'Poorva, I love...'

He was, no doubt, a handsome man. Tall, good looking, well spoken with a heavy Brit accent, a nice broad smile. He was neither fat nor fit. He was quite particular about the way he looked. I think he shaved everyday because I never saw him with even a slight beard. I guess he used to get his eyebrows thread too. His hair was never out of place.

I never noticed him much till the time I noticed that he was noticing me a lot. Yes, he was way too much polite to me. He would make it a point to ask me everyday how I was. Depending on my mood, I would reply. But no matter how his mood was, his way of talking to me never became even slightly rude.

It was his birthday in a week's time. He made it a point to invite me every single day to his big day. He told me that I was special and he was looking forward to celebrating with me. A lot of his friends were going to be there. Everything sounded perfect, but my gut feeling said it was not.

For some reason, I could never think that he was special. I didn't go to his party. He rang me up at least 25-30 times, there must have been 40 messages in my phone, three of his friends came to my office to pick me up. But I didn't go. I didn't feel like going. I know I sound like a very hard-hearted person here, but I never do anything my heart says no to.

I thought he would be mad at me and won't talk to me for days. But my phone rang the next morning itself. It was him. His voice told me that he had been crying. A lot.

'I want to see you. Right now.'

'It's a Sunday. I am off, and have hardly got out of my bed. I don't think I can meet you.'

'I will come to your house. Give me your address. I must, must meet you.'

'Boys are not allowed here.'

'Ok. Come to the CCD near your office. If you don't meet me, I'll do something to myself. I want to say something to you. I have to. Please.'

'Tomorrow?'

'No. Right now. Please.'

I didn't want to be the cause for a grown-up man's suicide. Crime shows had taught me that police look for the last phone call made or received, the number of messages sent to one person, interrogate friends of the deceased etc etc. No boss. I didn't want to be grilled by the cops. And CCD sounded like a safe place. I crawled out of my bed, changed and left for CCD without having my breakfast. (Of course, who in the world would eat and go to Coffee Day?)

There he was. Smiling. Too glad to see me finally. His eyes were puffed. Too much alcohol and too many tears perhaps.

We went inside, my mind already set to order a Devil's Own and paneer tikka sandwich. But guess it wasn't my day.

'Poorva, can we go a bar please?'

'I don't drink. You know that. Tell me what it is. I have to rush.'

'Ok. Then can we at least stand outside? I need a smoke.'

He had started jumping on the sofa like a madman and everyone was staring at us. Embarrassed, I stepped out.

He took out a cigarette and two cans of beer.

'I got this for you.'

'You know I don't drink. And I don't like the smell of smoke. For God's sake, tell me whatever you want to. I want to go home. I am hungry.'

'Let's go to my home in that case. Girls are allowed there. I'll order anything you want to eat. Everything you want to eat. Just come with me to my home. Please.'

'No. I am leaving. Right now.'

He was on his knees by then. Yes, on the road, on the knees.

'Please Poorva, please. Don't go.'

At that moment, crime shows did not matter. Devil's Own and paneer tikka did not matter. Call records, messages, friends... nothing mattered. This guy was insane. I was petrified. I turned and started running as fast as I could. My athletics coach would have been so proud of me had he seen me then.

The next day somebody told me that he had left his job. A week later, I got to know that he was taking counselling at NIMHANS. After a month or so, he called me up for the last time.

'I am leaving India for good and going back to my parents in Britain. But before I go, I want to tell you what I wanted to, the other day. I promise there won't be any drama this time. I'll meet you whenever and wherever you want me to.'

'Okay. You can see me at my office at 4 pm.'

An awkward silence before I realised that I was losing my patience.

'You wanted to say something, I guess.'

'Yes Poorva. Just that I don't know how to say that. I have never said this to a girl before.'

Oh ya. And pigs fly.

'Okay. I am not going to waste even one more minute of yours. I will finally say this to you.'

I tried not to shift. I felt so uncomfortable. Believe me, I didn't want to hear what I thought and you think I was about to hear.

'I am in love. Poorva, I love him. So much.'

Go ahead. Read the above line again. I did not make a mistake.

'Poorva, I have been in love with him ever since I saw him first. We were a pair. I invited you to my birthday party because I was about to make a surprise announcement of our engagement that day. I hadn't even told him about it. I was forcing you to come because somewhere in you I saw a friend. You never tried to take advantage of me like everyone else does. I wanted you to be a part of my big day.'

I sat there, stunned. This was the first of its kind.

'The cake was ready. The champagne was there. All my friends had gathered in the hall. I went searching for him. I heard some commotion in one of the bedrooms and knew he was there.'

Tears had started trickling down his cheeks. He was shaking. I held his hand.

'I opened the door of that bedroom. He was right there... with my aunt, in the bed. I screamed. He turned and looked at me. Then he simply said, 'I am bi. Sorry for not telling you before.' I was shattered, Poorva. I wanted to tell you. I knew you would understand.'

He is with his parents these days. He has had counselling in London and is finally enjoying life again, thanks to his mom and dad.

I wrote this blog to apologise to him...

Sorry for not trying to understand you when you needed me.