Dear, I love you! ('Dear' series : Final Ep 03)

My son somehow got hold of the letter—the one from Dear Crush. He managed to understand the first six lines. I hadn’t wanted him to know, but at the same time, I didn’t want to hide what happened next from you all, either.

After returning from the department, I talked with her—from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m. I couldn't tell where the conversation was heading, but it felt worth my time. Eventually, I decided to meet her in person, and the best part? She agreed. The evening was well spent. We had coffee, talked a lot, and realized we shared many preferences. Overall, I was happy. I asked her out again—and once more, she agreed! I thought solace would come through acceptance.

Somehow, we started meeting more often. Late-night walks, gossiping over old songs—it felt great. I hoped she was enjoying it, too. Then came Thursday evening, the start of our cultural fest. We had planned to attend the opening ceremony together. We enjoyed the show, and while walking back from the grounds, I asked her to pause for a moment. Two strangers passed by. I looked at her face—beautiful under the festival lights—and said, "I really like you."

"Oh wow! I even like you as a friend!" she replied.

It felt too direct, too sudden. After that, something changed—I couldn't see her the same way anymore. We barely met after that. Why? I don’t really have an answer. Neither of us made an effort.

Thirty minutes later, I sat on a bench in front of the Café Coffee Day shop. Couples were sipping hot tea while I sat outside, feeling the chill. Such irony. People wandered around, random faces lost in the buzz of the cultural fest. But my eyes were fixed on the ants below. They were so disciplined and focused. Did they ever face problems like mine? I wished I could study them and understand their world.

Time 22.35 P.M. A girl sat down on the same bench. She was scrolling through Instagram, probably posting pictures from the opening ceremony. I caught a glimpse of her—she looked good. Maybe the festival lights had a way of making everyone look better. How do I look under this light? I paused my thoughts, checked my watch, and stood up.

"Excuse me!" a voice called from behind.

I turned around slowly, my face blank and unbothered.

"Can you tell me how to go to the SN/IG Hall of Residence?"

I was tempted to add some sarcasm, but instead, I answered with absolute politeness, "Turn around. See that building? That’s your destination." Then, I started walking away.

"Um… thank you! May I ask something?" I wasn’t expecting that.

"Yeah, sure," I replied.

"Can you walk me back? I got separated from my friends, and I’m confused between SNVH and SN/IG Halls."

"You have a mobile phone, right?"

"Yeah."

"And your friends' contacts?" I could see an old-fashioned phone in her hand and didn't think it would have Google Maps.

"No."

"Eh?! You came with your friends and don’t even have their numbers?"

"Sort of. I actually came here to meet someone. He was in my school, and..."

"Do I know him? If I do, I could help arrange a meeting."

"Right now, I'd just be happy if I could get back and sleep."

"Fair enough."

I glanced at my watch—22:45 P.M. I decided to help her and walked her to SN/IG. After she bid me goodnight, I turned back toward my own hall. When I reached the right turn leading to my hall, I stopped and looked up. Then, another glance at my watch—23:08 P.M. But instead of turning, I kept walking. After about two hundred meters, I spotted another bench and sat down. My mind drifted. What flaws do I have?

Unfortunately, I found plenty of answers to my discomfort. I sat there, doing nothing. Thirty minutes passed. Then, a familiar voice broke the silence.

"Hello! I just realized it wasn’t SN/IG—it was actually SNVH." I turned toward the voice. Ah, her again. Can’t she just leave me alone?

"Oh, I see. So, you must have found SNVH since you're coming from the opposite direction?" I asked.

"Yeah… but the hall entrance closed at 23:00 P.M. I missed the deadline by the time I got there," she said, her face carrying an unmistakable look of regret. Something about that expression felt… familiar. A sudden chill ran down my spine. A fleeting shiver rippled through my body, and then—warmth.

I hesitated, then asked, "Do I know you?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Seems like it. You met me earlier tonight. Have you developed some sort of dementia?"

"Developed? The correct phrasing would be—‘Do you have some sort of dementia?’ You asked the wrong question, girl."

"It sounds fine to me. Now, answer!"

"No, I haven’t," I said.

Her response? Just a smile.

Then, suddenly, it hit me. "Wharkin!?" I blurted out. She nodded.

You all remember Wharkin, right? No? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten! For God’s sake, say you’re lying! Alright, fine. If you need a refresher, you should check Dear, I (Was) Fooled. That’ll tell you exactly who she is.

We stayed out all night. Never in my wildest thoughts had I imagined feeling so alive again—especially after hearing a no from my crush. What followed in my life can’t be put into simple words. But one thing was sure—we didn’t rush anything. From that night onward, I was forever grateful that solace wasn’t acceptance for me when it came to C.r.u.s.h.

I finished speaking and looked at my son. He stood beside his wife and a beautiful gift from God—their daughter. Her smile added yet another feather to the cap of the family smile. I turned toward the bookshelf—there stood my wife. She wasn’t looking at me but at the book. And as I had said before—at least she knew where the book was. A smile crept onto my face, accompanied by teary eyes.

"Dear, I love you," I said.

"Ah! We’ve been married for thirty years now! Don’t act like a child," Wharkin replied with a smirk.

"So… you don’t love me anymore?" I asked, scratching my head.

"Who is that guy who once peed in the girls’ washroom?" she shot back.

"See, I’ve explained that before—"

Before I could finish, she kissed me. Our son and his wife burst into laughter at her perfectly timed remark. And in that moment, I thought—Oh God, I love her so much.

Siba Smarak Panigrahi

(This is the final part of a three-part story; check part 1 here and part 2 here)