"Some great pain has to seek refuge in my heart for the pen to flow smoothly but for once my heart is calm and the pen is dry. I'm glad."
This is the last thing I wrote in my journal before my long break. Meeting Shaun felt like the answer to all my prayers. He calmed my soul in a way I felt lost for words. There was no pain to write about and whatever happiness I felt I enjoyed it to the maximum that none of it was left to flow onto the paper. That's why when the happiness gushed out of my life, I quickly turned to my pen. I couldn't write about him. Filling my pages with his name felt like a single that my God would never forgive me for.

My God, he said is different from your God. My God will not accept you into his heart even if I accept you into mine. I never thought the difference in our religion would become an issue between us. Neither of us cared too much. It was simply a word in our birth certificates. More importantly his God preached love for all so I didn't quite understand his reasoning. Like that, he left and his absence made me want to find my God. If his was powerful enough to rip him away from me I wanted to know what mine could do.

I plunged head deep into the whole thing. Scriptures, temple visits, talks with prophets. All of that but the only thing that helped me was writing. I would read about my religion, think about it and then write what I felt about the whole thing. Though it started as non fiction it somehow became a multiple part fictional story. An unnamed male character would have conversations about religion and spirituality with th unmanned protagonist which secretly was me. I penned it down without any proof reading and I paid no close attention to it. It was without scrutiny. Maybe it's the lack of scrutiny that made me look the past the mysterious nature of the boy. His words were thoughts that never held a place in my thoughts. I had no awareness over what I was writing when it was his lines. The pen moved on its own and I unaware, let it all happen.

I visited temples after temples and had conversations with him through my book. My routine changed drastically that the religion fanatic folks in my family started fearing it. I got possessive over my journal and a permanent ink stain remained on my finger. Over time I was able to picture this boy in my head. Tanned skin, wavy hair and a sharp nose. A mischievous smile that calmed my restless heart and eased my jittery hands. We conversed every chance we got, which had become easy owing to my loss of interest in anything non religious. The pressure my family put on me was eased by the words he offered to me through my own hands. My friends started seeing me as a crazed artists. Lot of them disapproved but a few were happy that I was following my 'passion'. Yet nobody knew of the strange relationship that was being built between him and I. He held too much power over me. He became the guidance that I seeked in my world of chaos.

So it was no suprise. When he told me to leave, I left. Find me in Varanasi he wrote in my book. My handwriting was second nature to me but there were new turns and tilts when it was lines written from hisM perspective. I took the first bus to Varanasi. There were pilgrims accompanying me throughout the whole journey and the disassociated state of my being blended in with their religious haze. I walked through crowded lanes, opening my journal at every other minute to know if he has written anything new. Something in my head told me I was being stupid but something greater said I was right. We were destined to meet. Me and the boy in my journal. I walked two whole days, surving on water and Prasad that was offered by random believers. I walked and walked and walked till the journal fell from my trembling hands. I was parched and tired and on the verge of passing out. It was dark but the flames from the oil lamps reflecting on the river water gave enough illumination for my distressed soul. Then I saw. On the opposite bank of the river, there stood the boy. With his mischievous smile and enchanting hair. It was no illusion. He smiled.

He smiled and then dipped himself into the holy water. I watched him go, once and twice. I knew it was three time thing so I quickly moved myself from my transfixed state and dipped myself into the same water. I quickly rose and looked up but there was no one looking back. The opposite bank had no soul. There was no moment there either. Frantically I started walking into the water, my hand clutching my journal and my clothes pulling my down. Another dip. I'm two dips in. I raised myself and looked again and he was still nowhere to be seen. I was completely engulfed by the water now. I could hear screams and shouts from around me. I went further into the water. Looked around the place for that boy and then the weight of my body dipped me into the water again. I knew this was it. There was nothing more. I willed myself to open my eyes. He had to be here. The murky water stinged my eyes when I did open. And I saw, not him but the sight of my journal disintegrating into beautiful ethereal colours. Was my last sight being that a blessing or a curse? What did my God do?