One Day

One day I’ll forget how your first step in preparing for a road trip was setting up a decent playlist.

One day I’ll forget that I was the only one allowed to mess up your hair.

One day I’ll forget how handsome you looked in that sherwani.

One day I’ll forget our first ever phone conversation.

One day I’ll forget how excited you’d get by my domestic accomplishments.

One day I’ll forget how you made me listen to Dream Theatre for two continuous hours.

One day I’ll forget how long you’d take in the shower.

One day I’ll forget our mad dashes to Corner House for Death by Chocolate.

One day I’ll forget how we laughed uncontrollably that one night we got lost and missed our exit for the third time.

One day I’ll forget how silky your hair was.

One day I’ll forget that day when you were working from home and I called to ask you to buy curry leaves. It was a hot day so you bought Sprite. You decorated the dining table with the curry leaves, Sprite, and my favourite chocolate. And in the centre was the Bulgari perfume I had wanted for the longest time but didn’t ask because I thought it was too expensive.

One day I’ll forget how you’d stand in that S-shaped slouch.

One day I’ll forget how we both wore black and listened to old DT songs that day Mike Portnoy left Dream Theatre.

One day I’ll forget how much you laughed when you found that hideous dragon t-shirt of yours I was trying to hide in the lower shelves of your cupboard.

One day I’ll forget how you’d watch the Kardashian show with me even though you hated it.

One day I’ll forget how your eyes curved upwards at the ends, just a little, like your mother’s.

One day I’ll forget how much you loved that electronic drum kit and how frustrated you’d get with the lag.

One day I’ll forget how much fun it was to go grocery shopping with you.

One day I’ll forget how good you always smelled. Like a combination of soap, deo, hair gel, Chapstick and that perfume I got you for Christmas.

One day I’ll forget your tiny, tiny canine tooth that made your smile so perfect.

One day I’ll forget how we watched Pink Panther on your phone that Christmas in Pune, huddled on the most uncomfortable metal beds ever.

One day I’ll forget how you always carried Chapstick in your shirt pocket.

One day I’ll forget how much you laughed at my ‘Kabootar’ story.

One day I’ll forget how we’d slow dance to Foo Fighters.

One day I’ll forget how you pretended to be surprised with the birthday cake I baked at 6 that morning.

One day I’ll forget how we’d always forget to take sweaters to the airport and then huddle together for warmth.

One day I’ll forget how you always made the best tea and Nutella sandwiches.

One day I’ll forget how you believed that I could do anything.

One day I’ll forget how much you loved me.

One day I’ll forget how much I loved you.

But not today.

Not today.