she will manage to live with that crease.
Yet again, I squash the butt of my cigarette but this time in a cigarette receptacle. Rupa doesn’t appreciate the butts lying around the garden. I get up to go and brush. The mint refreshes my mouth taking away the stale smell but the pink sputum that comes afterwards looks disturbing. I am waiting for Rupa to come; the slight ache near my respiratory area doesn’t seem to go.
I don’t feel hungry but still, reluctantly I am swallowing these cereals. Doctors won’t take the test empty stomach. Rupa is still not there, I wonder where she is. Her phone is also switched off. I get up to take out my old diary, it has all the numbers. I prefer saving numbers in diaries than in cell phones. They are much more reliable. I take out the number of Rupa’s roommate. She is also not picking up her phone; this makes me feel really uneasy. Fidgeting with my phone I keep strolling across my room calling both of them again and again. I feel as if something terrible has happened, I may be paranoid but still, I cannot stop feeling this way. The ache near my respiratory track seems to be increasing.
I decide to pay a visit to Rupa’s room. If she won’t be here, at least I can be there. Driving after so many days feels so good but the pleasure is eaten up by the nervousness inside the pit of my stomach and not to forget the growing ache in my chest. As I reach Rupa’s room, I ring her bell. Nobody is answering. This is driving me crazy, love does drive you crazy. I try to see and locate the keys, maybe, they have hidden it somewhere. I find a set of keys inside the flower pot; she is just the replica of her mother. Opening the doors, I find the room to be shabby; this can’t be the place where my Rupa stays. I stroll everywhere in search of some clue of her whereabouts, but no, nothing is there. I feel the sputum inside my mouth again; the pain is rising even more. Opening the bathroom door, I go to spit it out and there I see, Rupa lying on the floor, still, with an injection injected inside her arm. There are some spoons, lighters, papers and packets lying around her. I can’t believe my eyes. Is she on drugs? My Rupa is taking drugs? I rush towards her; she seems so weak and so fragile. I urgently call the ambulance.
The ambulance arrives in minutes which seem like hours. They drag her body outside to put her on the stretcher. I still cannot believe my eyes. I feel so numb that I quietly follow them, no questions asked. After a while, in the hospital, the doctors declare Rupa dead. A classic case of Drug overdose, more than 50,000 youths die yearly.
I feel nothing except the ache in my chest, near my respiratory track. I should have a check up without Rupa, her dead body is still in this hospital anyways. After check up, I realize that I have only few days to live. The cigarette now has its base in my lungs, last stage you see and surprisingly I cannot be happier. I’m glad that I won’t live long without her.
Sorry for the sad story, I was writing something else, It ended up being something else. I like what I wrote but it is way too sad for me. I personally like happy endings.