THE SMOKEY AIR

Ami thamo bhala basi'' was the only sentence that I knew in Bengali. Those were the best days in my life or my life instead. Past is for sure my happy place to stay. It reminds me of how I used to be. How life was easier, yet painful and how some people can make your life beautiful just by breathing. It just takes a fraction of seconds to turn your whole upside down, well who would know it better than me. My life was perfect, my family moved to Calcutta when I was twelve. The place we lived was beautiful. It was covered in trees with old rustic mansions. It smelled different, at first it didn’t feel like home but now when I think about it my heart starts aching. The best part of the past is built with weird neighbours and my school friends. School was my comfort place for many reasons, mainly it was him. Whom I hated the most and ironically spent the most time with. Once when I was on the school terrace talking to my friends, he started teasing me which turned into a big fight - while fighting he threw my brother's lunch box down the stairs. I was obviously done - I threw my idli on his head which kind of satisfied my ego. After the fight I went home. Where my eyes were stuck on a shooting going in the house right next to ours & my so-called friend was peeping onto the camera to be a part of it seeing that I couldn’t stop laughing which made her angry but then again me being me left by giving her goofy expressions. Days passed and so did my holidays. One day when my father and I were walking down the street I saw a poster about a summer camp being arranged in a nearby city. I wanted to go, but my parents said no, but then somehow I convinced them. Finally two days before the camp while I was going to the supermarket, a bomb last took place, I was terrified. Smoke everywhere, I was flushed in red with pain, all I could see was him running towards me. Somehow we went to a safer place. I was on the verge of losing my senses and he was in his last minutes. He shook me and made me drink some water, I was on his laps, tears dripping on my face, washing away the smoke and blood, I could feel his desperate breath trying to survive, fighting for his life, his air was quickly vanishing in the smoke, that was the most painful moment I had ever experienced, I was helpless, I screamed for help but no one came. He was trying to say something but I couldn’t understand because it was too loud. People were screaming, running around, some searching for their loved ones. It was total chaos. Then he said “stupid girl, be brave you will be fine” and smiled at me for the last time. His smile spoke to me, that was the first and last time he smiled at me like that. I know what it meant. I couldn’t take it. The pain from the wounds were nothing at that point, I fainted. 

Next day I woke up in a hospital, he was gone, I couldn’t say goodbye. In my pocket I found a note and key. It was the key to his diary and the letter read-

Ira,

Don't cry, be strong. ''I hate u till my last breath, though you are my air''.

The note had dried blood drops and it smelt like him. Next day I went to collect his diary. It had all our fight details and good memories. Sometimes pain makes you stronger. This was that time for me. The pain made me stronger and it's the only proof that you existed so I am never letting it go.