Time Travel

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 8; the eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

She walked on the beach she liked to believe was her own. Beautiful clean sand and deep clear water. She walked on the horizon where the waters silently kissed the sands. She walked thinking of days to come and the days gone by. Of all the people she had met, those who had made a difference in her life. Mostly she thought of him. It was 10 years she had heard his voice. The voice without which she could sleep, once upon a time. She wondered where he was now. Whether all the dreams they had shared had come true for him. Of all the worries they had spent nights thinking about and how the worst among them had come true. They truly had grown apart.


Suddenly, she saw something cold hit her foot. It was a bottle. There was something in it. A message in a bottle? She smiled. It was letter dated 12th April, 1916. The World War-I. Her curiosity grew. She sat down on the warm sand and opened it slowly. Afraid she would tear it. She read. It seemed like a leaf of a diary.





12th April, 1916

Dear Diary,

It has been a year since he left me. He seems like just yesterday he was hugging me. Holding me close and now it is all gone. The pain too is now dull. Never will it be gone completely but now my brain is clearer. I realise that he isn't coming back.


I wish I could speak to him just once more. Talk to him. Listen to his voice. Tell him what he meant to me. My beacon. My soul. I wish I could tell him how special he was to me. All I wanted was him to be happy wherever he was. I wish I could hold him once more. I wish I could feel his strong arms around me. Telling me everything would be alright. I wish I could see his deep intoxicating eyes once again.


Most of all, I wish he knew I was all his like I was no-one else's. I wish he knew I loved him and still do and probably always will be.


I wish he knew.






She stared at the letter long. For quite some time. Then she knew what she had to do. She put it back into the bottle and tossed it back into the ocean. And ran back home. She ran like there was no tomorrow. The sun was setting but in her heart, realisation had just dawned. She picked up her phone with shivering hands. And dialled his number. Just as she was about to dial the last digit. She remembered, she remembered all the nasty things said and all the hurt she had caused.

It was like a slide show of not the good times but the bad ones. In the life they shared together, the sadness was there for around 10% of the time but those were the only times she remembered. Suddenly, she left like the hourglass had turned and the time had gone back.

Should she dial or let things be? He probably was happy wherever he was. Even if he wasn't (she gulped at that thought) what right did she have to disrupt his life? With all these thoughts, she placed the phone back.

She smiled at herself. For that brief period that she ran from the beach to home, she felt she was alive. Like she was in love once again. Like she was alive. Like she had travelled time.

PS: Thanks Vipul for the "inspiration"

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