Somehow, in my mind, December has always been a month of endings. The crisp winter air almost announced the nearing closure of the last semester and, with it, the looming finality of my days in college. With only a few months left, the reality of my leaving college and the city was starting to hit us harder than I had anticipated. I was headed to Mumbai for a job at an MNC. Not quite what I wanted—my mind had been set on doing an MBA. I knew that I had not done well in the entrance exams. I have not kept a promise to myself. How could I, when instead of the books, my every waking moment revolved around Smitakshi? And in the back of my mind, I was not blaming her for what was an expected outcome.
We sat in the coffee house, the same corner table where we had spent countless hours together over the last few months. The room was warm, but the tension between us was palpable. Smitakshi’s eyes, usually so bright with mischief, were now downcast, her fingers tracing the edge of the chipped coffee mug in front of her. The uneaten plate of finger chips, now almost soggy, reflected the moment.
“I don’t know how I’m going to manage,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the clatter of cups and conversation around us.
I tried to smile, tried to comfort her, but the truth was I didn’t know either.
She still had three more years in this place. Alone. And then there was Yashpal, who was still there, still refusing to graduate. It didn’t matter to him, of course—his life was a perpetual time pass—but for her, it was a cause of deepened anxiety.
“It’s going to be fine,” I said, reaching across the table to take her hand. But even as I said it, the words felt hollow. She didn’t need reassurance; she needed a promise, and I was not finding words to make it.
Her hand was warm, but they trembled slightly. “You’ll be in Mumbai,” she said, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of sadness and fear. “And what about me? What if… what if you forget me?”
I shook my head quickly. “Smitakshi, how could I ever—”
“Mumbai is different,” she cut me off, her voice trembling. “It’s big, fast… the nightlife, the girls…” She trailed off, her insecurities spilling out in a way she had never let them before.
I laughed, though it felt forced. “Fast girls? Really? You think that’s what I’ll be looking for?”
She didn’t smile. Instead, she picked up my pack of Wills Navy Cut and carefully unwrapped the silver foil from the inside, exposing the blank white paper on the other side.
Her hand hesitated, and then she started writing in a very artistic- neat and rounded way. Her hands trembled as the words formed.
“My parents will never agree to our marriage,” she wrote slowly, deliberately. “And anyway, you will forget me.”
She stopped, looking at what she had written for a long moment. Then, as if suddenly realising the weight of those words, she crumpled the foil to throw it away.
Before she could, I grabbed it from her. “No,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected. “This… this is important, I promise.”
She looked at me, confused.
“This will be the reminder of my promise,” I said, smoothing out the crumpled foil and unfolding it carefully. “A reminder that we are connected no matter what happens or how far we are. I’ll always carry this.”
Smitakshi blinked, fighting the tears that were threatening to come out. “You think a piece of paper will keep us together?”
“It’s not just paper,” I said, slipping it into my wallet. “It’s a promise. And I’ll carry it with me every day.”
Her lip quivered, but a small smile finally tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Only about you.”
We sat there in silence for a while, the weight of what was soon to be a reality pressing down on us, but somehow, the tiny silver foil in my wallet felt like a lifeline—a bit fragile but real.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered, even though I wasn’t sure when. But I knew one thing: no matter how fast Mumbai moved or how much time passed, this—us—would never be forgotten.
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This story with an undisclosed destination started as part of the @BlogChatter event #BlogChatterBlogHop, where I started weaving a story based on the weekly word prompts suggested by BlogChatter. However, after the 5th weekly prompt- Blogchatter took a break, but I continued to develop the story based on the prompts friends and readers suggested on social media. Do suggest some word prompts for the next chapter. And if you want ( which I wish you do) to read the whole story, here are the rest of the chapters. https://sanjeevkotnala.com/category/story-undisclosed-destination/ and to start the first chapter – Rainy evening in a resort at Mukhteshwar
