Reflections: Loss

[This is a part of my short story series called Reflections. There are three stories that are a part of this series. They are unrelated except for their common setting.]

I take this bus every day. The stops don’t interest me, I am just hoping to relieve the routine you had. I know it’s not going to bring you back but maybe it would take me closer to you. I scan the faces I see entering hoping that I could see you with your backpack. Do you remember how I used to say that your backpack made you look less like a working man and more like the little boy I used to take to the bus stop? Maybe you still remember that but I’ve been forgetful since you left. I forgot that I no longer needed to pack a lunch and send it with the Dabbawala. He would look at me with a mixture of discomfort and sorrow and then apologise saying he couldn’t deliver it anymore. You were a very forgetful boy too. I can recount days when I had chased you onto the street before you got into the bus with something you left behind. But this time it’s not your phone or your watch that you left behind. This time it’s me. And I’d chase you if I knew where to run. Death is indeed alive. It feeds on the living. I stare at my reflection in the window. I feel myself growing smaller day by day and the void in my life seems to grow bigger.