She was the Queen.

3:21 PM

The chair winged back and forth, and the pages ruffled each other's shoulders, and I read the scratches of ink when it hit me that the time had arrived. It had arrived faster than I thought it would hit me. And her. And us.

You know there are people in your life that you'd take a bullet for, and hit bullets for, and even eat bullets for, for that matter, and she was that sort of girl. Even though I never believed in the seven-letter-word, forever, I wished if she could last for so long that even forever seems just another word to the two of us.

And if ever there was a time she needed some one to tell her that she is the best, it was this.

The only thing I didn't like about Love is the fact that it existed. And it's existence was similar to existence of literacy in South Africa, and money in African wallets, and Education in India.. You get the point. 

And the only thing she loved about Love is that it existed. She envied everyone who had the butterflies-in-their-stomach idea of love, but she still wanted it. She didn't want flowers and she didn't want surprise, she wanted someone to kiss the damned lips out of her, pressing her against the wall, and she wanted someone to tell her that he would be there when she dies, and then prove it, and she wanted someone to take her to road trips and she wanted some one to make her believe that maybe, just out of nowhere, out of all contradictory issues, love, of all things, is the best thing that ever happened to her.

And So I put the book on the shelf, and brought my sketch-book. 

Now, me at drawing was as good as Sachin at singing, so instead, I decided to draw lines that would eventually match up and join to form her name.

It wasn't difficult, as far as writing the letters was concerned, the only difficult part was to curve the scissor at an exact angle to get the damned letter out of it. And it reminded me of the curves that she had in her life, (in the most innocence sense of the phrase *laughs*), like the time when she had to leave Tennis, and the time love gave up on her, and the time her dad called her mediocre, and the time she had to eat that she didn't want to, and the time her throat hurt like hell, and the time her nose fell in love with Thames and the time she cried, and it made me kind of sad, to imagine how it would have been for her to pass through. She was the Queen. Well, if she could go through that, She had to be the Queen. And she was.

The next part was to see what would look good on those letters. Like, there could be flower petals, of different colors, dominated by orange, or there could be her side-pose photographs, in which she looked more beautiful than an infant kissing her mum, and there could be just plain white, on black, which would remind her of me, for the color scheme that is, but I did not want that. I never wanted her to get reminded of me. That is not how friendships are supposed to be. I wanted her to remember me, not get reminded of me. I wanted to miss her, and her to miss me as much as I missed her. The best kind of missing is when you are talking to someone and you are happy and it takes you back to those moments when you felt happy with that person and you text them saying I miss you. That. That is what you call Missing someone. It is beautiful, and not sleep-shackling three-am outbursts.

I chose three flowers, and four side-poses, because even though she loved the smell, I loved the scenery in her eyes when she posed sideways, and her lips showing just the right amount of pink, and her nose, "pointing", and her cheeks, gold in color, and her face, queenish and innocent. It's really astonishing as to how she could pull it off, and even more astonishing, the fact hat she has been pulling that off magnificently well for the past seventeen-years-and-some-days.

I pasted all the photographs that I had of her, some with me, some alone, some with her angels, and some with her brother, and some with kids I didn't know about, and some with dad, and some with her Punjabi mom, and some with her pool, and some with her iMac and some in which she was playing, and some in which she was singing, and some, in which she cooked something,and some in which she badly cooked something, and some in which she wore rings, and some in which she painted her lips, and some in which, she painted her face, and some in which she looked like a cat, and some in which she looked like  a child, and some in which she looked like an infant, and some in which she looked like a Queen, and I swear, I missed her then.

And I got orange and Blue petals, and it had to be red, the third one, for she loved it. And I have always been shit with these creative things, and I thought she'd laugh at my attempt and that kind of made me re-think about it and then I realised, it would make her laugh, and that was the whole point. I had to make her laugh.

After the pasting and cleaning thing was done, I filled two containers of sprinklers with blue and red glitters and I sprinkled it over that thing I made, on her name, on those flowers, like she had been sprinkling her love and happiness over my life. It's one of the best things she did.

And in the end, I had to do it. I had to write it. I had to say it. I had to make her listen to it. I had to tell her how happy I felt when I said it to her. In the most innocent sense of the phrase, I loved her. More than she can ever love me. More than the sun loved the moon. And I was happy loving her. And that was the whole point.

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