Hey, Stranger!

It was one of those nights when I was grappling with the fear of losing myself all over again for the umpteenth time. Yes, I was heartbroken but I was relieved that I saved myself from a false marriage and a life of suffering and trauma. It wasn't my fault in the first place to walk out of the marriage, the fact that he couldn't stop relying on drugs to feel 'high' was reason enough for me to feel low in his presence. I was glad it was over. And I was fidgeting with my phone when suddenly a sponsored link popped up on my Instagram feed. Some haiku-writing app. And what's better than writing poetry when one is heartbroken, isn't it? I wanted to explore. For once, I didn't care if someone judged me, for once I wasn't trying to be the perfect wife and daughter-in-law. For once I could be that secret poet who loved to write, and express myself in the words which I had forgotten to speak. I downloaded the app and started to explore. There were zillion strangers like me, ranting their hearts out in that forum. It was heartwarming to see how there were so many people like me who chose this beautiful way to vent out and bond. They were writing about everything. About love, relationship, kindness, pain, life and death and everything in between. As I was scrolling to explore further, a message suddenly popped up. I thought "Ow! So people can text too while writing?" I opened the message window. It read "New on this app?", I replied, "Yes, just joined. And you?" The stranger replied, "Then I am your senior, I joined three days back." I didn't know what to ask next when the stranger suddenly requested me to jam with him for a Haiku and I did. We continued to write that night and most of the things we wrote, were confessions. The kind of confessions which we are afraid to make to ourselves but easily open up to strangers. So that's how we found each other. That night I didn't sleep, we didn't exchange phone numbers or see each other's photographs. We just made a silent promise to each other that we will meet the following day, and we will write. We will write about the things which were too inhibited to share, perhaps this is the beauty with strangers, they let you put your guards down.

Days went by, we continued to write and chat on the app. We would discuss family, education system, philosophy, world politics, films and of course relationships. One night, I still don't know why, I asked for his phone number. Maybe I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to know how the stranger would sound as he spoke those lines, I had imagined his persona in my mind and I now wanted to give shape to those utterances. He shared his number and I called him. First a bit shaky, but consistent, I dialled his number. A ring and a half. I heard his voice for the first time. A heavy Tamil accent. "Aye, how're you, ya?"

And we spoke. We spoke as if we had known each other for the longest time. This stranger had befriended me much before I could befriend myself. Without being judgemental and prejudiced, he asked about me, and I, for a change, didn't hesitate to speak mind. Dysfunctional family, messed up relationships, broken marriage, I had shared it all by the time it was four in the morning. I didn't know I had those crevices in my heart that hid so many insecurities and fear. This time, I spoke it all. And he, patiently listened to me, and before hanging up, said softly, "I'll be there."

I didn't know what that statement meant. I felt maybe it was one of those rantings with random people you meet and perhaps I was going through a rebound, finding solace in a stranger who at least listened to me without judging me, not because he didn't want to judge, but because he didn't even know me well enough to judge me. As I was thinking of all this, I didn't realize when I had fallen asleep.

I woke up late that day. It was afternoon already. I was away from home because after breaking off the marriage, I was too burdensome for me to stay at home and answer people's queries. I had taken a flight the following morning after breaking up and gone back to Delhi, only to find some respite and lone time. I wasn't being asked the Why-s and How-s and that felt good. I had been suffering from depression for almost three years then and owing to that, it was a fairly difficult task to force myself out of bed every morning, especially after the break-up trigger. I dragged myself out of bed, brushed and was about to make myself a cup of tea when my phone rang. It was the stranger. A familiar voice asked me, "Good morning, sleepyhead! How're you?"

I don't know why I smiled at this, but I did. And we spoke. I shared with him what I was up to. I told him about the long-pending research paper which I was to finish that week. For once, I didn't feel someone was intruding and asking me about my whereabouts. For once I felt that this Stranger truly wanted to know if I was really ok.

It continued for a few days, messaging each other, video calling, voice calls, and writing together. Even before I could realize, he had become a part of my routine. It was absurd at the age of twenty-six to feel that way, especially after having broken a relationship recently and I was wondering if I was truly being rational. But for once, I didn't care a hang. I didn't bother if I was being irrational, all I knew is that it felt good to talk to him and I deserved to be nice to myself.

A week or two passed this way, we didn't confess anything to each other but we both knew that we waited for each other's phone calls at the end of the day and that's how we both wanted our bond to shape up. One night as I finished dining, I dialled his number. It said "switched off" and the tamilian woman went on to say something which probably meant if I wanted to send a voice mail, that's what I managed to decipher. I hung up. I dialled again. Same annoying computerized voice. I hung up.

He didn't call me for the next two days and I grew restless. I tried to stalk him on Instagram, he wasn't active there either. I tried finding him on the poetry app, still no response. For the first time in all these days when we had been interacting, I felt sad. But why? I asked myself. "He didn't commit anything to me!" It's true! He really didn't commit. All he said was "I'll be there" but does that imply that he has to be there whenever I need him? Maybe I was expecting a bit too much only to get disappointed. I tried to rationalize those whole scenario. Here I was, a twenty-six year old woman, trying to get her life together, and find a job to sustain myself, and expecting a stranger to be there for me while my ex-fiance walked out on me. "What am I even thinking?" I questioned myself. I was crabby and irritated as I thought I was being childish, immature and rash. For two days, there was no phone call, no text. I would lie if I say that I didn't wait. I did. Every time my phone buzzed, I wished in my heart that it would be him. But it wasn't.

On the third day, after I had finished working on my paper, my phone buzzed. It was him. I was happy to see that name flash on my mobile phone screen but I was furious, "how dare he?" Keeping the ego aside, I received the call. "Hello! Hey! How're you?"

I didn't want to respond but I did. "Where the hell were you?" A long pause. "Did I just sound too nosey and clingy?" I thought. "Hey, my phone conked out, ya! Had given it for servicing."

I thought I would pretend I didn't care but I blurted out, "I was so worried! I missed you."

Another long pause. Suddenly the friendly voice grew serious. He asked, "Do you mean it?"

I was slightly confused. "Mean what?"

"Do you really mean that you missed me?"

"Of course I did! What the hell? You could have at least emailed me that your phone is dysfunctional! You know how worried I was?"

The stranger remained quiet. And there was silence. I didn't say anything either. After about a minute, I said, "hello? You there? What happened?"

He said, "What if I am like the same guy who ditched you? How can you trust me like this?"

As I heard him, I knew in my heart that it was him I was looking for, I just said, "I know what I'm doing. I'm twenty-six. I know you won't be the same kind of a person."

He said, "But what if?"

I replied, "Now that you've asked me this, I'm pretty sure I have found my home."