Chapter 1

This simulation we call life has made it abundantly clear that I’m not meant to be the main guy, the chosen one, the author’s muse. The only dress code I’ve had to strictly adhere to is keeping my underwear under my pants. I’ve tried looking for a silver lining and found it embroidered right on this guy’s denim jacket as he took it off and tossed it over the queen of my silent fantasies, Samira. I’m happy for her, really. She deserves to be charmed, fairy-tale style, all the magic and wonder the world can offer. But me, watching from the sidelines, it complicates things. Do I enjoy being this guy? The guy scrolling through Instagram sulking at the overpriced coffee that she posted, with this denim-wearing human static in bokeh smiling ear-to-ear like nine out of ten doctors are about to recommend his toothpaste.

When people say it’s genetics or fate shaping paths we’re forced to follow, I find it strangely comforting. What makes my blood boil like a cartoon kettle is all the crazy talk about a path carved by our own hands forcing the world to bend around us. Makes me wonder though, sitting about a hundred meters away from everything I want, while she’s with this bozo convinced that she’s found love. What tools do I have to carve? Carve my way into her heart where I once lived. It was the happiest place I knew. Can I really summon the power to etch myself back into a story that’s already moved on without me? Defying gravity, is what it is. My mind spins wild at the mere thought of re-entering her orbit. Part of me never left it. I still taste the bitter lip stick from the shared straw, sipping the watered chocolate milk from our office’s modest canteen. The crinkled wrappers of the earliest candy we shared are still in a box, collecting dust, buried somewhere in the overhead storage.

It’s been three years since we parted like the surprise toy and the wafer ball half in a Kinder Joy egg, my go-to gesture every time I fumbled. It’s like I travelled through wires and conductive paths, always lighting her beady eyes up. The monotonous grind I passively navigate feels more tedious because I never truly transitioned from that charged atmosphere. I cling to electric sparks that have long since died out, even in memory, keeping my eyes closed so I don’t forget what it felt like to be alive. The sense of abandonment I felt after we separated morphed into so many different things, from feeling angry and betrayed to convincing myself that everything worked out for the best.

She’s living the married dream, at least based on data from my Insta-stalk reports and visual feedback from Snapchat. I have nothing against the guy, objectively speaking, but for some reason every fibre in me aches to accidentally slip a lethal dose of arsenic in his morning coffee. His fancy CCO position at Flickerstone Media and the perfectly filtered life that tags along should keep her reasonably warm. His LinkedIn profile looked like a showcase of corporate jargon and smug life quotes, all screaming “humblebrag” in chorus.  I feel deeply conflicted that he can give her things I couldn’t, and might never be able to. My family passed down acres of anxiety and generational baggage like silver vessels and stock shares. I was a financial mess when we were together, and she never flinched picking up the bills when I was stretched to the last rupee. And truth be told, my pocket hasn’t gotten any deeper. It’s been a while since I’ve been motivated to try anything new and that feels like freedom.

I sit here, Adhil Andrew, a 27-year-old washed-out freelancer, on a park bench in Coimbatore after my routine jog, more worked up than usual cause I spotted Samira. It’s been a while since I saw her, even on socials or in my dreams. I’ve managed to avoid catching her eye so far, unsure whether to walk up to her like an old friend, or just keep sitting here, like a well-behaved stranger. We did part pragmatically after all the mental warfare was overshadowed by the cruel efficiency of letting go. We wished each other on birthdays for the next two years out of habit more than warmth.

The sight of her from here, the soft shadow tracing her cheekbone, still carving that same elegant arc. Her smile played mischief, flaunting those perfectly asymmetrical teeth. Her curly hair, with two rebellious strands resting on her forehead. Her nose, petite and flawless, holding everything together in quiet harmony. Mehndi crawled across her hands, intricately patterned yet completely out of focus. My mind kept flashing to the image of her fingers slipping through the bare space between my shirt buttons, grazing my chest, ticklish, chilling, and utterly intoxicating.

Seeing her here feels unreal. The last I heard, she had married a guy named Bhaskar and moved to Karur to pursue a fashion designing course, hoping to open her own boutique eventually. Then again, my sources are questionable, between social media and friends who heard stuff from other friends. Fuck! my insides flipped. For a second, I thought she saw me. I’m sweaty and jittery, wish my jog had anything to do with this. Not sure why that scares me though, a part of me craves her attention and secretly wishes I catch her eye for just one fleeting second. Maybe she sees me. Maybe she walks over. Of course, pretending we were just friends and dropping the usual, “how have you been?”. Funny how now is the time I’m wishing hardest that my life had moved productively, so I don’t have to rack my brain and find creative ways to phrase my gig-lifestyle. Guess it’s time to deploy my hard-earned intel from Bhaskar’s LinkedIn saga. Here I go doing what I do best, weaving wild scenarios that’ll never see the light of day. Here is how this is going to play out: I’ll sit like a creep watching my ex-girlfriend spend some quality time with her “better half” and move on with her life just like she did years ago. Meanwhile, I’ll lose myself in nostalgia until I hear back from this client, or as I like to call him, The Revision Overlord!

“Adhil, is that you?” a voice cuts through my fascinating monologue.

A voice I thought I’d never hear again sent a jolt through my body, snapping me out of my thoughts.