Four years ago, she cried heart-broken. Losing a much loved one is never easy, saying goodbye was probably the hardest thing she did in her 21 years of sheltered existence. She cried buckets, tears flooded her eyes every minute, tears of memories and a wish to turn back time.

She learned to live, grow and move on. Time flew past her, she made memories, relived on the past memories.

Today, she cried again. Four years to date and the tears still overpower her, the emotions and images in her mind’s eye are vivid. She cries, as if her tears will bring him back to life, tears of fear, fear of forgetting the past with time….

Time they say heals, yes it is healing but does she want to be healed is the question she asks herself. The memories with time have become just a blur, they just don’t flood her every waking second. It makes her feel so much distant, so much far away from him. It makes the past like a sweet dream, you barely remember. You know the fuzzy and nice feeling you get when you wake up after a good dream a tiny smile on the face and a sunny disposition all through the day.

Their past together was more than a sweet dream. It was filled with ups and downs. Temper tantrums and silent moments spent reading the newspaper. Sharing trivia and travel tales. Under the branches of the magilampoo tree, showered by the falling flowers, early in the morning, they discussed breathing exercises and fluid mechanics.

In the room they called the study, with a small TV tucked inside one of built-in bookshelves, they shared the morning news and vayalum valvum. Her treasures were hidden within his treasured collection of books, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the family. In the study, the fought, fought over mathematics and numbers. Her lack of understanding and his patience were indeed a sight to see, so they say. It was lucky the room was designed with doors that cannot be banged shut with her temper. Might be he designed it just for her? Forseeing such temper tantrums?

It was never a sweet dream as it seems today and she is scared. She wants to remember in detail, in techni-color the ups and downs. The journey of love and learning she shared with him. Time is cruel, she feels. Four years and life without him seems so normal… How can it be she asks the picture of him on her table. How can life without you ever be fine she screams at him in heart. As she knows there will be no answer. There will be no answer and she will have no doors to bang to ease her temper. But her eyes washed with tears deceive her logical mind. She feels or rather senses him give his standard wry smile and tell her poo jitu, pooi velaiya paru. A smile and voice she was so familiar with… so familiar with… is fading and fading….