The Day I Missed Talking to You About the Shit Happening in My Life

Dear Palak,

I realized this around 6 in the evening, when it hit me that the only time I’d spoken to anyone all day was when I called Pallo in the afternoon.

One thing about she stopping loving me is I don’t have to explain where I am, don’t have to say I’m taking a long, obsessive bath or holed up in the bathroom, which always took longer than it should, thanks to the OCD. I don’t have to worry about sleeping until noon, not having to answer to anyone.

Back then, she would lose her mind when I went quiet too long—thought I’d dropped dead or worse.

I remember her sending those two huge guys to check on me at PR Palace, when I didn’t reply to her ‘good morning’ text, just days after I crawled out of that damn hospital, during the Covid period.

Now I don’t have to worry about any of that. No waiting for her calls or texts. She barely reach out. It’s a miserable kind of freedom.

Now, if I’m dead for three days, no one would notice. No one would be knocking on my door, no one would be sending anyone to check if I’m still alive. She would probably assume I’m drunk if I don’t pick up her formality wala evening calls, and my mom would think I’m stuck in some meeting or training. I could just rot here, and the world wouldn’t even blink.

I would love to go like that. In a state of this miserable kind of freedom.

I wish I could tell you all these things in details. I wish I could talk to you.

With love, hugs and other things,
P