Till Hell Freezes Over

A Story by Hirannya

Heartbreak.

He looked enchanting. Four years, and not a single hair out of it's old place. He looked as divine as she remembered, yet there was something new about him.
He had lenses now, instead of those glasses and he wasn't wearing his favourite cufflinks, not the black, square shaped ones she had gotten him, instead a rather tacky looking heart.
Yet those weren't as striking, as what felt like a hammer over her heart.
...
Over these many years, London had been her refuge. She was used to hiding between the crowds, by now. She smiled when she ought to, and showed sympathy when she must. Faking emotions and expressions, had become the one thing she excelled in. London is a busy city, you see, and that is why nobody noticed.
The newly engaged couple never noticed the smile slipping from her face, as they groped each other's face.
Her employer did not notice the clear wariness in her eyes, as he promoted her, once again, in hopes of finally getting her to bed, as she feigned astonishment.
Her "bestfriend" did not notice the puffed up eyes hidden by the rather large spectacles, the day after the night she spent crying over him.
In fact, she had gotten so good at her game, that once or twice, she managed to fool herself, along with the world.
Many of her acquaintances asked her, why she had broken up, and her answer to all of them had been, "We weren't working out anymore.", along with a light laugh.
Yet, she never could throw away his ashtray from her apartment, and to this day she didn't know, what a bottle of Borboun was doing in her refrigerator, even though she never was a fan of expensive wine.
...
Things had changed, yes. To the point where none of them recognized themselves anymore. Yet she did, him. The familiar scent of the rich perfume, the blue tuxedo, she had picked for him, the way he was saying something to her. Something which was not registering.
The memories hit her like a tsunami on the coast. Walking across the London Bridge, holding hands, talking about their dreams. Sitting for hours under the Big Ben, staring at each other, trying to memorise as much of the other, as they could. Laughing together, crying together, facing so many problems together, and the most painful of them all, loving together.
...
She gasped.
That was one memory she only touched, with the blinds drawn, the lights dimmed, and the blanket on, slowly, painfully crying into the pillow. In all of these four years, she had never so much as shed a tear, in public, and today, of all days, standing in front of him, breaking down like a weakling, was the last thing she wanted to do.
...
"Are you okay, Daphne?"
...
His voice. As smooth as ever, like honey laced with the slightest of spices. She wanted to run away. Get as far away from there as possible.
...
She nodded.
...
They had always made fun of her ego, sitting on the couch with Chinese takeaway and wine. Ego which was so easily wounded, yet the same ego which crumbled in front of the love she had for him.
...
And today, the ego made her nod. Yes, she was okay. No, her heart, which she had so carefully reconstructed over all of these years, wasn't slowly turning into rubble.
...
A small look of doubt crossed those cerulean blue eyes, and he looked away.
Slowly, the brightest of smiles lit up his entire face.
A woman joined them at the bar. She was skinny, with blonde hair, and a pointed face. Her cheekbones were high, and she looked like she was brought to life from one of the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine.
...
His American girlfriend?
...
"This is Sandra. After you left me, she..., well, she, woke me up. I thought it was the end of the world, you know? Sandra put it all together, like I was telling you, earlier."
...
She nodded again. That was all she could do, really. She had left him. But didn't he get it? He had left her, far before she even thought of leaving him. The love was just vanishing, day by day, bit by bit. She was, and is, still as much in love with him, as the day they visited Anne Frank's house.
Yet, he was the one who was "broken", he was the one who had to be "mended", he was the one who finally found light at the end of the tunnel.
That must be the synchronized laugh of the Universe, mocking her.
...
"Daphne?"
...
She now understood what looked so strikingly different about him. He was loving, more than ever before.
We all talk about, how everything about your manners and face changes once you start feeling loved. No one talks about the changes which show, when you love back someone, with as much heart as them. The self encompassing kind of love, which makes your eyes sparkle, a little more, your laugh a little richer, your heart softer than ever. The kind of love, which makes you see good everywhere and in everyone. Even if it is in your ex girlfriend, who had apparently broken your heart.
...
She felt a tear escape.
The sounds of the band playing behind them, was ringing in her ears.
Sandra was mouthing something at him.
Staring into the abyss, that was his eyes, she let her cheeks wetten, hoping against all hopes that her makeup would hide them.
"You're so happy, Julian."
...
That said, she bolted.
...
As she reached the gates to her apartment, for the first time in four years, she looked at it.
The inscription on the door knob. Tiny, but the one thing that would ensure the complete break down of her already fragile self.
...
"Julian and Daphne, till hell freezes over."
...
And that day, it looked like a catastrophe was in making.
Hell had frozen over, hadn't it, now?