The familiar sights of the entrance of the Gym never failed to stir something in him, a flicker of anticipation, a quiet rush of purpose. The day hadn’t even begun in earnest, yet here he was, already chasing his first win. Not the kind of victory people cheer for, but small, silent victories—sweat, rhythm, exertion—just enough to keep him from falling apart.
The mornings are the hardest. To drag himself out of bed for the banalities of family obligations towards his wife and child, felt distant and unreal. In his personal headspace, from where emotions rarely surface, there exists only one figure of concern: himself. And that self was fractured and floating over an abyss of meaninglessness. Sometimes, he would look around his house and feel a strange detachment, as if searching for his family in a sea of faceless people. Reality had blurred long ago and now he drifts through time surfing and enduring the trivial demands, as if sleepwalking in someone else’s life.
---xxx---
Stepping into the cold environs of the gym gives him the high he waits for since waking up, an almost sacred jolt of clarity. The cool air pouring in him, with a promise of some balanced exertion, fills him with joy, fleeting nonetheless. While signing his name in the entry register, scribbling the time without much thought—he would sometimes ask the receptionist for the exact minute. It was a small, innocent exchange. But that’s where it began.
For years, lost in the chaos, battling his demons, he had forgotten long ago, what beauty felt like. The women he noticed in the passing stirred nothing more than a mechanical glance.
But this time, the receptionist rammed through his shield. Not with flirtation or intent, but with something quieter, more dangerous. Warmth in her eyes, a softness in her voice and that smile to die for. Lightness he hadn’t felt in years. She didn’t just catch his attention, she slipped past his defences, like a dangerous memory never meant to be remembered.
Later on, he came to know her name: Akriti. She seemed untouched by life, unblemished, a breath of fresh air amidst the relentless scorch of life. She was the epitome of calm in this chaotic existence. As if the world stopped at her feet and slowed down around her. That smile was enough to make him stop and reflect on his life views and philosophies.
His every morning was anchored now, not on the endorphin releasing workout, but on the glimpses of her smile. It was undoubtedly addictive. From a far off place, he would have ruminated on such a situation and laughed and brushed it aside with casual indifference. But he knew that this time, it was different.
How his penchant for discipline and regularity transformed into a daily ritual of witnessing her sacred smile was incomprehensible to him. Only when he was already knee deep into it, did he realize the gravity. What made it all the more evident was the fact that the day Akriti was not there, he felt like turning back right from the reception desk.
After a fortnight in the haze, one night after quite a few drinks and having retired to bed, he could not resist the urge of messaging her. He sent her a simple message on WhatsApp, something light and harmless, something about the Gym timings. She replied. The conversation drifted like that and the silence of the night drove it towards uncharted waters. Somehow, in the quiet honesty of the midnight texts, he started pouring out stuff, stories of silence, that he refrained from discussing with anyone, about his tiring life, his being invisible in his own life, his unfulfilled dreams and most important of all, the role which unknowingly Akriti has been playing lately in his life. She replied, not with coldness or rejection, but with her own confessions, and something caved in - what began as a chat became a thread of longing, connection and declarations, which neither of them expected, but both needed.
After she slept and the phone dimmed into silence, he stared at the celling fan spinning above him. It was spinning steadily and faithfully and dispensing the warm air, useless against the thick suffocating heat of the humid July night. In the celing fan, he saw a version of himself. Moving, going through the motions, duty-bound but offering little comfort to anyone, not even himself.
With a sad clarity, he accepted what he had been avoiding. Akriti was never going to be a part of his life. Like a tantalizing dream from which we often wake up to our empty lives. He drifted off to sleep, praying to wake up in a world, where she was not a dream, but a hand he could hold.
---xxx---
The next morning, he woke up late. With too many drinks, too little sleep and a parched throat, he sat up on the edge of the bed, elbow on the knees, face in his hands, not sure whether he wanted to cry, scream or just go back to sleep.
His liking for her was understandable from his own standpoint, but when she confessed that she felt the same, it did not feel like a victory. Rather, the world came crashing down around him. How he has craved for affection from his near and dear ones, and yet, how the only person who offered him even a flicker of that affection was someone impossibly far in the reality of who they could be to each other. It was a kind of cruelty he hadn't prepared for—the right feeling, in the wrong life.
He had decided that the right thing to do would be to accept the suffering and carry the pain for as long as it takes. He did not want to be a shadow in Akriti's life, considering that she was unmarried but soon to be someone else’s wife. An impression of him in her life would have the potential of quietly sabotaging the man she would marry. But the allure was too much for him, relentless, and hence the pain unbearable.
The more he tried to distance himself, the more unbearable the ache became. Because it wasn’t just love—it was the tragic knowledge that the only person who saw him clearly had no place in his life.
Choking from inside, he decided to block her number and quit the gym for good. But a part of him refused to let her go. The conversations, her late-night confessions, the tenderness in their words were something he wanted to hold on to, like secret warmth of a life gone cold.
Wanting to preserve a few of those fleeting moments, he selected some messages—hers and his—and meant to forward them to his own number, a private archive of a connection he could never reveal. But in a cruel twist of his weary mind, clumsy fingers and fate, he sent them to his wife instead.
---xxx---
By the time he could understand what happened, the ticks had already turned blue. His stomach churned and he could feel his legs shaking. In a second, a fragile world which he was trying to tuck away with care had crashed violently and bleeding the truth to the one place it was never meant to reach.
He stood there, unable to fathom what just happened. The air in the room felt too thick to breathe. He didn't realize how long it took for the door to slam open. He wife charged in, eyes fired up with rage. She slammed her phone to the ground smashing it to pieces instantly and roared. "So this is what projects you are up to every night. Chatting like some lovesick teenager. You are disgusting"
He tried to speak, but she cut him off.
“I gave up my life for this marriage. And this is what you were busy with? Gym crushes and confessions?”
She stormed out even before he could react.
He stood there, stripped bare, devoid of any feelings. His chest felt heavy as if a stone was lodged inside it.
He walked slowly, deliberately to the bathroom, each step heavier than the last. He locked the door from the inside, placed his phone on the cabinet and stared blankly into the mirror. The rusted blade in the corner of his shaving kit glinted under the flickering light.
He did not leave a note. He thought that the conversations last night would be a testament to this tired life. There was no point trying to explain something he barely understood himself.
As he started to fade, he was embraced by the warm memories of that radiant smile, he witnessed every morning.
On his phone screen, still unlocked beside him, her last message sat unread:
Akriti:
“Good morning. Don’t think too much. In the next life, I’ll be yours, I promise.”
----xxxx----
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