The blow from my ex-boyfriend hit me hard, and I can't shake the question of how I managed to forget him—it's been bothering me since all of this began. Now, another critical question arises: "What actually happened?" I know I'm not someone with a weak will or emotional strength, so if he influenced me enough to block out my memories of him, whatever went down must have been brutal.
Luna, how much do you know about this guy? Please tell me everything you remember.
I don't have much information about your relationship, but I do know him as a mutual friend.
What do you mean by "mutual"? Is he a classmate?
Sort of. But before we get into that, I really think you should see a psychological counselor. You seem to be under a lot of stress, and you shouldn't have to deal with this alone. Are you willing to discuss visiting a counselor with your family?
Oh no! Have I really been so naive as to date someone who hurt me enough to make me erase my memories of him? And on top of that, I might have betrayed my parents' trust.
The mention of my family reminds me of the one rule I should follow: NEVER DATE. But here I am, and I have no idea if they even know I was involved with this jerk.
Luna, I would consider going to a psychological counselor, but first, I need to know: Did my parents know I was dating him?
"Of course not. You know how they would react if they found out. I wouldn't be here talking to you if they knew you were with him."
"What do you mean you wouldn't be here? Did I do something else as well?"
"Yes, lovehead. You were so in love that he constantly visited you, and to cover up for your relationship, you had me lie to your family by saying he was my distant cousin. So yes, if they knew you were dating, I would be burnt at the pyre alongside you."
"What have I done? I've betrayed my parents—people who love me the most and have sacrificed everything for me and my better life. Not only have I betrayed them, but I've also dragged my best friend, my sister, into this mess as well. Maybe I deserve to go insane. Maybe I deserve to be in a psychiatric ward, tormented every day for what I've done. I should probably die—I don't deserve to live..."
I started shaking, tears streaming down my face, while my expression felt hollow, as if I had no life left. Luna noticed my state and my tears; she didn't shout or speak—she just held me in her arms.
Maybe that hug was exactly what I needed. I returned to the room, feeling something shift inside me. It was as if she was saying, "I'm here; I forgive you." For an instant, I thought maybe I wasn't guilty and that I deserved to live because I had her—my comrade, my partner in crime, and my moral support.
Whatever emotional turmoil I was experiencing ended after 10 to 15 minutes. Once I was stabilized, she let go of the hug and asked in a troubled tone, "Are you okay now? I think it's time we tell your family everything. I can't stand to see you like this ever again."
I panicked at the mention of my family, and she must have noticed, so she quickly changed her words, "Or how about we get help from your uncle? Subham uncle knows about Amirag and may be able to help you with this as well."
My uncle, Subam, who is my dad's cousin, has always felt more like a friend to me. With just a five-year age difference, we grew up more like siblings than as an uncle and niece. He's probably the only older person I might have confided in about my love life, but he has a habit of taking everything as a prank or a joke. He's always cheerful and lighthearted, but this playful demeanor means he lacks maturity. To him, everything is just a punchline waiting to happen. If I were to share my situation with him, he would likely just laugh it off and say something like, "Don't mess around. You weren't even dating, so stop beating around the bush; this isn't funny!" I know he wouldn't offer any real help or understanding, just more jokes.
I asked Luna, " Are you sure he'll be of any help because as far as I know or understand his demeanor, I am fuckin sure he'll just respond as if I am playing a prank on him, so maybe we might as well drop this idea.
What do you suggest to me? Fighting this all alone, without any real help, actually getting depressed and committing suicide, just like Priya did.
Her voice cracked, and I could see the tears welling in her eyes; she was deeply hurt and worried. Priya was more than just a friend to us; she was a sister. The three of us grew up together, sharing dreams, secrets, and countless memories that shaped who we are today. When she left us in 10th grade, it felt as though a part of our lives had been ripped away. We still don't understand what led her to commit suicide, and that question haunts us. The deepest regret we carry is that we couldn't save her when she needed us the most.
In moments like this, I can't help but wonder if Luna feels the same fear we did back then. What if I follow the same path? What if she can't protect me and loses another person she cherishes?
Priya's name is a bittersweet echo in our hearts—something we promised never to mention to each other. The pain of her absence hangs in the air, but speaking her name feels like reopening old wounds. We hold an unspoken agreement, one born out of guilt and sorrow. It's ironic that in trying to shield ourselves from the grief, we inadvertently push her further away. Yet when we are alone, we find ourselves drawn to her memories. We cry as we look at her pictures, and we reach out to each other, never quite saying what we truly feel. We still miss her more than words can express, but mentioning her feels like admitting our failure to keep her safe. Priya was integral to our lives, and even in her absence, she continues to influence us in ways we can't yet comprehend.
I replied firmly, as if I were addressing a small child. "Luna, I understand this triggers certain feelings for you, but the important thing is that you're here with me now. That's what will save me, no matter what happens. I will see a counselor, but I refuse to let my family know about it."
"If that's your choice, I won't pressure you. But let's consider the aftermath. What if they discover the truth, and we find ourselves in a bigger mess? We will need their support."
"If money is your concern, don't worry about it. I have my own earnings and pocket money. And if time is an issue, I can easily tell them I'm going to the library. So, that's not a problem at all."
"Whatever you decide, let's determine where to go for counseling."
"I believe I know the answer: the new neuropsychiatric hospital near Civil Hospital."
"Rhythm, you mean?"
"Yes, that's the place I'm thinking of. I've heard they have excellent clinical counselors.
Okay, how about we book an appointment asap? Tomorrow?
Not this week, I have other plans already. Let's hold it for a week or so and discuss.
She agreed, but I could sense the anxiety and fear beneath her surface. To comfort ourselves, we decided to have a sleepover at my place, just like we used to. We built a pillow fort in my room, reviving a cherished tradition that had persisted since Priya left. It was our way of honoring her memory; she would often hide in a tent during her moments of sadness. Surprisingly, it always seemed to lift our spirits, and tonight was no different.
As we snuggled inside the makeshift tent, surrounded by soft blankets and the soothing backdrop of music, an unexpected calm washed over me. It was as if the worries of the outside world faded away. Wrapped in the warmth of our memories and each other's company, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. In that cozy sanctuary, I surrendered to sleep, grateful for the comfort of shared moments and the power of tradition, finally at peace as the gentle rhythm of the music lulled me into dreams.