The wedding day is near.

Not mine—hers.

Soon she will walk down an aisle, wearing the smile that once belonged to me, holding the hand of the man she truly deserves. And I… I will not be there. I will be here, in this room, counting the last pieces of myself.

The room is dim. Curtains pulled tight, cigarette smoke clinging to the ceiling like a ghost refusing to leave. Empty bottles and crumpled packets scatter the floor like fallen soldiers from a war I’ve been fighting alone. The silence is heavy, broken only by the sound of my lighter clicking open, flame touching paper, another cigarette coming to life.

I inhale. The smoke fills my lungs, and with it comes her face.

Always her face.

Four years… four years since she walked away. And yet, I swear, every corner of this world still whispers her name. I tried to run from her. I traveled, I climbed mountains, I stood at the edge of rivers where the world felt endless. But even there, she followed. In every stranger’s smile, I thought it was her. In every pair of eyes, I searched for her reflection. And when I looked closer—nothing. Just strangers. Just emptiness.

I am going mad. Not because she’s gone, but because she never truly left.

Now it’s only me, locked away. This room has become my coffin, and I am alive inside it. Far from family, far from friends, far from the streets where we once laughed under flickering streetlights.

I close my eyes, and I’m back there.

Her laughter spilling into the night, her hand slipping into mine, her voice promising forever. The sound of it echoes even now, louder than the silence around me. She may have broken that promise, but I… I am still holding it like a burning rope, even as it tears my hands apart.

I drink. I smoke. I let the ashes fall like snow around me. I try to drown the memories, but the more I drink, the clearer they become. The more I smoke, the closer I feel to her. She’s in the smoke, in the glass, in the quiet hum of the night.

I was once someone else.

A man who laughed too easily, who believed in forever.

Now I’m just a shadow, waiting for nothing, living without hope, existing without tomorrow.

And yet, in this emptiness, I still find her.

Not in reality, not in flesh—but in every memory that refuses to die.

This is my story.

Not of love. Not of loss. But of the man who stayed behind when she walked away.

The story of how promises outlived the lovers who made them.

The story of me.

Hi, I am Mandiv. What you are holding in your hands is not just a book—it is a part of me. These pages carry pieces of my life, both the present I am living and the past that shaped me. I will share with you the moments that broke me, the memories that carried me far from the world, and the treasures I still hold close to my heart. This is not just a story—it is my truth. And as you read, I hope you will walk with me, not as a reader, but as a silent companion .

25th October 2019 – Saturday Morning

The world outside was waking up. Birds chirped from the trees, their voices carried on the cool October breeze that whispered of winter’s arrival. The air felt fresh, sharp, alive.

A knock came at my door.

“Son, wake up. Breakfast is ready,” Mom called softly.

Still wrapped in sleep, I muttered, “Maa… just ten more minutes.”

The door creaked open. She stepped in, sunlight following her through the curtains. With one swift motion, she pulled my blanket aside, breaking my comfort.

“No more sleeping,” she said with a playful sternness. “If you don’t get ready now, you’ll miss the bus.”

Mom never let me slack when it came to school. She always made sure I was up, fresh, and ready long before 7:30—because the bus never waited, and my school was far, almost sixteen kilometers away.

Half-asleep but smiling, I dragged myself up, washed my face, and walked into the kitchen. The smell caught me first—warm rice, dal, eggs, and fried potatoes.

“Mom, what’s for breakfast today?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

She looked at me with that smile only mothers carry. “Rice, dal, egg, and fried potatoes.”

My mood shifted instantly. “Wow, my favorite!”

She chuckled, scooped food onto my plate, and fed me the first bite with her hand. “I’ll cook all your favorite dishes, as long as you study well, my son.”

From the corner, Dad folded down his newspaper, smirking. “You love him too much. One day, this boy will forget how to grow up.”

Mom and I exchanged a quick glance and laughed softly, as if we knew something he didn’t.

After breakfast, I grabbed my bag. Mom fussed over me at the door, fixing my collar, checking my shoes, making sure I looked neat.

“Go carefully,” she said, pressing her hand against my head in blessing.

Then Dad, pretending to be strict, slipped a folded note into my hand. “Don’t waste it, okay? Pocket money is for smart kids, not lazy ones.”

I grinned, hiding the note in my pocket. “Thanks, Dad.”

As I stepped out into the cold morning air, the long road stretched ahead, the bus waiting far away at the end. I turned once to wave.

Mom stood in the doorway, watching me with her endless care. Dad was beside her, pretending not to smile.

And in that moment, walking toward my school bus, I felt rich—not because of pocket money, not even because of the food, but because of the love that followed me everywhere I went.

I climbed onto the bus as usual, no worries in my head, no tension about life. Just the road, the morning breeze, and the soft hum of the engine carrying us forward.

I leaned against the window, watching the world slide by—the fields stretching far into the distance, the trees swaying gently, the sunlight breaking through the clouds in golden stripes. The cold October air touched my face, and for a moment, everything felt light, simple, free.

Finally, the bus rolled into school. The gate stood tall, the compound already alive with voices and footsteps. I walked straight to my classroom, bag slung on my shoulder, and dropped into my seat.

I waited for my friends, Abhi and Bittu. But the benches around me were empty, their laughter missing. After a few minutes, I stood and wandered down the stairs.

The school was buzzing with life. Everyone had come with new energy, fresh hope, and the small adventures that only a school day could bring. Some were busy teasing and flirting, some laughing with their groups, others rushing to finish homework before the bell. The air was full of noise, yet it all felt like music.

As I reached the compound, a familiar voice cut through. Bittu spotted me, waving with that big grin of his.

“Hey, Bro! Over here!”

I walked over, and just like always, we started chatting about nothing and everything—the kind of talks only friends understand. Slowly, one by one, more of our friends gathered, forming small circles of laughter, chatter, and shared secrets.

It wasn’t just another school day. It was another chapter of our youth—ordinary, but alive.

The morning assembly ended, and like a flood being released, students rushed back toward their classrooms. I walked side by side with Bittu, the sun still sharp on our backs, the echo of prayers fading into the usual Saturday noise.

We slid into our benches, me at the corner, Bittu right next to me. The class was alive—some boys joking loudly at the back, a few girls sharing snacks under the desk, and the teacher pretending not to notice any of it. Saturday always carried that lightness, the promise of an early bell, the taste of freedom just a few hours away.

Bittu leaned closer, whispering, “Bro… you know today is different, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Different how? You finally decided to study?”

He smacked my arm playfully. “Study on Saturday? Are you crazy? Today is for adventure, bro. School ends at 12:20, coaching at 4:30—we have four golden hours.”

I laughed. “And what do you plan to do in those four hours? Sleep under a tree?”

He grinned wide, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No, bro. Today, we don’t go home. We explore. Just you and me. We’ll eat, roam, waste time like kings. The others—they’ll chicken out. But we? We’re made for this.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his dramatic tone. “Wow, sounds like we’re planning a movie. What if we get caught?”

“Caught?” He leaned back, pretending to look serious. “Then we’ll say we were busy doing research—for a project.”

I shook my head, smiling at his silliness. “Research in a samosa shop, right?”

Bittu slapped the desk, bursting into laughter so loud the whole class turned. The teacher’s eyes locked on us instantly, sharp as a knife.

“You two—out!”

We froze for a second, then exchanged a quick glance. Neither of us argued. With half-hidden grins, we grabbed our books and walked out of the classroom, trying not to laugh even harder.

The door closed behind us, and the muffled sound of the lesson continued inside. Outside, we leaned against the wall, still chuckling.

Saturday had only just begun, and already, trouble was on our side.

We stepped out of the classroom, the door shutting behind us. For a few seconds, we stood still, pretending to look serious, like we were reflecting on our “mistakes.” Then Bittu leaned close, his eyes already sparkling.

“Bro… did you see the way she looked at us?” he whispered. “If looks could kill, we’d already be ghosts haunting this corridor.”

I smirked. “Yeah, and you’d be the kind of ghost who still laughs at his own jokes.”

Bittu chuckled. “Imagine me as a ghost, bro. I’d hide in the staff room and whisper answers during exams. Free marks for life.”

I almost burst out laughing. “Knowing you, you’d probably whisper the wrong answers on purpose.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Bro! Don’t insult me. If I’m going down, the whole class is going with me.”

We both laughed quietly, trying to keep it down.

Minutes slipped by, and then the bell rang. Voices rose from inside as everyone packed their bags. The door creaked open, and the teacher stepped out, scanning the corridor.

We straightened instantly, standing like soldiers. Bittu’s lips twitched, his shoulders shaking. I shot him a warning look.

“Don’t,” I mouthed.

He bit his lip, nodding, trying to control himself. The teacher walked right past us, and for one second, it seemed like we were safe.

Then, out of nowhere, Bittu snorted—loud, sharp, uncontrollable. His laughter exploded into the empty corridor.

The teacher froze, turned slowly, and glared. “You!”

Bittu froze mid-laugh, his face caught between terror and comedy. He shuffled forward, muttering, “Sorry, ma’am, it was… uh… cough.”

The excuse didn’t work. Her hand shot out, pinching his ear.

“Ow! Ow! I swear, bro, save me!” he yelped, half-laughing, half-wincing.

I leaned against the wall, covering my mouth so she wouldn’t see my grin. Poor Bittu—caught again.

Saturday hadn’t even properly started, and already it felt like a comedy show.

The final bell rang, and like prisoners set free, we rushed out with the crowd. As soon as we stepped out of the school gate, Bittu nudged me, still rubbing his ear.

“Bro, look at this,” he said, pointing to his ear like it was a war wound. “It’s red. I think she twisted it so hard, it changed shape.”

I burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, bro. At least now you finally look like a satellite dish. Maybe you’ll catch some signals during exams.”

He gasped dramatically. “Satellite dish? Bro, you’re just jealous. With this ear, I’ll hear the question papers before they even print them.”

I shook my head, laughing harder. “Nah, bro. The only thing you’ll hear is your mom shouting when she finds out.”

He clutched his chest like I’d stabbed him. “Bro, don’t bring my mom into this… She still thinks I’m an innocent angel.”

“Innocent?” I grinned. “If you’re innocent, then I’m the principal of this school.”

That was it—he couldn’t take it. He doubled over, laughing so hard that people passing by started staring at us like we’d lost our minds.

We kept walking, tossing jokes back and forth, every punchline funnier than the last. The punishment that was supposed to embarrass us had turned into the best part of the day. By the time we reached the corner of the road, our stomachs hurt from laughing too much.

Saturday had just begun, and already it felt like the kind of memory we’d talk about for years—the day the teacher caught Bittu’s ear, and we laughed our way out of school like we owned it.

We reached the bus stop and dropped our bags on the bench like we’d just escaped a battlefield. Bittu stretched his arms wide, looking at the sky.

“Bro, today is history in the making. Four golden hours of freedom!” he declared like some movie hero.

I laughed. “Golden hours? More like four hours of you eating everything you see.”

He smirked. “Exactly, bro! Food first, adventure later. Imagine this—one plate momos, one samosa, one cold drink. Then we’re ready to explore the world.”

I shook my head. “Bro, with your diet, you’ll explore the hospital before the world.”

He burst out laughing, then leaned closer, whispering dramatically, “But seriously, bro… where do we start? Tea stall? Park? Or do we go full filmy—just walk wherever the road takes us?”

I grinned. “Knowing us, the road will take us straight to another samosa shop.”

Bittu slapped my shoulder. “Admit it, bro, you’ll eat more than me. Last time you finished two plates and blamed me for it!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Correction—you ordered two plates, and I was just saving them from going to waste.”

He pointed at me like a lawyer proving his case. “See? This is why you’re my bro. No food wasted. True friendship.”

The bus finally came into view, rattling down the road. Bittu stood up, hyped again. “Get ready, bro. By the time we come back, we’ll have stories that will make Suraj, Hriday, and Nandu cry with jealousy.”

I chuckled. “Or they’ll laugh when they hear you got caught stealing extra chutney again.”

Bittu gasped, holding his heart. “Bro! Don’t expose my secrets before the adventure even begins.”

We both laughed as the bus screeched to a halt in front of us. The adventure clock had started ticking, and the four golden hours were waiting.