Ayyub Ahmed
26, Oakridge Avenue
Tenerife Lane, Scotland
Ayyu!!
Ayyub! My jaan! My darling Ayyub! Oh, it really has been ages since you wrote or even called. But I cannot blame you, I haven't called you either. I guess life caught up with both of us.
Ayyub, I am extremely upset with you! I am so very upset at you and your stupid, unthinking brain! And to tell you exactly how upset I am, I am coming to you. Yes, I am coming over. I hope this letter reaches you before I do, otherwise you will probably die of shock at seeing me there. But either way, I am coming. I am coming to the boy I loved all my life; I am finally coming home.
Yes, I said love. Because I have loved you, for as long as I have known what love meant.
Ayyub, why didn't you ever say anything to me ever? Why did you let me fall in love with Matthew? Yes, he was the perfect gentleman. Yes, he was an angel. But he wasn't you! He was never you. You were you: my Ayyu. My childhood dream. My sugar rush. My funny valentine. You were the one, always.
You say I don't remember the tennis match? I do. I remember what you wore, I remember how you sounded, I remember how you smelled. I remember everything Ayyu. I remember wanting to say it to you on the day of the tennis match. I remember wanting to say it t you the night we had our Christmas party the year before that. I remember wanting to say it to you every single time you passed me in the street, or came to meet me, or had ice cream marathons with me. I remember wanting to say it to you the night Matthew and I were about to get married. But as soon as I mustered up the courage, I saw your eyes as they lit up with Nikhat. I saw your hands holding hers, and I knew I couldn't take that away. I just could never see you sad. Oh, Ayyu. Why didn't you say anything?
Just like you said, I have loved Matthew with everything in me. I have given him my soul, and he has kept it safely. He has given me my Notting Hill fantasy. He is everything I ever wanted, and more. But he wasn't you. He isn't you. No one was. No one will be. No one else could have made me paint the way you did: spilling myself on the canvas. And it has been years and years and more years of having to keep all this to myself!
Don't worry, though. I am not coming to upset Nikhat. I just need to say a lot to you. I need to see my heart die in front of me, I need to be there with you. I cannot let you leave like this. Not without one kiss, and some tea and biscuits. Just hold on for a bit, I am coming. And don't worry, maybe our story will start in the afterglow.
I have kept the tennis victory gift I made you for all these years. I think its time that you have it.(Enclosing a photo here). I shall bring it for you.
PS: All my heart has done is beat for you, Ayyub Ahmed. Always has, always will. See you!
Mariam Jones Batterfield
53, Chinar Lane,
Srinagar, Kashmir
Comments