Tuesday, February 18, 2014


I am posting another short story.

She By Bissme S

“We could have been have been happy. Why did you choose sadness?” 

She whispered those words in my ears before she disappeared. I dreamt of her, again. She will haunt me for the rest of my life.

He wants her to haunt him. He wants to dreams about her. He will not allow himself to forget her. He is obsessed with her. He loves her like a priest. The only difference is the priest worships god and he worships the ground she walked on.

She wanted me to leave everything and everyone behind. 

“We can go to Paris,” she said.                                      
 “You could paint and I could dance.”

I did not have the courage to fulfil her dreams... to fulfil my dreams...to fulfil our dreams.

“If we go to Paris, we will break the hearts of everyone who loves us,” I said. 
“I would rather have my heart broken than to break their hearts.”

She held my face with her two hands and showered me with kisses. 

“I just want to spend the rest of my life in your arms,” she said.
“Only you give me the happiness I want. Sometimes, to be truly happy, one needs to be a little selfish.”

But I did not give the happy ending she wanted. I broke her heart…I broke my heart...I broke our hearts. Furious, she left for Paris, without me 

"Till my last breath I will hate you," she wrote     

When she was in Paris, she never stopped writing letters to him. Almost every week, he received a letter from her. Her letters were full of hatred and contempt for him. He doesn’t need her letters to punish him. He did not forgive himself for breaking her heart ... for bringing tears to her beautiful brown eyes. He tried to hide his pain. He tried to fool the world that he is happy. But I could read him like a book. He was a tortured soul.

I had written countless letters to her in Paris, trying to explain why our love story could not have the happy ending that she wanted....begging forgiveness from her. She refused to listen to reasons. She refused to forgive me. She was determined to make me the villain in our love story.

He did not tell me about her... He did not tell me about her letters....He did not tell me about their love story.... He did not tell about her hatred.... He did not tell me about her anger. But he should have known that husbands are not born to keep secrets. 

She did not stay in Paris, forever.

“Our past is water under bridge,” she told me.  
“Let us begin our relationship on a new fresh page,” she added.

But when she introduced her husband to me, I knew she had not let go of the past...She had not forgiven me....She wanted to punish me for giving a sad ending to our love story. 

He got careless, one day. He forgot to lock his drawers.  I found her letters. I found his dairy where he wrote about her…where he wrote about their love story. She was his first love. She would probably be his last woman he loved. She is the love of his life. He married me to forget her.  But he was not successful. 

He wrote in his diary: “She taught me what love is. After her, I cannot bring myself to love anyone else. Love begins with her... and love ends with her.”

I had a locksmith to make a spare key to his drawer. Whenever my husband is at work, I unlocked his drawers to read the new letters she sent him from Paris ...to read his dairy....I want to know everything about their love story.

Her husband was Rizwan Hakeem. I had envied him, all my life. He was my school mate. There was a silent rivalry between us. We would compete from grades to sports. If that year I was not a top student, he would be the top student. Both of us entered medical school. But he dropped out. Most believed he was not able to cope with the stress. But I knew him better. Rizwan Hakeem was no quitter.

I could never understand how a man like my husband could be envy of a man like Rizwan Hakeem. There is nothing to admire about Rizwan Hakeem. Truly, Rizwan Hakeem has a moral worst than a pimp.

Many years later, I saw Rizwan Hakeem in the news. He is an artist and an activist. His work of arts was cutting edge, provocative and received world-wide recognition.

He said in an interview:  “I never wanted to become a doctor. But my father wanted me to become a doctor. I love my father very much. So I tried to become a doctor because I wanted to make my father happy.
“When my father passed away out of the blue, I realized I have not lived my life the way I wanted...I realized how sad I was. …I realized how miserable I was. 
“I was so busy making my father happy that I forgotten about my happiness. It was then I decided to quit medical school and followed what my heart desired. I wanted to be a painter.... I wanted to be an artist... I wanted to be happy.”  

For once in my life, I really envied Rizwan Hakeem. He is living the life he wanted and I am too busy making everyone happy including my late father.

Rizwan Hakeem is no artist He who uses art to create havoc. I remembered years ago, he had exhibition where he did a series of painting depicting an older woman in the nude.
It wasn’t the nudity that bothered us.  But the older woman in his paintings was his mother. Most of us gasped in disgust to learn a son had painted his mother in the nude and had allowed the world to see these works.
There was huge call from the public to ban his works. But the gallery owner had refused to give in to the request.

“I believe in the freedom of expression and I will not let anyone to pressure me in changing my mind,” said the gallery owner whose name I cannot remember. 

There was a huge of demonstration in front of the gallery. Police had to be called in to control the situation. 

“What you have here is not art but the death morality of our society,” says one of the demonstrators in an interview.
 “The day we allowed a son to draw his mother in the nude and allowed the works to exhibited so openly then we are no different than animals,” added another demonstrator.  

Then, one night, someone had burn down the gallery and all of his art work turned into the dust.  Of course, most of us speculated that Rizwan and his mother had a relationship that was beyond a mother and son.  

“Just because I draw my mother in the nude, it doesn’t mean that I am sleeping with my mother,” Rizwan said.
“My mother and I do not have an incest relationship. There is nothing wrong for a son to draw his mother nude. My mother and I have done no wrong. It is not my art is that dirty. It is your mind that is dirty.”

Of course, most of us do not believe him. A decent man would not draw his mother nude.

The day his mother died, Rizwan Hakeen cut his ties with his motherland.

“With my mother’s death, I have no reason to live in this fucking country anymore,” he says.
“This country does not like me and my paintings.”

He went to stay in Europe. He never stayed one place for too long. Every three years, he moved from one city to another .She took the trouble to track him down. Once she found him, she seduced her way into his heart. She convinced him to put a wedding ring into her finger...She convinced him that they should return their homeland. She purposely got a house next to mine.

“You playing with fire here,” I told her.
“You do not love with Rizwan Hakeem.”

She laughed loudly.

 “Of course, I do not love Rizwan Hakeem,” she said.  
“There is only man I have loved in my whole life and no one can replace him. But sad to say, the man I love is a coward. 
“He does not have the balls to make me happy. He is too busy making others happy except the woman who had loved him with all her heart.
“He brought pain into my life. I want him to suffer like me.  Now every time he looked out from his window, he would see the life he wanted is just a door way.”

I pretended to be happy when she told me that she would be my neighbour.

“We can hang out like the good old days,” I lied.

But in reality, I wish that she was not staying in the same region as my husband...I wish that she was not breathing the same air as my husband.
I lived in constant fear that she would grab my husband away from me. I am obsessed with husband in the same way my husband is obsessed with her.
My husband is my first love. I really believe I was born to love my husband and no one else. I cannot afford to lose my husband at any price. I am not designed to lead a lonely life.

When we were kids, I teased her...I taunted her... I loved playing pranks on her. But the older she got, I stopped teasing her... I stopped taunting her. ...I stopped playing pranks on her.... and I fall madly in love with her. I never had the guts to reveal what was in my heart. I got extremely jealous when guys shown any interest in her. But she was different. She was daring. She was not afraid to show what she felt about me. Passionately, she planted the first kiss on my mouth and the rest was history.

I was desperate to hold on to my sanity. ... I was desperate to hold on to my marriage...... I was desperate to hold on to the man I loved.  And desperate people resorts to desperate measures. I invited her and her husband, Rizwan Hakim to a dinner at our house.

After the dinner was over, I said: “I have good news to share with you. I am pregnant. I am going to be a mother.”

My husband was surprised

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked
“I wanted to surprise you,” I answered.

He got up from his chair and hugged me.

“This is a surprise but I am extremely happy,” he said.

I purposely got pregnant. I knew my pregnancy would trap my husband forever.  My husband is a good man and a good man never abandons his pregnant wife.

“Aren’t you happy for me?” I asked her.

She lied.

“Of course I am happy for you,” she said.
“I wanted to be the godmother to your child and I will be the best god mother in this whole universe,” she joked.

Did you get her pregnant just to spite me because I got married to Rizwan Hakeen,” she shouted.
“I did not know that she was pregnant,” I said

She did not believe me. She slapped me.

“I am the only one who has the right to be mother of your children and no one else,” she said.

I meet her first before I met my husband to be. I was her friend first before I became the wife to the man I love.  My family has become her new neighbour. My parents are born again Christian. So was hers. And that bonded us. She was the one who introduce me to the man I love. 

“Let me now introduce to the irritating specimen of my family, my brother,” she said.

How do you tell your wife that she is not the love of your life? How do you tell your wife that you are in love with your sister? How do you tell your wife that you are having sex with your sister? You just don’t. You keep these secrets buried in your heart forever.

Her brother was a true gentleman. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted him.  I was jumping with joy when he wanted to marry me. Only much I later learn he married me not out of love. He married me to forget her. And I had failed him.  He can’t forget her and I can’t forget him. He could not let her go and I could not let him go. What a mess we are in...

Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her?  Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t forget her?

With the pregnancy I thought he will be mine, forever. But God has the last say.  The stress of losing my husband was too much for me to bear and I suffered a miscarriage.  I was not sad of losing my baby. I was more afraid of losing my husband. I have nothing to hook him.  

She came to the hospital to console me. But I was cold towards her.

“You must be happy that she has a lost a baby,” I said.
“I am not because the losing the baby had brought so much sadness to you and I cannot see the man I love in pain,” she said.

Like a baby, I cried in her arms and she kept hugging me  

I waited for her husband, Rizwan Hakeem, to be totally alone in the house. I showed him the letters she has sent from Paris... I showed him the dairy that my husband wrote.  Rizwan Hakeen is no longer ignorant of what is happening between his wife and my husband.

I told Rizwan: “I love my husband and I do not want to lose him. If you love your wife and you do not want to lose her, then you have to take her away from this town.... You have to take her away from this country...  You take her away from my life”

Rizwan did not say much. I returned home. I put back the letters and my husband’s dairy where they belong and locked the drawer.

I received a call from the police. Rizwan Hakeem had shot the woman I love. Then, he shot himself on the head. She was still alive. She was barely breathing.  She was rushed to the nearest hospital.

I did not expect anyone to die... I did not expect anyone to get hurt... I did not expect anyone to end up in hospital.   I just wanted her to disappear from my life.

What provoked Rizwan Hakeem to kill her...To take his own life? What really took place in the house? I have so many questions but no answers.  

She was in coma. After two days she woke up from the coma. She looked at my husband and said: “We could have been happy. Why did you choose sadness?”
Then, she stopped talking. She stopped breathing. She stopped existing. She was gone. Finally God has listened to my prayers. She has disappeared from our lives, completely and I no longer have to live in fear of losing my husband, any more.  

I dream of her again. We were not talking. She was in my arms. She was smiling. We were enjoying a sunset. Only in dreams, I could give her the happy ending she wanted.

I wish I have the power to erase her memory from his mind... I wish that he would stop dreaming of her....

The End

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