Willful Blindness

They had met the usual way.

M was at this party hosted by D’s ex-roomie, and since they were about the only two guests non-Irish-white-catholic-blue-eyed, they naturally gravitated to each other. D was funny and had lived life. M needed a life. They discovered they lived two streets apart, so he followed her home that night—for purposes of safety.

Pretty soon he became her hip attachment. Eating, shopping, gyming together became sort of…a habit. It wasn’t by device, it just happened. He kept turning up, and she wasn’t the type to say no. She was used to collecting strays, and he liked being someone’s in case of emergency person.

Once after way too many jellybeans and popcorn on movie night, M developed a tummy ache like nobody’s business. D rubbed his stomach all night, and he whimpered in her cuddle like a newborn puppy. Subsequently, he started finding excuses not to go home at night. He didn’t really have any specific designs, but it was just nice to have someone to spoon on winter nights. Retro-Radical!

That changed. Not immediately, rather imperceptibly. The shift was comfortable, sweet, nothing intense, nothing heartbreaking, just steady. D was unsure how she felt about him, but she loved the routine they had. M found her hard to fathom, but her mysteries became the focal point of his day-to-day. Neither of them talked about the transition, but they doted on each other, and it seemed to be enough.

One evening D asked M to take her dancing, to that eighties club down by Canal Street. There is only so much you can bop to Wake Me Up, Before You Go Go without getting hungry.

They popped in next door to share a dessert. D, uncharacteristically, barely scraped in nibbles of the tiramisu.

“What’s wrong, Lady Bug?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong?”

“Well for one you answered my question with another question.”

“No, nothing, really.”

“You sure.”

“Positive, Gremlin.”

He leaned forward to push a strand of hair out of her eyes, she startled at the gesture, flinching in misunderstanding. You’d think he was about to hit her or something. M wanted to ask her again what was up, but something forbade him.

That night she begged a headache and sent him home. Had to be a lie, she loved his head-massages. But he didn’t push her. He tossed and turned all night, wanting to call, but doomful trepidation wouldn’t let him hit 2 on the speed-dial.

He missed her in unmanly ways. That emasculating thought got him a grip. It was just ONE Saturday, there will be others! He popped a leftover hydro-codeine from his last dental appointment, and went to sleep.

The phone rang in the vicinity of 4 am.

“Gremlin, you up?”

“No. Sweet Jesus! I miss your hair.”

“My hair or Hesoos’? Gremy, did you pop a pill?

“Hours ago…no residuals currently. I promise occifer!”

“Gremy, listen I need to come over.”

“Please! Please! Please!”

“Will you be lucid?”

“Enough to ask, come there me instead want you?”

“No, Yoda, let me do the heavy-lifting for a change.”

“Buggie, come soon.”

He phased between slumber and consciousness, fitfully anticipating her arrival. She needs to just move in with him. What on earth was the point of paying two rents when they spent all their time together. Plus its not like she could ever sleep without him, tonight was just a case in point.

The doorbell rang. He st/fumbled his way to the door.

“Why didn’t you use your key?”

“I needed you out of bed Gremy.”

“Why? The bed is so much warmer…”

“I…listen, can we just sit down?”

“… What’s up? You ok Lady Bug?…”

“I…I just need your teddy bear hugs.”

He obliged, but the act was laced with the sudden sobriety of drunk-driver’s first hit and run. The panic got worse when he felt the shuddered heaves of her weeping. His shirtfront seeped her tears onto his chest, just inches of human-tissue away from his currently arrhythmic ticker. He tried to run a gamut of dates in his head. Did he forget her birthday? Was it her father’s death anniversary? He was at loss. The only thing to do was stroke her hair, wait for her to speak.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to know.

And then there it was. The bombshell his sixth sense had been foreshadowing all evening like the campy theme music of a slasher B movie.

She’d met someone. He was the perfect candidate on paper. Age-appropriate, right-religioned, dialect-compatible, geographically-akin, career-symbiosised, and lifepathvision-aligned. She needed to give it a try. She owed it to herself, and her family, to do the right thing for a change.

“The right thing…?”

“Gremy, this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, it’s breaking my heart.”

“It’s breaking your heart…?”

“You are the most important part of my life!”

“You are my life…”

“Gremy, please don’t make it harder then it has to be…”

“I am not doing anything.”

He tried to pull away at that point, but she wont let him. She gnawed at his arms with her nails as if drawing blood might take the attention off the real issue. He couldn’t break down right now, not in front of her, not like this. He stayed rigid in her thorny embrace, easing only when she fell asleep. Still in his arms, still half-sobbing. He didn’t have the heart to push her aside. She, childlike, impervious of the clumsy havoc she had just wreaked.

D was still wearing the pearl earrings he’d gotten her for her last birthday. She had laughed and clapped her hands in ecstasy when she had seen them. Such happiness, M never thought he could make anyone smile like that. He thought he saw love in her eyes that day. Maybe it was just joy at the realization she had trained him perfectly in tune to her tastes.

Such bitter thoughts.

None of it made any sense.

What the hell was age-appropriate? Religion? The only ism she followed was hedon! In fact she had laughed at the cave-man tendencies of the men in her particular monotheistic cult. And life path? Seriously! How much more configuration did she need then the monkey-see-monkey-do routine he was always willing to commit to, just to keep safe the warm cocoon of their life together.

And when the hell did she find time with this person, she was ALWAYS with him.

Sleep eventually unhooked her nails from his flesh, but he stayed tethered to her.

Even Job was probably less fond of reintroducing flesh-eating larvae into his wounds, just because God intended it so.

In the morning she stubbornly persisted in their rituals as if it was just another Sunday. He didn’t say much while she made her world-famous omelets, and urged him to put the coffee on. When he brushed past her in the kitchen, she reached out and caressed his cheek. He cringed at the contact. She grabbed him and held on like a man-overboard to a float.

Possibly nothing had changed?

He kissed her, he couldn’t help it. This was his girl, she’d always be his girl. She didn’t back down when his lips gathered more urgency, letting him slip a hand inside her shirt, jumping up, wrapping her legs around him, her unspoken signal of consent.

He took her into the bedroom.

They spent hours there.

He fell asleep, his face smothered in her breasts, thinking maybe he had just conjured up last night. A bad case of indigestion induced nightmares. His sub-conscience feigned much needed bliss.

He woke up to her cell phone ringing, and subdued mumblings.

“Yes, hey, yes, I know. I’ll call you in 20 OK? OK. N-no, not today. Look let me call you. This isn’t the best time. No it wasn’t easy. No, OK, let me just call you, OK? OK. Bye.” Pause. “No I haven’t changed my mind…Ditto.”

He saw her through hooded eyes, slink out of bed, and come to his side, and caress his cheek.

“Gremy, I have to get home.”

“Stay the night.”

“No I really…I really do have to go.”


“Yes Gremy?”

“I love you, D?”


“Gremy…I…its…I don’t know what to say.”

You know what to say D. He just looked at her, all the longing of the past year straining in his eyes.

“I love you, Lady Bug.”

“I have to go baby. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, OK?”

He let her go, he had no choice. It could still be just another Sunday…it could…it could…

The next two months were odd periods of adjustments.

He’d wait for her outside of work, only to realize she wasn’t coming down. When he called she wouldn’t always answer the phone. There was suddenly no one to spot him at the gym. When he did see her, and it was often enough, she acted like she always did. Caressing his cheeks, knowing his exact order at their sushi place, buying that extra loaf of bread for him, if she went to the grocery store.

But she disappeared on the weekends.

And those times were awful. He felt an intense pain in his innards at not knowing where she was, what she was doing, who she was touching…

His friends jokingly nicknamed him Moliver after the famous Twist, because he moped about like he’d lost his anchor.

His sister suggested he cut D out completely, but unless he moved from the neighborhood, that was going to be next to impossible. And truth be told he didn’t want to escape her. Who the hell tells a junkie to go cold turkey and expect it to work anyway!

Then one day she called him, it was a Friday, about 1 am. He was out with some friends at a club, trying half-heartedly to get his game on. She was bawling hysterically. So many hiccups, he couldn’t make out a word of what she said.

“D, where are you? Where? No just stay there, I will be there in twenty minutes. Please don’t cry. OK no, I’ll stay on the phone. Just please, don’t cry.”

He stayed on the phone throughout the cab ride to the lounge she had been abandoned at, and then held her tight while she cried in his arms the whole 30 minutes ride to his place.

The story unfurled in sniveling spasms. They were finishing up dinner at a little Thai dive near St. Mark’s Place, when they ran into D’s sister. When the seldom-thinking-ever-welcoming D invited her along for the rest of the evening, “The Other Man” became convinced it was no accident. He wasn’t ready to meet family, but D fervently assured M, she hadn’t intended it that way. “The Other Man” spurned her the entire evening, until a disconcerted D sent her sister home to try to placate him. Without an audience or ally from her family, he took anger to unprecedented heights. People on the street witnessed the scene, the abuse, the humiliations. Someone offered to call the cops. She was just so embarrassed. She kept saying she felt like a weevil, a crushed weevil.

What the hell is a weevil?

He carried her up the two flights of stairs, snuggled her up in his blankets and attempted to get some water. She wouldn’t let him go, wailing at the idea of being without him for even a second. Apparently her life depended on nestling in his armpits…through the night.

“Gremy, why does this always happen to me? Why do I always get burnt?”

“D, did I ever hurt you like this?”

She caressed his cheek: “You are my angel.”

They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

He tripped on figments of angel food cake.

Delightful Ignorance, YUM!

It was still dark when her kisses arouse him, fingers sneaking to places he’d ached for them to be in the last two months.

“You sure, D?”

She responded by guiding his hands to liberties he desperately wanted to take. No one could say no to that, least of all a lovesick weevil. Its OK he rationalized, she had to try out “the right on paper” candidate. She had to do it for her uber-fundo-conservative family’s sake. She was with him now. All was harmonious in the universe. And in the morning…in the morning he’ll tell her what he’d been thinking about all along. In the morning he’d tell her about the ring he’d picked out. The inscription he’d thought of etching on it. In the morning…

In the morning, she was gone. A post-it note left on his pillow, in her signature unpretentious scrawl:


What was wrong with her head, that it needed sorting out? What the hell just happened? Didn’t she just make love to him? Didn’t she initiate? Didn’t she say she was sure? What the hell does she mean by her own way? Where the hell did she go!

He picked up his phone to call, but decided against it, he’ll go see her. He ran out, one shoe on, one slipped on and laced up while running down the stairs. He almost lost his glasses in the process.

At her apartment, still flustered, he automatically reached for his key, and turned the lock.

…He should have rung the bell…

There she was, lying in all her majesty on his favorite piece of furniture, the burgundy chaise lounge, with “The Other Man”—lets just call him TOM for posterity’s sake—on his knees, begging some sort of half-assed forgiveness, and her teasing him with unacceptance. Her smile had a coquette he missed from his nights.

Seeing M she scampered to her feet, visibly tizzy.

TOM turned around, and M had to admit, he was a bit of an Adonis. I guess that’s what D meant by “age-appropriate”.

“M, hey…what…uh…?”

“I am sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

Pregnant pause.

She bungled introductions. TOM steeled M with a piercing gaze, his handshake nothing short of a warning, the hissed hello a challenge to duel. M realized TOM knew exactly who he was, but before M could stake his claim, he saw the look on D’s face. Her silent beseech was enough to make him forego any thought of self, ego, id, and adopt the burden of superman. He didn’t have it in him to be superman, but what else could he do?

He exchanged pleasantries, made excuses, and then tried to be on to his way, when TOM called out, “Perhaps you should leave D’s keys, to avoid further embarrassment.”

M wanted to punch him, but poor little D hated drama, and didn’t deserve to be in the middle of a pissing contest. Did she…? No! No, she didn’t. He wished D would say something, but her face was a pale cloud, devoid of all but fear and trembling. M took her hand, and before TOM could protest, he put the key in it, folded her fingers on top, kissed the back of it and left.


He heard it, but he also heard TOM murmur a “Let it go, its better this way.”

He didn’t hear her come after him.

He didn’t hear from her at all for months.

Once he got a text: “Sometimes Gremy, sometimes…”

He knew he shouldn’t respond, but: “Always Buggie, always…”

She let him stew in silence after that, unfairly devoid of response.

One Thursday evening, M saw them walking hand in hand at what had been their favorite pier. He couldn’t believe she’d bring him to their spots, but what are you going to do, it’s a bloody free country. He saw her dangle a bracelet, looked like some thing Tiffany’s would sell, and kiss the heart hanging from it. He ran before he could witness any more endearments.

This was torture.

He started looking for a new apartment in a different neighborhood. The hunting in the evenings kept his mind off of things. The weevil had a mission, and nothing beats the road to recovery for the lovesick, then finding a purpose.

The next time he saw her was at another party his friends Chivas and Regal (yes really) had thrown. Apparently no one had sent them the memo that M&D were no longer an item.

He assumed she wouldn’t be there.

But she was.

Of course she was.

It would never occur to her not to be.

TOM wasn’t there.

Bailed on her apparently.

“He didn’t think it suitable to be present at a party thrown by your friends Gremy. He said it was too Melrose Place. Can you get more provincial!”

How could M tell D that he actually thought TOM was right, without TOM becoming more of a man in his eyes than M was willing to give him credit for. So he agreed with D instead.

“He wont meet any of my friends Gremy, and he won’t introduce me to his. Well the bastard really doesn’t have any. Except that one girl, but he wont introduce me to her, or his family.”

“What’s the rush, D?”

“Its not about the rush, its just, why the hell do we have to be such a hidden thing… Does he think I am not good enough?”

“D, you are better than good enough. You are smart, you are a fighter, you are beautiful. You are…”

“Its just not the same with him, not like it was with you. You and I integrated. With him, I am a date on the weekends, when he isn’t traveling for work…I get so lonely…”

She bambi-eyed him with that last statement.

Against his better judgment: “I am always there for you D, you know that.”

She caressed his cheek and laid her head on his shoulder. By the end of the evening she was in his lap, repeatedly informing him his heart sounded like a ticking bomb.

The hell she knew!

It was time to leave, but it was too late in the night to let her brave the subway on her own. He insisted on dropping her home. She insisted he come upstairs.

“Why D?”

“Its your reward,” she tinkled.

He hated her in that moment. She was fully cognizant of the power she had over him, and that his desire for her made him un-able/willing to resist her seductions. Expectedly, he followed her upstairs, strung along by innuendo and false promises, hating himself every step of the way.

She toyed with him.

Kissed him.

Caressed him.

But wouldn’t let him touch her.

“Why D?”

“Because you let me.”

By the wee hours, he lay exhausted in a pile at her feet. Unable to take any more of her, unwilling to leave without more of her. She clustered him in her arms and let him sleep there. No more. He was grateful for the miniscule mercy.

In the morning there was another note.

note_16045He felt like Samson after a visit to the barber.

What the hell is wrong with you! You are doing goddamned well for someone your age. You have a fantastic job, you are working on your start-up, you have two degrees, enough money to buy the latest generation of every gadget, not a bad looker, almost in shape. That Venezuelan girl last night was totally hitting on you! And here you are at the foot of your ex-girlfriend’s bed, where she is going to sleep with another man tonight, while you twiddle your thumbs in the hopes she gives you enough mental gymnastics to last another month of wet dreams.


He slapped himself on the cheeks. HARD. Twice.

Then he left her place, anti-instructions, leaving the door unlocked.

“Goddamnit, I hope someone robs her!”

His next weeks were a mixed bag of intense anger, jealousy, hatred, morbidity, and the headlining act: RAGE. Rage at the realization that his place in D’s world was that of a lab-rat in a maze that she tormented occasionally to skew results in her own favor.

His brother came up one weekend and left extremely worried. This was not the happy-go-lucky, not-even-hurt-a-fly, Gandhiesque-in-his-pacifism, sibling they all adored. This was Whitney&Bobby-on-crack-withdrawal. He told their mother M needed her, and she should consider spending a couple of months with him. A family conference call was arranged, and despite M’s protestations, plans were made for Mom to fly out.

The day his mother was supposed to land, D’s best friend called.

“M you need to get to the hospital ASAP!”

“What happened?”

“M, she was pregnant. He beat her black and blue. It’s a miracle she survived!”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest. He ran to the hospital. Who’s child was it? He kept wondering. Could easily have been his. Whose was it? Obviously she didn’t think it was. But it could…should have been…

When he saw her bloodied face, her bruised arms, her stoic resistance to tears, the angst around his heart shattered into a million pieces. D needed him, that’s all that mattered. He made arrangements for his mother to be picked up, and then he was D’s, never once leaving her side.

He held her through the stitches, through the bone-setting, through the grimacing.

He held her while the doctors explained they might have to do a D&C to make sure none of the remains of the fetus stayed to rot her insides.

He held her through the police report in which she obdurately refused to press charges.

He even held her through the three painful times she tried to contact TOM, and each time it went to voicemail—and her heartbreak the one time he did pick up, because she called from M ’s phone instead.

He chocked it up to the whole anger-denial, etc process. D had to go through the steps to be rid of demons.

He came everyday. Fed her, washed her hair, told her shaggy dog stories.

The afternoon she was to be discharged, he took her in his arms, his lips quivered.

“D, I was supposed to be your protector…I let you down.”

“Gremy, you are my angel.”

“No, just listen to me. I wont ever forgive myself if I let this happen again. Look, I know I didn’t say it soon enough, but I loved you the minute I laid eyes on you. Just be mine, D. Marry me. Enough of this nonsense.”

She looked at him with battle-weary eyes.

“Look, you don’t have to answer right now. Lets just go home. Mom is waiting for us. We can talk about this later.”


“D, I was a mess when you were gone. Mom came to stay. I’ve talked to her and the rest of the family about us. They know how much you mean to me. They are OK with whatever demands you may have. Religion, geography, career, life path, whatever. They just want to see me happy.”


“Shhh…just relax right now, you’ve been through hell.”

She stayed at his place the next few days, till she was ready to be on her own. His mother tended to her like kin. After all D made her son so very happy, and she loved whomever her son loved.

The night D moved back home, M forewarned his mother, he may stay there in case D wasn’t well. When they got to D’s place, she asked him to come up for a bit.

M grinned, “Of course, my Lady Bug.”

She sat him down on the couch, and went into her bedroom telling him she would be right back. She took some time returning. Then sidled up to him with a tattered smile, and held his hand.

He noticed she was now wearing that heart-dangling-Tiffany’s bracelet…wait didn’t TOM…

Then she handed him back the pearl earrings he’d given her.

All she said was:

“I have no demands Gremy.”


27 responses to “Willful Blindness

  1. Zeeshan – Send me a list of stuff that you don’t want your grandmother to know of. We shall have a new story right there 😛

  2. Asra – Shhhhhhhh! I don’t my grandmother to hear that i was actually listening to her. In today’s world we don’t listen to our grandmothers 🙂

    Waiting impatiently for the new story….

  3. *furiously scribbling away* yeah yeah assu, the cheque is in the mail!

  4. Zeeshan – Didn’t our grandmothers say something about a ‘real’ man being the one who acknowledges his weaknesses? 😀

  5. From what I’ve heard, heads should be pretty :p

    I have copyrights to any thoughts that are a result of my comments.

  6. oh *starts taking notes* another story rears its ugly head 😀

  7. Zeeshan – I rarely run into men who think that there might be a remote possibility of me being right. Nice to meet you. 😀

    Cherry – This reminds me of the following verses:

    Kuch unj we rahwaan aukhiyaan san
    Kuch dil wich ghum da tauk we see
    Kuch sher day loak we zalim sun
    Kuch maynu maran da shauk we see

    I agree that ‘or bhe ghum hain zamaanay may muhabaat k siwa’ but then again like ‘muhabaat ka ghum’ most of those are self inflicted as well and give us the same painful pleasure. (This statement is exclusive of natural disasters)

    • Asra – the pleasure is all mine. I have a bad habit of admitting when someone is right regardless of their gender (makes me less of a man i know) lol

      P.S Excellent poetry guys!

  8. Asra – maybe you are right.

    BTW I love that shair!

  9. faiz ka shair yaad ajata hai:

    aur bhi gham hain zamaane meN mohabbat ke sivaa
    raahatein aur bhi hain vasl ki raahat ke sivaa

  10. Zeeshan – Willful blindness does fall under sadism. We mix chemicals from the left side of the brain with those from the right side and lose ourselves to a point that we happily accept the dizziness. You can call it ‘love’ but the fact remains that no matter how much fun it is to be dizzy, it is painful when you stop. However, we still go round and round in familiar circles because there is sadistic fun right there when you stop. 🙂

  11. Great Story! I could realte to a lot of stuff. I think it shows a lot of insecurities of M “offcourse it can also be called love :)” and self destructive personality of D as she fell for Tom type of guy becasue i’ve seen a lot of females falling for those types.
    Asra- I repectfully disagree that we find pleasure in pain, i think sometimes we just become so blind and oblivious that we think that’s the only way to live and we don’t look for alternatives.

    Anyhow great writing and thouroughly enjoyed the story. Keep up the good work.

  12. Xeph, sorry meri jaan, i didn’t mean to give you a headache! Can I make you some chai?

    Rana, welcome to the blog! I think thats the biggest compliment you can give anyone attempting to write, that you see your own life and experiences in the characters they crafted. i am so humbled by your words.

    I’ve tried to stay away from judging the characters, because I think they are both in a situation of their own creation, and both get some sort of gratification out of it. No one stays in pain, unless there is a double-edge of pleasure to it. And I think that’s the big point in this story. And in the end all things even out anyway don’t they? I am sure D & M, in their own ways got a grip with life, and achieved zen, eventually. Can I get an insha’Allah 😀

    As far as sequels are concerned…i am not even a big fan of resolution in original stories, much less milking a dead idea into parts…but don’t worry i’ll be back with more stories and characters that you will love to hate 😀

  13. I absolutely loved it and can relate to it so much its uncanny…

    The pressures of family, culture, tradition, and religion are sometimes overwhelming but on the same note she was sooooooooooooooo wrong for stringing him along. And he needed to grow some and find someone who cherished him, loved him and wanted him for him not as a security blanket.

    I understand having someone as your comfort zone, companion etc but I think there comes a time to be humane and let the guy/girl go….the ending was painful…

    Aaaaaaaaaaaah very deep and moving I want to know what the sequel is… ???

  14. i didn’t stop reading till the end. i have a headache now. ;(

  15. Assu, you need to marry me already, you so get me!

    Huma, thank you kindly for your praise….sigh…i dunno how to thank you enough. Btw, I find it interesting that everyone keeps assuming D is trying out this new guy because it makes more sense, and he is the “boring” choice. I personally think she’s into him fair and square for the butterflies. M is just her refuge when the butterflies mutate into tse tse flies, or some other clever analogy! I honestly believe the explanations she gives M are just a line.

    And mien fuhrer i am already working on the next story, the seeds of it germinated last night!

    Ahmed, your kind words have me humbled. Thank you so much for reading!

  16. GeekiSiddiqui

    wow! I’m so impressed! That was really really good! I’m going to have to check out your other work now 🙂

  17. Hon, I am so happy you started writing….I love it…absolutely….

    Whether you call her a bitch and the man a victim, the characters get an intense reaction from you. And pesonally I was able to relate to some aspect of both D & M.

    But you know me….I would give the “mamma-will-approve” type a try however much I liked someone 🙂 Boring but true…..

    As for M….its so human to not be able to let go when a person keeps coming back and using you for their comfort…you are being used but it was like his lifeline….so i loved the characters….

    Enough of the praise….start working on the next story 🙂

  18. I can totally relate to D and M. No one is a bitch or a lab rat. They
    know exactly what they are doing. They might be in denial like most of
    us. No one is a victim, no one is a punching bag, no one is being
    used. Its impossible to get out of your comfort zone/habit and
    sometimes love has nothing to do with it. We willingly go back because
    we find pleasure in pain. Makes perfect sense.

  19. Hello Saniya, and welcome to the blog!

    Thank you for your very insightful comments. I completely agree, both D & M, and The Other Man are stuck in vicious cycles of their own creation. They are here because they want to be. No one wants to be rescued hence no one can be accused of perpetrating any crimes here.

    If you haven’t seen it already watch “À la folie… pas du tout” with Audrey Tautou, who plays the broken-hearted and abused, third wheel in a love triangle. Its not until we start seeing the film from the guy’s perspective, that it reveals every love story has two sides…

  20. Hi,
    I enjoyed the story. The metaphors and illusions to different sources and characters were entertaining, esp. where M is referred to a lab rat and D to the scientist manipulating his behavior to fit her data. I think that was enough to say about her. I beg to differ with most of the readers to see her as the ‘bitch’, rather I see her as at ‘scientist’ who knows what he is doing and why he is doing it. Even knowing that Tom was not giving her the ‘perfect’ life or a ‘relationship’ as seen by many of us, it wasn’t something she wanted. M is repeatedly called an ‘angel’. Maybe she was human enough herself to realize that she did not permanently want an angel in her life but a ‘human’, with all the faults and even the ‘devilish’ traits. I would even go further to say that she was scared of knowing or even meeting the more ‘human’ side of M, fearful that she would lose the only angel in her life. If he couldn’t let go of her, then she felt no obligation to let go of him either. If D was a ‘bitch’, then I find no other word but a ‘dog’ for M.
    Nonetheless. it was nicely written.

  21. I am loving the strong reactions and the dialogue. Its amazing that bechchari D had her heart broken, was beaten black and blue, AND she lost a child, and all of us still can only feel for M! I mean lets not forget the title of the story people, his blindness is quite willful 😀

    Hayaah, in my head she did say no to him. But I’ve had so many people interpret it as her saying yes but making it clear to him that she’s settling. I guess the end is what you make of it. Thank you again for your amazing compliments….i can’t say enough how much it means to me!

    Sarah, interesting that you saw her going after the “boring” option, i honestly think she was really into this new man, and all her explanations to M was just feeding him a line 😀

    Faith, we are all sons of bitches, all of us, we just don’t know it.

    Ali, thank you for the compliments kiddo! Just remember don’t let this jade you 😀

    Lost, as Plato once said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle”. The biatch has her side of the story, but that’s for another time…


  22. Since I have taken a vow of empathy… I understand her struggle… no judging..

    But what the hell is wrong with the guy.. drop the biatch.. 😛

  23. have to agree with Hayaah she was a B****………but excellent …….

  24. abracheamour

    absolutely heartbreaking. how fickle a heart can be when it is muttled with unrealistic expectations and demands of those outside of yourself. Emotional abuse is the hardest to heal from…

  25. Age-appropriate, right-religioned, dialect-compatible, geographically-akin, career-symbiosised, and lifepathvision-aligned. She needed to give it a try. She owed it to herself, and her family, to do the right thing for a change.
    oh well the most boring kind…:p
    it was depressing..but. i loved it..
    in this age some of us..yeah some where that includes me to with our fundo conservative backgrounds are screwed up in the head.
    keep writing my friend…

  26. Im gonna interpret that as she said ‘no’ to him????

    I seldom use this term, but she was such a ‘BITCH’!!!! :@

    hate her hate her types, hater her male types too!

    (amazing writing!)