Memories of Lost Love
She would send him voice notes.
Giggle like a little child whenever he called.
No one ever really heard what he told her over the phone that always made her laugh so hard tears formed at the corner of her eye.
And she would always end her call with, "Please come back if you can. I miss you".
She celebrated their anniversary every year with us in the office. There were cakes, drinks, candies and lots of stories about her happy life with her husband.
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But where my office colleagues saw love and happiness; chattering their lives away, wishing to somehow stumble on this kind of love that stays hours on the phone with you without getting tired, I saw an untold expression of sadness. And pain.
"Maybe he stays in another country, trying to earn a living".
And whenever I asked why she hasn't joined him where he is, if they miss each other so much, she'll always reply,
"I can't. He's in a far away place. If I go, I can't come back".
And so it was that on this day, I sent my regards to her husband.
"Send my regards to your husband whenever you both get to talk".
"I can't", she responded rather sadly.
"Why? Uuuuh...don't tell me you're already feeling insecure huh? I know I am prettier, but don't worry, I won't take your husband away from you", I teased.
"No not that", she cut in, giving a weak smile.
"You see my husband is dead. He's been gone for two years now but I can't move on. Lord knows I'm trying really hard to, but sometimes I wish he could just walk right in through a door and tell me this is all a bad dream...", she broke down in tears as she confided in me about a lot of things my mind could not comprehend.
I tried to console her. Tried to do something to calm her but I couldn't.
Her phone rang.
She got a hold of herself. Wiped her tears and said,
"That's my husband calling. See you in the office tomorrow".
I would later get to know that her "husband's phone calls" are programmed alarms.
I watched as she walked away, swaying into the dusk and gigging excitedly at the caller on the other end...
...except that the caller on the other end was the imagination of a woman still holding on to fragmental memories of lost love.
