Never been one to believe that there was a greater being making things happen, but it's funny how life turns out. I'm now a firm believer.
Unable to drive any longer because of how I felt, I headed home and tried to sleep. Despite my exhaustion, slumber would not come. The moment I fell asleep for an instant, something would wake me.
Cigarettes usually helped me fall asleep. Perhaps one on the balcony would do it. I turned on the light in my room and shook my cigarette box. It was empty.
Sighing, I headed down to my car. Then, as I started the car engine, for some inexplicable reason, my head turned and my eyes caught sight of a piece of cloth in the left corner of the backseat.
I reached out and held it out in front of me.
"What?" I asked aloud. It was your running jersey.
The Manchester United one you had looked so stunning in, by my window. On the back, was printed your name, and the number 7.
Your birthday present, from the colleagues you so loved, in the company I was now an outcast in. Cast out for spinning out of control, because of you.
Could you have stopped by and left it in the backseat while I was upstairs trying to sleep? Had I forgotten to lock the car door?
My mind was in a blur as I purchased my Marlboro Golds from the Shell station beside my condominium, where we had so often stopped by together.
As I was driving back home, determined to find out the truth, I texted the food lady who had been giving me regular delivery jobs recently. Out of the blue, she had requested that I send her family to Mustafa for a fee today.
"Ma'am, when you took my car this afternoon, was there a shirt in the backseat?"
"Yes, it was there. A black shirt."
So, you had not been around to mine. With that answer, came even more questions.
How could you and I not have spotted the jersey, so clearly visible in the backseat, in the past few days?
I held your jersey to my nose, and took a deep breath. Then, I took a few more. There's something about the smell of someone you love.
Somehow, it always smells sweet on the first few whiffs.
Unsure of what to do, I walked to the middle of the road, still holding the jersey to my nose.
Body odour is kind of like wine. After a while, it opens up. The sweetness had begun to give way to slightly bitter notes. The bitterness brought images of your bare body to mind.
The road was getting blurry, and I clutched the jersey to my chest. I looked to the sky and asked what I should do.
Then, I had my answer.
I finally drove to yours, after not being able to find a reason to do so all day. But it was not for the reason you had so hoped for.
On the way, I checked Telegram. You had not been online for the past two hours, after our last messages. As the sides of the expressway sped by at 120 kilometers per hour, two hours became three.
You had won the Telegram cold war.
Soon, the familiar sight of my favorite Shell station came into view.
The fact that there were Shell stations beside both our houses did not even begin to encompass all we had in similar.
Then, the silhouette of the building you lived in, in the distance. Fleetingly, I wondered if this were the last time I would be looking at this building this way.
