Can You hear me

The crowd was moving fast, almost blurring, focusing on something or someone was arduous. Doctors reckon her eyes are working fine, it’s her mind that is refusing to register the things around. I have to make a conscious effort so I gathered every last ounce of my will and faced the crowd, now I could see the signboards, faces, and people rushing to get on with their lives. “Life, what a strange affair.” I mused as I hobbled into the metro train. “Vivan, Hey here… Vivan.,” I yelled, but the metro was already drifting away and like always Vivan didn’t acknowledge my voice as if he didn’t hear. Or was it really him? All I saw was his back, perhaps it was someone else. I sighed as I took my seat, mulled over and took out my notepad.

can you hear me
This note was crumpled and thrown under the seat.

When I walked into the office, Renee did a quick sweep over me and her expressions yelled that I am officially a wreck. Ninety minutes of hell in the TMM (Tuesday Morning Meeting) justified her agitation as she gave me the directions for the next month’s issue of our fashion magazine.

This note was thrown in the trash bin.
This note was thrown in the paper basket.

After three hours of reading the six articles for exactly six times, I still have no clue of any of the context. Concentration was leisure I couldn’t afford, my mind was running a marathon of nothingness. I logged into Facebook to check Vivan’s profile and again no update from him, the last status was updated a month ago when he asked me for a surprise date night and I closed the tab suddenly as my mind was trying to block something that was threatening to crush everything inside of me. That is Vivan, doing something exciting or crazy all the time, like declaring an alleged surprise over Facebook or sending me a bunch of Lilies when I am at work for no reason at all. I need coffee I decided and stepped out of the office to the coffee parlour across the street.

This note was torn and scattered on road.
This note was torn and scattered on road.

I saw him again in a cab but why is he going the other way to our home? I called him on his number for the hundredth time and again it went straight to the voicemail. Why is he not replying and coming back home, it’s been a month? I started to walk in the direction Vivan’s cab went. “Great, a three-way road, where would he have gone?” I bellowed in anger, counted to twenty-three and took the way to the park, our park where Vivan I used to sneak during our college days. Even After two years of our marriage, we have managed several blissful trips to our park. There he was, at our place in the park, why is he wearing different clothes? I could only see his side silhouette. I tried to run after him but my sour leg was holding me back. Then he turned and gave me his signature crooked soulful smile and I felt like every nerve ending in my body was a live wire.

Wind swept this note away.
Windswept this note away.

Back at home, I saw something move, something fast and shadowy. I whipped my head around but there was nothing, so I stepped into the washroom. I realized I could smell Vivan. The small space was filled with him. The panic was back and my eyes scuffed around looking for–what? I was afraid to look in the mirror, in case I saw some stranger staring back at me. It was then I saw his wash bag has slipped off the shelf. Things have tumbled out and a bottle of something was broken. I crouched down; it wasn’t Vivan I could smell, it was just his aftershave.

This one was Burnt.
This one was Burnt.

In the darkness, I woke with a knock, my heart was beating fast. The light was switched on before I knew I had done it and I was on high alert and wide awake. I was still on the couch. I must have dozed off here in my work clothes because I have kept postponing going to the bedroom. I heard a noise, I knew I wasn’t alone in the room anymore, someone was here with me, it has to be Vivan. He has to come back at some point and it’s been over a month already then I saw him, still smiling which infuriated me.

You got some nerve, smiling after all this!” I snapped.
You look beautiful, good to see you too” he simply stated, still smiling and it was infectious.
“About time, I am really happy to see you Vivan, I can’t believe you still have the clothes you wore when you proposed to me!” I squealed, finally happy after such a long time. “But how did you manage to come here?” I implored.
“What do mean, I came through the door.” He asserted.

“But, Vivan, ” I whispered as I remembered, “You’re Dead,

Vivan wasn’t smiling anymore, he looked confused and sad. Then he gazed at my notepad on the table.

“Why do you do that?” He nodded towards it, trying to change the subject.
I played dumb “What?”
“Writing, what it is to you?” he seemed genuinely curious now.
My mind clogged, like Deja vu. The last time when he queried this I had saidWriting to me is like a magic wand that creates doors to another realm, a place where imagination and fantasy is reality, just 26 letters woven in countless different patterns giving life to infinity and best of all, anything is possible when I write, World gets better, World is better.
Being an author, writing means more than breathing to me but that was when the world was better, where the sun used to shine and flowers used to bloom. Now everything is different and it only rains. I collected my thoughts, I know he was talking about the notes I have left for him to read.
Writing to me is surviving through the day,I paused, breathed and counted to twenty-threeIt’s a bridge between you and me, a channel so that you can hear me. I choked. My vision blurred, this time not because my mind was blocking the reception but my eyes were moist.
He moved his head as if he understood or was he disagreeing? I couldn’t tell through all the tears.
“Your heart,” he was smiling again, my favourite one “Is the bridge between you and me. Always.”
I nodded and was about to wipe my tears when he said “Don’t, let them flow. Let it go, Nish, let it go.” and he started to walk backwards and the room got bigger and bigger.
“Don’t go, please, Come back, I need you.” I bawled but he vanished into the thin air.
I woke up with a sob. Still, on the couch, I was sweating profusely and my cheeks were wet. I found my way to the bedroom and let my tears flow for the first time since his surprise date night, since the accident, since he saved me taking all the impact on him. I cried as I never cried before and cried some more and slowly drifted to an agonizing slumber as my physical pain took over me.

Smudged badly with tears, no one but him know what was written.
Smudged badly with Nisha’s tears, no one but he knows what was written.


NOTE: The images of notes used here are edited by myself, they are the notes Nisha scribbled for Vivan and left at different places.


Writer’s Note:

I am an avid reader and when I read, the pain and joy of the characters get trapped inside me.
For many other reasons writing to me is a medium through which I extricate that pain and joy in the world with the help of mere 26 letters to be read by many other readers like me so that they trap this pain and joy inside them again and release it in their own way.

©AnkitaS 2013

This post grabbed the WOW Badge as part of the Write Over The Weekend contest conducted by Blogadda.

My first Entry

29 thoughts on “Can You hear me

  1. A great read. You made me nostalgiac. All what you wrote at the end is just simply true and truly words are life for authors like us when the whole world seems dark.

    The pictures you used are too good. How you drew them?? eager to know 😛 😛 😛

    Well you are a really blessed author.

    Silly smiles… Take you miles 🙂


    1. Writers story gets all it’s worth when some one acknowledge it, And you just made my day. Thank you
      Yes, Words are life for authors, in rain and sunshine. 🙂
      Regarding pictures: I clicked a picture of a note book, blurred it using Photoshop and edited the text over it. And Viola. 🙂 🙂

      “Silly smiles…. take you miles”— Love it.
      Thanks for stopping by and for such a lovely comment.


  2. Really emotional and sentimental post ankitha….Moved!
    That dialogue:“It’s a bridge between you and me, a channel so that you can hear me.” Loved this line truly… Nice short story! 🙂
    All the best! 🙂


  3. Ankita, what a grasping story! Half way through it went well but got a super surprise reading about the death of Vivan.

    True, writing is like a magic wand, an Alladin’s lamp for the Author.


  4. Every bit of what you poured down is damn true.Brilliant shots cleverly used..We all seem to be truly madly in love with writing…loved your take.. 🙂


    1. Hey Maliny, I visit your blog and I was mesmerized by your writings, your word play, it’s brilliantly engaging and this complement coming from you is HUGE… Thank you so much for Moral boosting… 🙂


  5. it’s a very different kind of story.. the pattern of scribbles and story’s narration was quite non-linearly woven and that’s the part I liked most.. kudos! keep writing more 🙂


  6. Wow, this is awesome. 👍👌

    Ok, for a second I thought you wrote the notes, then read the comments. 🙊
    Nevertheless, nicely written. 😀


  7. I totally Loved it … Everything about this story
    It’s really beautifully scripted …
    Keep it up anky
    Keep writing …✌


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