Hope

by Shivangi Sharma (India)

I didn't expect to find India

While the stories of infidelities are as old as time itself, there’s no roadmap to mend a broken heart. For me, days had turned into months and months into a year but I still could not bring myself to go through a day without spiralling down at least twice, let alone being elated. A little sick of having a pity-party in my apartment, I decided to move it to Barcelona, Spain for the New years eve hoping to find brand new distractions to keep me going. I checked in into a modest yet cosy hostel and would set out early in the mornings to devour myself into Gaudian architecture, a walk along the Mediterranean sea, the freshly fermented Sangria, the tapas amongst many delights the city had to offer. However by my third day in Barcelona, once all the touristy stuff was checked out, a sense of familiar trepidation began to set in and soon I found myself to be only partially present with my heart almost halfway across the globe reminiscing about a guy who had most likely moved on. The helplessness was real. On my fourth day, everything on the outside seemed futile- another church, another museum, another building, another club. Blah. I decided to spend the remaining two days holed up in my hostel reading and watching movies. It wasn’t a great plan but a rescue plan. A plan designed for survival. At around mid noon, I decided to go downstairs for lunch in the common area which had a tiny but well stocked bar and a dining area, surprisingly upbeat for two in the afternoon. I took a vacant seat on a table where a group of youngsters were seated, animatedly chatting in French. I could hear the conversations as I ate my lunch in quiet. A little while later the guy sitting opposite to me asked me about my country. Where are you from? India I replied curtly. He told me he was visiting with his group of college friends and went on to introduced me to them. The group of young adults waved at me and I waved back. They were here for the extended weekend. He said he is Firas, originally from Tunisia but studying in Leon, France. I noticed there was a shine in his green eyes when he talked and carefreeness when he laughed. His English was broken and his brows furrowed when he tried to come up with a word. I found myself completing his sentences. He seemed chaste in a way that life still hadn’t got to him. He was yet to experience pain in a way that resided as earnestness even when it left. I almost wanted to pet him. It dawned on me that he was quite young, even younger than me but said nothing afraid that it might make him disinterested. One of his friends, a girl remarked that it was quite impressive that I was on my own. Little did she know I had not many options. Firas suggested we must check out a cafe nearby. I felt a surge of thrill. As we walked towards the cafe he told me that it was his fifth time in Spain. He recounted incidents as and when he spotted cafes and architecture along the way. One time when a dog chased him till the bus station. Once when he almost picked a bar fight. The best food joints. The fountain show. Not much later I found out that he was just twenty one and almost four years younger to me. He laughed when I told him this and his head lolled back in gaiety. At the cafe, we sat down opposite to each other as he told me about his adventures, education, family and friends. I realised that he knew a lot for someone his age. He demanded to know why a pretty girl like me was on my own. A dormant butterfly in my belly quivered. As the sun set down, the beer kept coming and I realised that there was some hope left for me after all. The only hope I needed to save myself from drowning. A hope I didn’t expect to find.