"Hey, sweetheart"
Pursing her lips, she shakes her head. She has
always hated that. Not as much as 'babe,' but
still, it's enough to earn a slight growl in her
voice, even though she knows it's coming.
"Abhijit..."
His laughter rings through the speaker, makes
her heart leap. God, she misses him.
"I know, Tarika. Tumhe Tarika ji hi pasand h."
She feels the corner of her mouth trying to turn
up, but she determinedly pulls it back down.
"Ab smile kr b lijiye yu rokiye mat, bohot khubsurat
lagti hai ap"
"Oh, shut up," she mutters.
She can hear the smirk in his voice, can picture
it so clearly. "Haye yahi smile ap ki har bar pagal bana deti h"
Damn. She is really smiling.
"I know you, Tarika Ji."
There's still something about this special name that still
causes a flutter in her chest every time she hears
it, from begining. Even now, after all this time.
"Kash ham abhi sath me hote", his voice says, and her
heart clenches at the wistfulness in his tone.
"Well, no. Not really, agar tum yaha-"
The words trail off, but she knows what he
meant.
"Anyway, Mai to bohot khush hu ki muje tumse bat krneka
chance mila. Pata nahi bad me mile na mile"
She shuts her eyes, holds back the sudden rising
moisture. "Mai bhi Abhijit."
Silence answers her, and she finds herself
imagining the expression on his face, the raw
longing and adoration. Daya took a picture of
him once when he was on the phone with her.
And he had sent it
to her afterward with the caption 'Even when
you're not together, you're sickeningly sweet.'
It was-
It was breathtaking.
The soft curl of his lips, the brown colour
of his eyes, the light flush on his cheeks, as he talked to her.
Her heart pounds harder just thinking about the
image.
His voice suddenly cuts through her thoughts. "Kash mai abhi tumhe hug kr pata, bohot sukun milta hai."
"Abhijit..."
God, she wants that too, wants that so was trying not to not letting him know that how much she is missing him, but he made it hard.
"I miss you," she murmurs, just as his voice
comes through the speaker, whispering the same
words.
"Tarika, mai-"
There's something like grief in his tone, and she
wants to know, wants to ask him what he was
going to say.
But already she can hear the increase in
background noise, the confusion, the tension, a
man's harsh voice yelling. And then Abijit's
breathing, as if he's right next to her, his words
spoken as if he's leaning into her body.
"Muje jana hoga. I'm sorry."
She can almost feel his lips feathering against
the shell of her ear. She wants to tell him to just
keep talking to her, to never stop talking to her.
"I love you Tarika. So very much."
Instinct doesn't even allow for a pause. "Love
you too."
The sound of his sigh whispers across the
speaker, and then his voice comes through once
more, soft, gentle, so incredibly tender. "Always."
"Always," she echoes.
A click. Silence.
Rolling onto her side in their bed, she stares at
the spot next to her. The spot where he should
be. She sets the phone on his pillow, her fingers
caressing the smooth glass of the touchscreen.
His voice still rings in her ears, filling her with
the now familiar blend of love and desperate,
aching longing. Only he could know she'd need
this - this gift of his voice, words meant only for her.
His flirting words brought them together in the
beginning. They keep her together now.
His voice will lull her to sleep, just as it has
every night since she discovered the recording on
his phone two months after it happened.
And maybe in the morning, it'll be easier.
She hits play again, the memory of him filling her
vision as she closes her eyes in the darkness and
listens. "Hey, sweetheart."
