The Choice

(About the last episode ending without To be continued, I apologize. How many parts more, Well read on to find out.)
Disclaimer: All the characters are fictional and all of it is a work of fiction, any resemblance to a person living or dead is purely coincidental

I am crying on the pathway, gathering each part of my body, that heaviness, and I can’t get hold of myself. I recall the way back home, starting to walk in the opposite direction, I book myself a cab. I fear being alone and lonely, people leaving me, nightmares of me crying and I am lost in self when the cab drops me and I walk inside the apartment.

I lie down on the couch, sweating, I hurriedly switch on the AC and I doze off to sleep with my knees close to my heart. I sleep restlessly, uneasy, seeing Abhay in the dream again, he standing under the stairway of the bridge, rain pouring and his heartbroken face. I wake up.

I open my eyes, wiping off my mouth, I am feeling cold, and I switch off the AC. I look through the glass window outside the apartment, it is dawn, I look at my cellphone, its nearly 5am in the morning, I have been sleeping for 13 hours straight. I look at the messages, and calls from everyone, two from Sharad and many from Abhay.

I look around the house, and I get up from the couch, shaking my neck off, and I walk towards the door, I look at my handbag, and at the care package the receptionist gave me, A pamphlet, A journal, A pen inscribed with take care. I look at the file named Saumya Dutt, I open it up there is a prescription paper on that, I see some words scribbled Decidophobia, Anxiety Disorder type 3 – Panic Disorder, Dependent Personality disorder, Stage 2 Agoraphobia identified.

I look below at the responses to the questionnaire, to which I gave the answers, I try recalling the session with the Doc yesterday, and I am hungry, I am holding the paper and I move towards the kitchen.

I am staring int the blank space and some part of the session, has been missing. I have a hard time recalling what happened with me and the Doc, I remember her jotting down a few things while I was speaking, I recall, some bullshit breathing exercises she told me, each time I sweat, I recall yelling at her. When was I handled this file? this , what is this, I look at the diagrams, the poses, to help me control the anxiety, the diet to follow, and as I read more, some youtube links for meditative courses designed by the Doc. 10 key pointers to do whenever you feel out of balance. I look at the things in disappointment, I look inside the care package, there are no pills.

What a waste? I look at my cellphone and I open WhatsApp, there is an automated business account messages from the clinic, regarding the last session task. Oh the frigging truth, the hard choice.

I shrink my eyebrows, and I look into the refrigerator for some milk, I pick out the Nutella Jar, and as I brew my coffee, I sit on the kitchen slab, licking the nutella from my fingers and I miss Sharad. Our first kiss a few days back, and I giggle to myself. I am smiling a little now. I fell in love with him at the first sight, and ever since I saw him, I am so lost, his presence is so happy. I feel alive again. I yearn to spend time with him. He was my person, and I felt at ease with him, I never even had to speak with him, as if he already knows. He is so comfortable, never forcing me for anything, he was everything, I wished to find, and no matter how unrealistic ideas I had for the love of my life, he is everything.

A smile spread across my face, and lips, I look at our pictures, at the things we do together, I feel the blood rushing to my face, and I shake this new feeling, a little stupid, and waiting when will we meet next. I wish I could see his morning face, just like that night he spent with me, in my arms, in my bed, not wanting to go, or leave me.

I don’t know what happens to me, when I am with him, I have never felt the heartbeats, me so in love with him, like he was waiting for someone like me, and I for him. Life looks good with him. I forget all my being intricacies with him, I see magic unfurling infront of my eyes, I am so in love with him.

I pour my coffee and I miss our conversations, our trips, our rides into the wild, everything, the hearty laughter and for a moment I forget being a victim at all, everything looks clear as water. I facetime him, it’s almost 7 and the call goes unanswered.

I open up the chat and I find his love messages, I read them, wanting him to be close to me, to take me out of this dilemma, to help me, I do not want to be alone, and though he loves me, but not enough I feel, and I do not want to compare him with Abhay, but everytime, it happens, and I do not want Abhay anymore, but I cant stop thinking about him. If I would Facetime him, he would show at my doorstep in no time, he would always pick up my calls, he would come running at just one dial of mine. Why on this earth I am doing wrong with this person, why have I fallen in love with Sharad, why can’t I just be with Abhay, what is wrong with me, where did the love go, why did I do this? Why did I promise him a future when I was the one to take that away? Why can’t I tell him the truth, why have I fallen in love with him, why have I fallen out, what did he do, what was his fault. I am panicking, and I can’t find answers to my questions.

I feel stuck, I feel trapped, by my own undoing, the emotions, and the coffee feels choked in my throat, I can’t help myself, and there it is, the pain in my chest, the sweaty palms, the breathlessness, the crying, feeling vulnerable.

I have this urge to call you, to talk to you, but I have to learn to let you go. If I ever loved you sincerely, this is what I would do, I pick up the phone and I look at my speedial, I call Sharad, the line rings, and I am getting unconscious, I call Sharad again, and it goes unanswered. I dial Abhay next and I roll off on the floor, with darkness all around.


Author: Onesha

She is the funny one! Has flair for drama, loves to write when happy! You might hate her first story, but maybe you’ll like the next. She is the master of words, but believes actions speak louder than words. 1sha Rastogi, founder of

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