"Don't you have an ounce of love left in you?" She asked Arun with a hatred towards him which exuded love instead.
It was not so in the past. She remembered those days when he used to get so romantically involved with her. The incessant phone calls, coffee dates, dinners and the best of all, his constant attention towards her, made her past a fantasy which she might never have again, with him.
"How can you be so negligent of me? Where were you all this time?" She could shout no more. It was the sudden burst of tears which erupted instead. Her anger was justified. Her love was evident. Couldn't he see the indifference he was displaying to her. He knew well enough that something was wrong with him to have hurt her with his behaviour.
But what was causing him his indifference? Lately this had been troubling him. What is love, actually?. Is love acknowledged only when one displays the evidence of that love? What is the meaning behind such love? What is the meaning of existence, to begin with?
"Say something!" she demanded sobbingly "Don't you love me anymore?"
A smile came back on his lips. A smile which he himself got bewildered the moment it showed its presence to him. He knew why he was smiling. For this time, perhaps for the first time, he got his answers to the vague questions.
"Yes, I do not love you, because I do not feel the need to impose my existence on you, the way I earlier did. I do not feel the need of framing a hypothetical meaning to my existence on the back of somebody other than me.
"It is not about you and I and our love" "It is true for all the forms of love" "Love is a feeling of positivity, that slow release of endorphin, which comes because of another person or thing" "Not just any random person or thing, but that which gives one the meaning to one's existence"
"I do not find any meaning to my life with anything" "Atleast not at this moment and hence I can say for the first time, that I do not love you nor do I love anything."