The Song

The Song

4 mins 16.6K 4 mins 16.6K

Well I know it’s kind of late

I hope I didn’t wake you

But what I got to say can’t wait

I know you’d understand

Every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong

So I’ll have to say I love you in a song

- Jim Croce, I’ll Have To Say I Love You In a Song


The bride looked beautiful. She was glowing. Happiness painted all over her face. The groom stood beside her looking dapper in his dark suit. They made a lovely pair. Family friends and official photographers were clicking them away to glory.


She looked at him in the midst of the “smiling for photos” and quietly tapped his hand. He leaned towards her as she whispered, “Let’s go in now, I’m tired”.


In their suite, the newlyweds lay on the bed. Exhausted. They’d made love, and true to his nature he had turned his back and was asleep. His light snores both amazed and amused her. She looked at him lovingly, and then slipped into her gown and went to the next room.


There were flowers, cakes, chocolates, champagne bottles strewn all over the room. She felt happy as she sat down in one of the sofas in the room, eyes half open, a content smile on her face.

The window next to the sofa was open, bringing in a light breeze that played with her untied hair. It was all over her face, making her look even more beautiful. Her bliss was interrupted by a message beeping on her phone.

It was from her father. Wishing her and his son in law a pleasant travel the next day. She smiled as she read his message. “Oh Papa, messaging away at 5 in the morning. I know how much you’re already missing me”, she thought to herself.


She was about to put her phone down when she noticed yet another unread message. She’d seen the message when they were at the banquet hall during the reception but couldn’t read it then. She’d thought she’d see it when they were in the room. Naturally, she had forgotten.


It was from him.


A strange sea of emotions engulfed her at the moment. She didn’t know whether it was happiness, nostalgia, sadness or anger. Maybe it was a mix of all of that. But the most overriding of them all was the sense of excitement she felt seeing the name of the sender.


They’d been the closest of friends for so long. And then one day suddenly they drifted apart. She had questions to ask. But she didn’t get the chance. He had gone away before she could get her answers. They shared a closeness that was unique, and yet she felt there was always a wall between them.


She loved him like the best buddy she always wanted to have. And finally she found that with him. But somehow she always felt something prevented him from reciprocating to her feelings fully. Some of her friends told her that he liked her, that he loved her. She always refuted that, saying she knew his girlfriends, each one of them, and that she herself was not “his type”. And then one fine day, they just stopped talking. It was a silly fight, something so trivial that she didn’t even remember it now. But yes, she did miss him. Time had layered memories of him with newer ones. Life had moved on. But the message today removed all those cobwebs and the memories came flashing back to her eyes, filling them up.


She opened his message to find nothing written. Just a sound file. She felt slightly disappointed as she was expecting to read what he had written. He always wrote so well. She wanted to play the song but something made her get up first and look for her earphones. She rummaged through her bag and found them. And hurriedly came back to the sofa to sit snugly again, and played the sound file. It was a song. A Jim Croce song sung by him :


Well I know it’s kind of late

I hope I didn’t wake you

But what I got to say can’t wait

I know you’d understand

Every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong

So I’ll have to say I love you in a song


A couple of those tears found their way out of her almond eyes, caressing her cheeks on their way down. She looked the message on her phone. “You idiot”, she sighed softly to herself, as she shook her head. She looked out the window. The sun was just getting up, painting the dark sky with a brush of bright orange. She got up from her sofa and went to the bedroom. His snoring was a tad louder now. She smiled at him as she got under his sheets and wrapped her arms around him, shutting her eyes.


The sound file lay in the deleted items folder of her phone.


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