“Take off your cloak,” he shouted in the middle of the café.
“But how? I mean, I can’t,” she stuttered.
“That’s not my headache. If you want to be my girlfriend, then you have to follow my instructions,” he said with a smirk on his face.
Suddenly, she woke up, reminded of the mistake she had made eight years back by taking off her cloak just to please her boyfriend. She took her medicine, opened Mistaken Period, her diary, penned down something, and slept again.
“My darling! Hurry up, the hospital is calling you!” Her mother entered the room and found her half-dead.
“She is not well, aunt, for the last two years,” said one of her colleagues.
“She has been behaving so weird,” said the other.
“She has been taking antidepressant drugs for the past few years,” the doctor finally revealed. He further added that she was also on a high dose of sleeping pills.
“She never shared anything about her personal life, aunt,” a nurse said.
After hearing all this, the mother spoke up, “Please try to save her. She is my only daughter, doctor.”
The doctor nodded.
“I can’t live without you.”
“You made my day.”
“Today you were looking dashing.”
She wept her heart out and kept on saying, “What have you done, Mera Bacha, what have you…” after reading some of the starting pages from her diary.
After flipping some more pages, maybe days into their relationship:
“Today he slapped me, and I felt like…”
“He said he will not marry me.”
“Please don’t do it, I can’t live without you.”
Although she was asthmatic, she begged a man for mere attention.
“My sweetheart, you went through so much and never uttered a single word.”
“Sorry, Aunt! We couldn’t save her.”
She didn’t believe her ears and screamed, “What!” and collapsed to the floor without weeping.
After two days of sobbing, no tears were left in her eyes.
“She was on weed also,” added the doctor.
She wanted to say so much but stayed quiet.
“I loved you from the core of my heart, but you…”
She again opened her Mistaken Period.
“I gave you five years of my life.”
“Why did you play with my emotions?”
“I made you part of my soul, but you left.”
These were the last pages of the diary.
“You knew I can’t live without you, still…”
“It has been three years since your marriage. Stay blessed and happy, but I can’t.”
She took her dead body in her arms, kissed her cheeks, and murmured,
“Why did you search for his love? Was my love not enough for you, Mera Bacha?”
After a deep inhale, she said,
“I wish you had once told me about all this. At least you could have rescued yourself from procrastinating, and today you could have been saved from brain hemorrhage, and I could have gotten a kiss back on my forehead. But…”