Dear, you,
No. I don't love you anymore.
Though, I still cling on to every memory of yours.
I still smile at the fact that you blushed more than me when they used to tease us. And how I pretended to ignore you in front of them, when, in reality, I would be dying to have just one glimpse of you.
And the Maths Classes, when you would sit diagonally behind me, and we would secretly share handwritten notes, with hilariously drawn emoticons in between. And I would try my level best to act normal.
I still laugh when I hear your voice note of Ed Sheeran's Thinking Out Loud, where your "twenty-three" sounded almost ultrasonic. I bet Ed would have died hearing it. Oh! And, do you remember the school picnic, when you were staring at me from the corner of your eye, while I was dancing idiotically on "Lean On"? Yes, I had noticed that.
I still re-read the Whatsapp conversations we had, during which I always insisted that I was a better writer than you because you were my muse. And you, you couldn't help but smile at my words.
And, today, I still weep at night, when I read out the letters I had almost written to you, loud in my mind, realizing that I am still a better writer, and you are still my muse.
So here, I gather my strength to scribble that letter again in your name, saying that after three long years, I don't love you anymore. This is what I tell them. But you know the truth, don't you, my love?
By Anmol Chandak