I Would've Written You

By Abhijna Nagaraja

“I would've written you,” he said tenderly, a soft smile finding a place on his hollowed cheeks. His eyes showed little sign of love, so much as longing. “I would’ve written you. I would’ve sent you a letter nearly every week if you had told me where to find you or what to say.” The tone of insincerity discovers its belonging in those who are the loneliest. 

“No, you know where I’ve been all this time, there is no need for you to say much. I can not teach you to speak, I cannot force the words into your mouth.” her eyes were a ghostly desolate, a window to her shattered soul. She did not know whether she had invited this fate to see her, when she first held his hand. She had always known that it would destroy all that she had. It had accomplished that feat just short of 4 years ago. “I’ve made a friend of my grief. Mourning the loss of you, has been to experience the death of someone well and breathing. You would not have written. And you mustn't lie with such liberty.”

Whether she was correct or not, would depend on perspective in some ways, but the post office had nonetheless been coated with dust, and his inkwell was left unopened. Her conclusion of his sentiments drew from an unfortunate ending to their relationship that occurred before they last spoke which entailed his saying he did not care much what should be the outcome of their futures together.

“It’s ironic I should find you here then. What brings a woman of maddening grief to the neighbourhood jewellers?” Curiosity is man’s way of digging his own grave. He thought of a few reasons, or rather, a few reasons formed a list in his mind on their own. Marriage was inevitable for a woman, in this day and age, he thought. In an attempt to not display his discomfort with the idea, he held a handkerchief to his forehead.

“I should ask you the same question. Although, I know you just too well to play fool. How long ago did you meet her?” His sudden appearance back into town could mean very few things. She ached in her chest, and prayed that it should not be what she made of the circumstance. The shop was nearing fifty years old, and was the store where her father bought her mother’s wedding band.  “A man like you has no place buying a ring. You were too scared to love, and now you are ready to marry?”

“You are too cruel. We were children.” He gasped the words out before he thought of what to say. “That is not to say I did not love you.”

“I say so because I know you didn't. You would not have written me.” She didn’t mean to speak with such anger, or seem so rude as she did, but it was long repressed and required an opportunity. 

“Well, if you are so assured, I will take no burden in changing your mind,” he retorted, with an undertone of humiliation and regret. He had in fact, found a girl to wed. She lived just a few miles far from his house on the west coast. They met shortly after he left Missouri years ago. He was greatly infatuated, but could not shake the feeling of loss. He did not know whether he loved her, but it was safest to assume that he did. Nearing thirty, it was time to start a family to care for. “You have not written me either, you are no better than you say I am.”

“You are as assuming as ever. How very quick to toss out blame. I did not write you because I had no guarantee of your reply. Nor did I have anything I owed you.” 

“What brings you here?”

“I am to get married, although it really isn’t your concern.” Her cheeks flushed an alarming shade of red, as she realised her hypocrisy.  He made a face as though he had smelt something putrid, out of an imitation of disgust. If one looked close enough though, it was ever so clear he had a wallowing sense of sorrow. “Do not make faces at me.” 

He scoffed. “Would you have written in the letter that I was temporary?”

Her face, as difficult as it was to decode- a combination of anger, frustration, humiliation and disappointment let out a few words she would soon regret. “I would’ve told you you were the ocean. And how you were the wind and the water. You were the salt and the sea. You were the blood in my veins and the ache in my bones. You threw it away.” The instant she said so, she was filled to the brim with resentment; towards him but even more so towards herself, for having broken after just a conversation. 

“You were too. You are not one to be so reckless in conversation.” He replied to her unexpected confession, knowing he meant not a word of what she said. She was, to him, a dear thing. She was the company he could call his. “And what now? Has that changed for the next man?”

“I don’t see why you must pry. I am to marry who I wish to. He is a fine groom and a good man.” She tasted the words in her mouth like spoiled fruit. She knew she didn’t love him, why, she was not even close. But she knew that compromise was necessary.  

“I have never known you to be so adjusting. You cannot be happy with him.” He didn’t know why he was trying to make her unsatisfied with her decision. Or why he was trying to change her mind. “Not how you were with me.”

“I am a woman. And so I must settle.” The store owner set out two rings out on the counter as well as a slim chain with a twinkling pendant. She placed her hand on the jewel of the necklace. She saw in its reflection her eyes glistening with a tear that felt as though it was cried by her soul.

“You will look beautiful.” He said, a crack in his voice replacing his initial anger. “You always have.” Her eyes fell upon the ring he held in his hand. Although nearly half the size of hers, it was gorgeous. She breathed, allowing the lump in her throat some air to leave. For a moment she thought of what would have been had she only waited for the fire to pass.

“I’m sure she will too.” 

By Abhijna Nagaraja