Edited by: Antara Joshi
My friend routinely leaves her half-finished cups of coffee on my desk. She comes to my room, jittery and caffeinated, third cup of the day in hand, ready to work on some paper or assignment. Sometimes, I am the designated listener and other times, the occasional commentator as she lets out a stream of words. Daily, she rests the cup on my desk and when she steps out of my room hours later, the cup remains forgotten,, with varying levels of caffeine left over. I play my part as a diligent friend and toss it into the bin every day. I never tell her that she forgot to. I quietly hope that she never remembers to toss it so that I get to do it after she leaves and smile about the conversations of the past few hours.
When I was back home, during the pandemic years, my father still had to go to work. I would wake up with him at 6 in the morning, see him off and then go back to sleep before my online class reminder woke me up again at 8:30 a.m. My father would always forget his wallet on the dining table and I would stumble down the stairs, half-awake and bleary-eyed, running to give it to him. He has a special nickname for me. He uses it when he says goodbye to me again as I give him the wallet and let him ruffle my hair. Since coming to college, my father still has not lost the habit of forgetting his wallet in the dining room. Now, my brother is old enough to run down the stairs and hand it to him.
In college, all my lovers would come to my room and leave something behind— rings, earrings, necklaces, pens, earphones, the scent of their perfume.
The first night you came to my room, you left behind a guitar pick. You’d been playing me a song just before you left. I texted you, hoping you would ask me to bring it to you. You didn’t. My heart fell but only momentarily— “I’ll come and take it tomorrow.”
I hoped you would forget to take it again and keep coming back to my door. So many days spent walking each other to classes, to meals. So many nights spent in conversation or just staying up to work on assignments. Sometimes, I still think about how your face completely transforms when you smile. It was like watching a wilting flower turn back time and magically bloom.
The final night you came to my room, you left behind your watch and some broken pieces of me. I got out of the same bed we had made love in and fought in so many times, saw the watch lying on my desk and ran out to call your name— hair dishevelled, just dressed, still on the verge of tears, reeling from what had just happened. For once, I didn’t want you to leave something behind. For once, I didn’t want you to come back. You were walking down the hallway and you turned. You turned and you watched me slip away. I handed you your watch and I never wanted to let you touch me again. But you still left something behind. There was a bruise on my left thigh in the shape of your thumbprint.