Did I ghost you? Growing up with the Internet definitely had its advantages. The most appreciative of them was that there was seldom any word or phrase that was unknown to me or something that I couldn’t instantly Google and find out about.

“Ghosting” was one such phrase I came across in the early months of 2014. Ending a close personal relationship abruptly and ceasing all communication just to avoid facing the fact that the relationship simply isn’t working out and deciding to end it by saying the words out loud.

It’s as if someone was typing out the story of your life and simply out of the blue, put in the phrase “Significant other’s exit." Moving away from someone is never easy, I admit. And there’s no one braver than someone who can notice that crack in the relationship and try to sever the limb instead of letting the fracture grow into a bitter memory of a loved one. It hurts a lot. But it gets better with time I think.

There was a girl in one of my tuition classes when I was in school. We talked a lot. Like “Eighteen out of twenty-four hours a day LOT.” Probably barring those few hours of school, of which we attended different institutions. To this day if someone asks me whether we were dating or not, I would not be able to give a straight answer to that question.

We had never been on dates, never held hands, never been intimate. But yet we agreed that we were together.

When the cracks came, we confronted them, fought, swore at each other, threw accusations and moved on like normal people do (at least I hope that’s what normal people do, I honestly can’t tell the difference anymore). I do think I ghosted the girl. Even through all those fights, I never allowed the real issue to be addressed.

I was impatient and I was a coward. I am sorry but a few cracks I guess time does heal and now we do talk from time to time. Although it’s very formal; we’re both too busy with our lives. Cut forward two years. And enter the babe. The college and the dating bug finally gets me, although much later than probably all of my friends and acquaintances. The babe was nice; she seemed real and honest and smart and obviously easy on the eyes. I had my first kiss. Under the open skies and during the monsoons.

The daring of it took even me by surprise. I loved spending time with her, although in the back of my mind I was still getting out of my own shell, confident that I was a very private person and I liked taking things slowly. Plus, she had some baggage, maybe more than some. Old flames, long commitments, false promises and the likes. I think she always considered me a sort of a savior. I didn’t want that. No. Honestly, I think I actively regretted that.

I confessed as much to her. I had no compunctions for being the rebound. I’d read enough novels and stories to know that being the rebounder or the reboundee is never a bad thing. But I didn’t want to be anyone’s savior. I didn’t want their 'Thanks' but just their company and love.

I’ve always been a better listener than a speaker. I kind of prided myself on that account. But it always came across as non-engaging, introverted, emotionally defunct, secretive and often, heartless.

The babe got frustrated. In return, I got irritated. “What more could I do?” I thought. In the end, it went down as the runner up’s performance in any World Cup. Brought everything to the table and lost the s*** in the final match. And we, the fans, wept long after the fireworks had died down and only the confetti remained as a testament that a match had even taken place. I did not ghost her. At least I think I didn’t. I was clear about what I felt, I tried being honest with her. “Go to hell” were her last words to me.

Life goes on. Being the “Sakht Aadmi” that I am (seriously, no puns intended, not even a little bit), I moved on; to a different city this time.

Post-graduation wouldn’t do itself. If someone were to make films or a TV series of my dating life, release dates would probably feel like international qualifiers for the FIFA World Cup or Euro. Once every two years. In comes the woman. Oh, the woman. No jokes. I seriously argued with myself for over a year before digging up, from some 3rd century A.D. cavern, the balls to ask the woman out. Never thought I stood a chance. *Grins sheepishly thinking about a night on a beach* Yeah, She was that special.

By this time I had gotten to know myself pretty well. I kind of identified myself with a Vulcan. It’s not that I don’t feel normal stuff, but it’s just that when I start feeling, I kind of go overboard with it. And depending on how YOU feel about me, you’d very likely classify me as either nauseatingly mental or adorably cute! I mostly tried to keep to myself, wasn’t much interested in dating people; at that point, I pretty much accepted the fact that people who get too involved with me just keep getting hurt. And trust me that feeling sucks more than a remora finding shark-belly for the first time. It was easier to enjoy my solitude; at least I knew I wouldn’t hurt anyone else or myself in the process.

Anyway coming back to the Woman; she was an almost ethereal meteorite which just crashed into my life. It was like I was dreaming all of it up. The Woman was what simplicity was all about. She was kind, she could look straight through me and she laughed at my most cringe-worthy jokes. What more could anyone want? We could talk to each other; endlessly, and I found myself opening up to her like I never did to anyone else.

Everything was different with her. Everything felt new with her. All my notions of the “Significant other” were flushed down the commode and I was redefining them every day in every conversation, in her every laughter, in her gaze when she looked at me, in her touch when her hand would brush up against mine absent-mindedly while we waited for our food to be packed from the restaurant.

In short, I was learning to love again. And I felt loved in return. I had my insecurities, even she did, but it all felt so small compared to what we had found in each other. After a long time, I was happy. I allowed myself the pleasure of her company as often as I could.

We still lived in different cities, but I was determined to make it work. Yeah, she was that special. I could go on forever just how much. After some time in paradise, the uncouth villainy of work-related stress compromised conversations, and other insecurities started clawing at the edges again.

I think I was mostly more to blame for this, be it because of my pre-confessed Vulcan-ness, or simply me missing my woman in ways I can’t even describe. I wanted her to be my “every day”, even when I knew pragmatically that she could only be my “some days”. I did break her heart. More than once. And I curse myself every day for it.

If only I’d been a little more patient, a little more attentive, a little more. Huh, we stopped talking. For the life of me, I wouldn’t be able to tell you who started it, but in all probability it was me. I didn’t want her to go. I didn’t want to go anywhere either. I just wanted her, my woman, back. But she didn’t feel about me that way anymore.

The mind stops listening to the heart when its desires become too unreasonable for the mind to agree upon. She needed some time to think. So I gave it. She needed more time. I gave it again. I knew she was hurt. She didn’t want to see me like this, morose, broken but she couldn’t wind back her heart. It wasn’t her fault. So I bowed out.

When an alcoholic is in recovery, you don’t take him to the local pub and sit down for fish and chips. You move him as far away from alcohol as possible. I tried to get rid of my addiction too. Distanced myself, hid her from my sight, deliberately archived our chats, and removed her from my lists. I ghosted her. That’s what the definition would describe me as doing. I did. Whether to stop her from hurting or to just escape my own hurts, I still did it. And it still hurt. Like a bi**h.

My apologies don’t mean anything anymore. She was my woman, and I lost her all on my own. It still hurts from time to time. But I can handle myself. I only hope she is alright. Even if she doesn’t find happiness anytime soon, I hope she isn’t hurting anymore. I hope she’s at peace with herself. And I hope she gives love another chance because she is the woman, the one woman, and any man would be happy to love her.

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