Hello mērā pyāra

My love, my life.

I looked across the room and your eyes catch mine. We gazed for a moment and you asked, do you know the meaning of my name?
My understanding of Punjabi is rudimentary, if anything, non-existent.

“No” I replied.
“It means Love” you said in turn.
“So I Preet you?” I made a cheeky swipe.

We both sat on the floor of the office loo, propped on the rows and rows of water cooler drums and laughed ourselves silly.

You were always the dreamer, and I was the dreamless sleeper. You looked enough into the future to last three lifetimes, I couldn’t see past next Tuesday. Perhaps you sensed next Tuesday was in Y3k.

I hated hyphens. You loved the compound words, the promise and possibilities a little stroke could combine and churn out.

You were fire, I was ice. You melt me, I froze you. This cat and mouse elemental game, forever ongoing. We had our moments, yes we did Preet. We set out to control and elicit the impulses, the balance free-wheeling. You became me, I became you. We switched, we flipped, we morphed, and we separated.

Do you still think of that and feel intrigued by our exchanges Preet? Or was it just endless waves of conflict and confusion? Did you absorb more than you could handle this time?

I was always a strange one, with an unacceptable love, not meant for the meek. Did it swallow you whole or did it make you throw up when you trembled with fear? I think we both know the answer. It will always be, as imprinted within your very soul. Leaving collateral behind.

I often wonder what it would be like, if I met you one day by chance. I, standing at one end of the room, yourself at the other. Our eyes meet briefly, your fingers flicking the last bits of your rollie, going for a last final drag before stubbing it out with yellowed, stained fingers.

I reckon you will look down and look away, making for the closest exit. I would stand there with a cheeky grin, as usual, with unsmiling eyes.

My little runaway train wreck…