Hold My Hand

We would talk about chemistry for hours at end, for I liked complex benzene rings with methyl groups hanging here and there, and she liked the thirty-something teacher who taught us the subject. Little did I know that we wouldn’t last long. For, I was like an inert gas, unlikeable and uninteractive, while she was like an alkali, combustible and excitable.

It made me hope he would tell me that he still needed me despite all that he had, that he really missed me and wanted me back, but he didn't.

Deep has to go to his world, where he has friends and books and girls with eyes to date, and she will be alone with only her dad. She has to let go, she decides.

He will not be around anyway and Ahana will find someone else to explore the city with. And who knows? She might be in Paris the next year or in Brussels and will find someone better.

Who would want him? he asks himself. Certainly not Ahana, who's funny, bright and so beautiful that it hurts.

Life follows the same routine-I wake up to nothing new or exciting. Everyday it's the same. Except some days, days like today, when I wake up with a powerful desire of going right back to sleep. Or maybe be spared the pain of having ever to wake up again. I'm just tired. Tired of the monotony, tired of pitying myself and my dad, tired of being a subject of sympathy who crosses my path, and of being so pathetically obsessed with a guy who doesn't give a shit about me.