510

The isolated corridor welcomed him with glee. It seemed to have befriended his betrayed soul. The sound of his shoes on floor, rhymed with his heart beat. He came to a halt- right before the door no. 510. The sight of that number tormented him with memories that he did not wish to remember, now.

The room was just the way as he’d left it. The vase remained broken. The glass table, which used to be gleaming spotless, was now covered with dust. And over it was the glass, now empty.

His lips parted- a thought which made him do so stopped him at once from uttering the name. The name did not exist.

He moved around that familiar place, eyes recognizing things that he’d used. Each of them, reminded him of the name, her name. Suchitra.

He stopped himself once again. The name was not to be said. And it was his fault- all his fault.
The room was blue, all around. She wanted it that way. But he should not think of her. But he couldn’t help it. Everything in that room spoke about her. And every single thing blamed him. They were shouting his name. and he slammed the door, shut.

He now stood facing the dining table. His chair was upturned. The kitchen was open. There shall no more be any food cooking inside. Everything was dead.

He had said to her that she never cared for him. He had blamed her for everything that happened to him. He shut the door against her. He never heard her plea. He made her leave. And now, she has left.

He sat on the couch. His eyes fell on a package. He’d never seen it before. He grabbed it and saw a familiar writing over it that had carved his name. Trembling, he opened it.

And he saw it. A watch. Just the one that he’d wanted. A note on it said, “Happy Birthday, Akhil”! The plague of the dead gripped him. Guilt, clutching his throat- throttled him, and yet, there was more on the note. He turned it. And it said- “ With lots of love, from Suchitra”!