This had to be done... There aren't enough cynics around

Love Story

“Love means never having to say you are sorry”
Jenny Cavalleri

                 Just as he finished watching the re-run show Michael Owen slot the winner past a distraught Hart, his cell beeped.

 “Its Over. Don’t Call”

               Such grammatically wrong messages gave him hives, the sender, however, gave him anaphylaxis. He was in the middle of something, but that wasn’t his priority, he had to make the call.

                 And Apologize

Part 1: The Freudian slip

“Sure Ananya”

                It all started then... Right away... It was a beautiful name and every time he had uttered it, a strange tingling sensation (unrelated to myocardial Infarction or Diabetes) would arise and last as long as the smile the name brought lasted. So why was she angry?

                She was his girlfriend and Ananya was his soon to be ex-best friend.
Part 2: The Freudian’s Lip

                After a brief period of separation which felt like hell, they mended their relationship- he was never to talk to or about Ananya. Now that they were back he preferred hell. But there was a reason he braved Lucifer's female incarnation; she was drop dead gorgeous and also a psychologist. He didn’t have issues, but there is a reason why the likes of Lilith and Janice and every other Indian Soap opera wife end up with seemingly normal relationships (and with the breakout character too). Whatever the reason, it was more comforting than that tingling sensation. Dressed in blood red, she was seated across with a tad less make up than Sonam (big fan, mind you) and he couldn’t take his eyes off her... That’s right folks
Part 3: The Unrelated Joke

                Did you hear about the wet floor in a Psychiatrist Convention?

                It was responsible for more Freudian Slips than Mommy Issues.
Part 4: The Manchester Derby 2009

                 He sat there in rapt attention, interpreting her words as she was translating his silence. In his defence, his mere presence was a sign that she meant the world. He had left in the Middle of the Manchester Derby- the first one since Tevez had bled blue (that cyanotic *******). As he was lost in translation, she left to get her coffee fixed. His slow internet connection showed him that the match was in the last minute of Normal time. 3-2 United... 

                She was back just as City drawn level. There was a lump in his throat and an emptiness in his tummy.

“So what do you say?”

“I’m Sorry...?”

                He was lost. She was angry.

“You have not been here at all... listening to the stupid game... Listen here”

                He tried to catch the score. He didn’t, she did.

“You are never to see these wretched games when we are together”

                He did his best puppy eye impression

“It’s me or your stupid team”

                He hesitated. She left.

                Being in love means saying sorry when you don’t mean to and where you even aren’t...

"So Sorry...Anan”

                Unless of course you have an ex willing to absolve you of all 'crimes' and believe when you placed all the blame on the other woman.

P.S: All the characters and incidents are products of  imagination. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is mostly coincidental.

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