All the cardboard boxes were packed and sealed. No trace of me living here for the past 3 years was left. No trace except the black kettle. It sat on the table looking the same as it always did. All the rough use and mishandling never put a scratch on it. And it sat there all alone.
I began sharing this apartment with her a few years back, and she was just a friend, or was she nothing more than a glorified stranger? I dont remember. But she needed help, all alone in an unknown city, and i couldnt refuse. And soon that relationship grew into something i cherished. From a stranger to an acquaintance to my beloved, she grew fast in me. And it was no surprise knowing how cheerful she was.
She bought me this kettle. I insisted i wont use it and i dont need one. But she bought it anyway. 'If you wont use it, we'll call it our kettle. It will belong to both of us. I will also use it when i need. fine?', she asked, and i couldnt say no to that lovely notion.
Since then, the kettle watched us love, laugh, fight, cry ,and what not, silently from the table. And who would have imagined, that a day would come, when we had to go our separate ways? I dint, i know.
Nothing lasts for ever- i sighed. Or is that a petty excuse to soothe my mind? It was me. It was me who led this delicate love to such a painful end. It was me all along. I know that she would have fought the world for me if i had asked her to stay. But i couldnt. I know i have a thousand excuses to justify what i did. But the truth is that i was afraid. I was like an eagle born in a cage. I had to come back to even if set free. Scared of the ouside world. Not knowing that i was made to soar the skies. And now it is too late.
The kettle sat on the table all alone. What should i do with it? Should i take it with me? Should i take all the memories with me? I leaned in to pick up the kettle. But stopped midway. No. I can't. I can't. I turned away and left the room. The kettle still sat there. Like it was still expecting someone. Like it was not the end.