Come Love Me Again

The most unlikely place where love can sprout is between a lovelessly married couple of 4 years. But, yet, as they say, love can indeed happen anywhere.

I shift and sit comfortably on the couch watching the hubbub outside the cafe slowly die down and the street lamps stand alone in a stupefying mist. The soft smoke that was rising from my coffee has vanished while I was busy drawing a smiley face on the foggy glass window. I sigh and pull out the piece of paper from my pocket and read it again. 

Dear Subham,

I haven’t known you personally for very long. But the little time that we got to spend over the last few months has added up to my expectations and fondness for you. Can’t really blame it, can I? I have had heard so much about you in all these years of my marriage with Kabir – from his family, his friends, from him – that you had unknowingly  become a part of my life. Believe it or not I always felt connected to you, always felt like you would understand me and be my confidant. 

Me and Kabir… we don’t share a happy marriage. These four years that I have spent with him, all I have received and suffered from is a distant husband and trying to figure out ways to mend the relationship. It’s not like we haven’t tried. But maybe…some things are just not meant to be worked out. Then you came and you had all the answers. You always stood out to me with your extraordinary yet simple persona and I admit I was drawn towards you. You helped me find myself; you brought out the best in me… and brought me clarity. I can’t begin to thank you enough for it. 

I… haven’t done anything like this before, but who hasn’t done something out of the blue for love, isn’t it? There’s no easier way to say this, so I’ll keep it simple. 

 Subham, our society has unwritten norms, toxic mindset towards anything that is different from what the majority does. I know you loved Kabir

I know you had confessed and he had rejected. I have seen that long hand-written confession letter. Yes! Kabir has kept it till date, along with other remnants of your memories – your dues ball, the broken Spiderman wrist watch, even those cardboard walkie-talkies you had made.

I love Kabir. I always have. So…I’m writing this letter to you. He loves you Subham, he always has. He was scared back then, unsure of himself, but he had never stopped loving you. When he finally got in touch with his feelings, you were already gone for Cambridge, never to return in these 15 years. Last month, when I first met you, I noticed Kabir’s hesitation around you and that night when he cried holding that box close to his chest, I realised then and there why our marriage never worked. We are applying for a divorce soon. But I need to be sure, Kabir has you this time. 

I know it’s difficult for you to trust me. So, I’m sending ALL the letters that Kabir wrote to you in these years but never had the guts to send them out. Give them a read and if you still have feelings for him, if you still love him, be at this address tomorrow at 10 p.m. Don’t let it go this time. 



The last song for the day starts playing – a John Denver song – as the clock says its half past ten. I put the letter back in my pocket and sigh. Yeah, like he would come! I get up from the couch and walk out of the door into the night as the cold breeze welcomes me with a sweet fragrance that it carries. I lyrics hit me differently once outside.

Like a sleepy blue ocean…

You fill up my senses

Come fill me again….

“Taking off again?”

The voice startles me. Turning around I see him. There he stands…across the street…under the foggy lamp post with that stupid smile on his face. Kabir! 

I feel an old, familiar fluttering inside me again…the same that I had felt years ago. All my pent up agony, anger, frustration of these 15 years starts melting away as he walks up to me. 

“So?” he asks again.

I stare at him, trying to capture that moment in my eyes as they start welling up and I hear myself croak, “Not anymore.”

 That moment…that very moment…under the cold, clear, starry night, I feel it…and I repeat it in my head. Don’t let it go this time.

John Denver continues inside,

Come let me love you, come love me again…

Samadrita Ghosh

What are your thoughts about this story?