Broken Love [COMPLETED BUT EDITING]

Chapter 16: Memories

The entire next day, I spent in remembrance of all the the moments I shared with Prem. How could he say he didn't care?

When he had been the one who wanted me to stop calling him "This One" because it was a lot more fun than calling him Prem. He had practically thrown a tantrum to make me stop. 

When I nicknamed him Cinderella, he was adamant about giving me a nickname, randomly it was Pinocchio. 

Last summer when our friendship had started to become a true friendship, we texted each other everyday. We'd play twenty questions, telling each other the weirdest things.

Prem was the one who tried to dissuade me from liking his brother because he knew how much of a jackass he was

Prem was the one who starting calling me his sister-in-law

Prem always asked if my parents were around when he texted me so they wouldn't find out I was texting a guy

When Prem knew he couldn't dissuade my crush, he promised to help me 

When I needed a friend, Prem was there. He defended me. Boosted my spirit

Prem was one of the first to find out I had kissed an older guy. When I was heartbroken because the guy, Chris cheated on me, Prem threatened to find him and beat him up. When my friends brought up Chris, Prem told them to stop talking about it because he didn't wanna see his Pinocchio cry. 

Whenever a guy rejected me, or I was bummed out, Prem did something to make me laugh. 

When no one defended me when Chris kissed Vanessa, Prem was the only one who felt mad. He was the only one who said Chris was an idiot to pick someone else over me. 

Prem was the one who kept up my self-confidence, and said how I was prettier than most girls he knew. That I had a great voice because of the few times I sang at temple. 

He was the one who even started our friendship. Our parents had sent us to classes at our temple. He saw me and sat next to me, despite many of his friends being there. He initiated a game of tic-tac-toe. 

His parents had divorced when he was little. He lived with his mom and maternal grandma. My parents didn't know too much about what had happened. But I did. Prem had told me himself. He explained how it had happened when he was too little to remember. He explained how he spent the weekends with his dad, whom he looked like.

When we first started talking, we were at youth camp at temple. He sat at the far end of the room, but not out of sight. I was eleven. I hardly knew him . We were clapping for..... I don't remember what. But we silently began to argue about whose clapping method was right. No words, just sheer eye contact.

It was a connection.

Prem had been my friend, the person who understood me best because he understood a part of my life that none of my friends, or the people I trusted, could reach. He knew what it was like for me. He knew what my parents were like. he was one of the few boys my parents liked, thought they still didn't approve of us being friends. 

But Prem had to have cared. 

Because if he didn't he wouldn't have done the things he did.

Why couldn't I just let go? Why did he seem to mean so much to me?

Somewhere my heart knew the answer. But it wouldn't tell me. 

Once I was afraid to lose my heart to Prem. I was terrified I'd fall in love with him and make a stupid mistake. That I'd end up telling him and ruin the one friendship that got me through most of my hardships in life so far. I was afraid to lose the one person who made me happy. Who made my heart skip a beat in a way that didn't scream IN LOVE. It was something different. 

When my friends used to ask me what Prem and I were, I used to say friends. But we go beyond the normal standards for friendship. We didn't talk often. We knew very little about each other.

What were Prem and I?

I finally realized the answer

A smile, comfort, encouragement, support. When you need someone they are always there. Someone who to put utter trust in. Someone who doesn't give a damn as long as you are happy and safe. someone who knows that they are no limits, no boundaries. Someone who'd fight even their siblings to keep you safe. Someone who risked everything to get to know you. Someone who understood what you needed without you saying it. Someone who told you the truth, whether it be good or bad. Someone who you couldn't stay mad at. Someone who would understand what you said with one look. Someone who the moment you make eye contact breaks into a huge smile. Someone to share your stories with. 

That was us. 

So how in the hell could he say he didn't care?