Undone.

One time, he talked about how he saw himself as a father in the future. When a man is up to such talk, you know he's up to something, he couldn't be serious. But you couldn't say he was lying or anything. You just couldn't. I looked away, embarrassed.

Another time, he told me he liked simple women. Like the Gayatri Joshi in Swades. Mentally I dug out all those buried salwar kameezes in my wardrobe. Even fancied long tresses that reach the waist, wondering if they would sync with the attire.

Sometimes, he told me, 'See you're a nice girl.'

Again, he told me of the places he was yet to take me to. I had them all pictured, neat and clean in my mind. I would close my eyes and see us, in the future. Happy and full of promise.

I saw our feet kiss silken sands, hair blow against sea winds. I saw us take long strolls by the waves. I heard us talk, the way we talked then. Like p&q, always looking into each other, and conversing. Lost, yet there.

So much for meaningless talk, so much for broken promises! Into long nights. So much for the hint of a dream of a life, I wished to see together with him.

Now, days whiz past, shortening life by the moment, chances of meeting him again heartbreakingly plummeting as I write. No body cares. He doesn't recognize me. And I cannot recognize him. A part of life stands, undone.