https://www.wattpad.com/story/408711103?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading_part_end&wp_uname=PriyaInk
The Saraswati Vandana went on and on, extended by the elderly speaker in the online poetry meet. Everyone kept their videos on, patiently listening.
Saksham WhatsApped Anamika: “Uncle should stop now… it’s already 30 minutes of extended talk.” He added a light-hearted commentary on how it seemed to stretch even further.
Anamika smiled quietly throughout, enjoying his subtle humor. Saksham, on his video, fought to control his grin at her live reactions.
She had wanted to go first, but his name was called instead. He spoke of a lieutenant whose bravery was truly commendable. Every detail the love story, the exact dates made it feel as if Saksham had lived the moments himself. Other participants were generous with their comments, some shedding tears. The poem carried a depth Anamika had never encountered before.
When it was her turn, she recited her piece, “Ingredients of Creating Woman”. Applause followed warm, appreciative, and heartfelt.
Saksham couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was radiant, mesmerizing in ways words could hardly capture. After the Google Meet ended, they lingered on chat for a while.
Today, watching the movie Ikkis, Anamika was transported back to that poetry meet. The lieutenant Saksham had spoken of flashed in her mind. She felt the rush to message him, to tell him how vividly she remembered his recital but she resisted. She didn’t want to fall back into the loop.
Her relationship with Saksham over three years had been strange on and off, intense yet unpredictable. The physical attraction, the constant validation, had become a toxic pleasure zone. And this was the very loop she wanted to break.
It had been a week since she left the writing community. Yet Saksham had been checking on her relentlessly. Some days, she received over thirty emails, each a simple: “Hope you are okay.” She had replied once or twice, but he persisted. It felt less like concern and more like an acknowledgment that she would never return.
Now, writing to him again felt dangerous. She didn’t want to reignite a flame that was finally beginning to settle.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. The memory of him, of their shared moments, tugged at her heart—but she knew she had to resist. Some loops, she reminded herself, were meant to be broken.
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