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After one year
“I am sorry Isha! I had to do this to you.” I said to Isha in my heart. She was sitting on her knees, in front of my grave, which I build myself to fake my death to the world. Her eyes were swollen and loaded with tears. She was praying for my soul to rest in peace. And there I, my soul itself, was hiding behind a tree at a safe distance.
One year ago, after confession when I stepped out of the church, I worked on how to proceed to Isha. I tried hard, renter in her life, put all the efforts, and won her back. By the end of the year, we had been living an ideal life. It was all amazing. That was the stage, when my life’s purpose was fulfilled. And I needed to tell her the truth. I couldn’t tell her directly, as she might not have had accepted it. So I worked out this was the best way for letting her free.
Last month, I convinced her to shift to California for Better job prospects for me. We were settled down here in Chicago since three years, just after our marriage. Although we have a .special connection to this place, she easily agreed. My career had become her priority. I was happy to know that. I wished this stubborn woman had showed such love while I was alive. But for our broken marriage, I was equally guilty too. She tried, and got the transfer in her job, to California. A week ago she left for her official tour. I did all the arrangements; so that after knowing about my death, she could quickly and smoothly shift to California. I wanted her to leave the city as soon as possible, so that she wouldn’t be able to check the details of my death. I created all the evidences, and build my grave there.
My entire plan worked. She was there in front of my grave to say a final goodbye. She was supposed to leave the town that evening. All our relatives and close friends were waiting at home. My parents had already flown from India and were supposed to land here in few hours. I kept gazing her. She looked defeated. Her charming face got drained. Her knee length long hair, were sitting silently, coiled, denying to flow and wave. Her casual blue tee shirt and jeans were portraying her mourn state. Else she was always particular about her appearance. She actually had different sets of attire for funerals. My crazy little baby was suddenly looking lifeless.
“Isha.” Bhavesh’s voice broke the chain of my thoughts. For the last time she gently touched my name written in her favourite font on the grave, ‘Leonard Robin’. She closed her eyes, with tears flowing out; kissed it and left.
“Good Bye Isha! Have a good life ahead” I could only prey for her from away.
Read Part 3Here