Chapter 58

By Annesha Ghosh

I carefully opened the familiar page of the book. Chapter 58. Gently flipping the pages, I landed upon those words, delicately highlighted with neon pink:

"If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."

The pages of the book were tainted, under the weight of age and emotions. But this particular page had darker shades and marks, from the crushed petals of the rose that you had given that day - the day we first met as strangers again, as friends in love, friends who found themselves new to each other...

You came in my life just like Mr Darcy had ushered in Elizabeth's, when she was fighting her demons, gradually losing one battle after another. An alcoholic and abusive father, a mother having to pay more attention to the expenses of the household than the emotional turmoil of her teenage daughter - I buried myself in the worlds borrowed from the books I got from our school library. Seeing my parents, it was natural of me to hate love stories, until my best friend, the topper of the class, forced me to read one.

You were always the quiet one, that's why I liked being in the company of your silence. In my tattered and broken world, it felt sort of nice that the heartthrob of the school was my best friend. You never questioned my torn shoes, your eyes never squinted at the sight of the blue scars that my father used to gift me. And so, I had agreed to read the book upon your request (with no hidden contempt however). But I guess I have never admitted to you that I used to rush through the pages in my long nights of sleeplessness, and when I finally landed on Chapter 58, I understood why you had lent me this particular book. What I could not understand was how you found your Elizabeth in me, when all I could see in the mirror was Mary Bennet, the ugly one, the forgotten one...

Well, well well...now I know. Now I realise it every single day when I see your wife happily humming about in the balcony, her face reflecting everything mine doesn't. Pretty, witty and from a societal reputation that won't bring shame to your family - she is your Elizabeth...but it's rather ironical that Mr Darcy won't be quite happy to lend you his name now.

I don't cry for you anymore. But every time I flip through the pages of this book, I make sure to not let even a tiny crumble of petal fall on the floor. 'Cause every time I search through my memory, my heart breaks, not because I have lost you, but because I have lost that little girl who had once learnt to believe in love.

By Annesha Ghosh