Some days, I just wanted to hear her voice. The melodious symphony; the soft silvery texture; the peppiness and the placidity. Hearing her was an event in my life. And it was like magic, she could make my world better with the few words she spoke. I was always dumbstruck and engrossed, I didn’t know what to say when it was my turn to speak. To tell you the truth, I wanted our conversations to be monologues, where it was always she speaking and me listening.
Nothing remains constant in the world outside our Maths textbooks. Times changed, situations changed and we stopped talking. I tried to move on. And it was going pretty well. But some days, I really wanted to hear her voice. Anything in her voice – cuss, farewell speech, inverse trigonometric identities – anything would have done.
I was reading Paper Towns those days. In the story, after Margo disappears, Q goes to all possible lengths – deserted wrecks of planned townships, a dark rotting office where each table has the same calendar flipped to the same date, travelling more than twenty hours straight on his graduation day to get her, even though the chances are minimal. It filled me with hope. I could call her. I had to. For the sake of story.
But it wasn’t as if I could call her all the time. This could have been our lastest conversation. So I went to Google Playstore and downloaded a call recorder. It was 9 mb. For testing, I called Lord Evans.
“O my sweet Hentai Lord! I can’t believe you called. I mean it’s the first time since I saved your number have I seen the words ‘Asshole Calling’ on my screen. It’s unbelievable. Am I dreaming? Are you drunk? ”
“Okay. Bye. “I hung up exactly at the 59th second.
I went back to the app. It had recorded only the first 3 seconds of the call, which was – tring, tring.
I went back to Google Playstore and downloaded another few recorders. Lord Evans went crazier with every call.
At last, one of them worked. I shut my room, googled how to sound interesting in a conversation, rehearsed a few speeches, checked my vocal quality on VQT, and dialled her number. My palms were sweating.
The number you’ve dialled is currently busy. Please try after some time.
I dialled again.
The number you’ve dialled is currently busy…
And then I stopped.
What was I doing? We were supposed to move on? We weren’t supposed to drag the other one back to the point from where we drifted apart. And what would our conversation comprise now? Digging up the past would be painful, and our presents do not coincide. She’s busy, she’s looking for a new life. And I’m stuck here, reminiscing the old, fading scent of her presence. It’s a vortex I’m pushing myself in, and it won’t do any good to me.
I switched off my phone and went back to reading Paper Towns. Q does find Margo, but he lets her go because their paths are different and so are their destinies.
The number you have dialled is currently busy. Please try after some time.
I listened to the recording for the hundredth time, and stopped myself from dialling her number again.
Sometimes, you have to let go. For the sake of story…