I cant write when my heart and soul are fulfilled. All those gestures which I dreamt of and never thought possible are happening. Most of the time I feel like I'm seeing it happen to someone else.
Vinod is gone and now I am still discovering who is in his place. I could never think of anyone in V's place, anyway. V was the year-long obsession at 15 who disappeared after an entire school year, never met or spoken to. I thought of him as V, just as I wrote of you, my love, as V. But you're not V. Just a name I gave you so no one would recognise our sordid story. There are many beautiful stories which I have to write, but I must now go to my work.
