How did the world’s longest love story end?

There was only silence.

A lot of silence for a really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

long time.

The kind of nauseating silence that you can feel when you fart yourself in a crowded metro train.

Especially after a weekend spent feasting on the delicious “Rajma Chawal” that only your mother can cook.

Sometimes even “Mutton Biryani” has the same effect.

A bit unusual for an argument though isn’t it?

Well “life is a big fart” that  is what the two thought at the end of it.

As usual there was a boy and there was a girl.

None of them had spoken to each other for a

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

really

long time.

But their fingers were greasy with lies that they were typing to each other.

Like a trigger of a UZI, the backspace button on their keyboards was their unknown assassin.

Killing hope and other silly motives with the push of a button.

They fired at each other with an uninformed accuracy.

Each time laying a brick of indifference between them.

It grew and grew.

Slowly the black wall was nearing completion.

Only words could save them now.

Words of courage.

Words of honesty.

Words of acceptance.

But in this desert of silence, the snake of their egos filled every hour.

No one, out of the two wanted to bow down to the other.

Yet secretly both of them wished

to forgive,

to be forgiven,

to unite

and

to make merry.

Waking up one day after watching two lovers kiss under the beautiful sunrise of a napalm sky on his big screen TV, he decided to save their friendship from stumbling down into the pit of darkness.

And he started typing a love letter that sounded like a poem.

But before his finger could press the send button, the arm of the “Control Z” button on his keyboard grabbed the umbilical cord of a tiny thread of an old lingering pain and pulled it right in front of the center of his third eye.

He could have resisted but he gave in to the delicious ecstasy of the bitter coldness that unusual traumatic experiences bring to the heart after a long period of tolerance.

And so did she.

Her mobile phone text editor did not have an “Undo Button” either.

The damage was done.

It was too late now.

Finally, the silence was broken with the sound of his shattering heart.

Their misunderstandings feasted on his salty palms

“They could have lived happily ever after”

and maybe they did…

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