Love between writers


We both moved in the writers’ circle for the past five years, but it was only last year that we’d been introduced to each other. Jeremy Khaleed, the flamboyant editor of travel magazine Journeys had thrown a New Year party on the rooftop of a sleek Kuala Lumpur hotel. 


She was pretty but what caught his eye was her vivaciousness. The way she threw her head back and laughed with abundance, shaking her head of curls freely.


He saw in her the opposite of him. She was the free-spirited bohemian girl who dared to dive into any situation. He saw himself more of a recluse, calculating his moves before making any decision, and then due to the overthinking, eventually never acted on the decision anyway. 


When they were introduced, she’d said, “Oooh...I’ve always wanted to meet a crime reporter. What was the goriest case you’ve had to cover?”


*****


It took me two weeks to prepare for tonight.


She didn’t want me to fuss about it, but I insisted. I made a reservation for an early dinner at Saray, a fine dining Turkish restaurant off Jalan Sultan Ismail, in an area known as the Asian Row Heritage. It was where we had our first date and I thought it would be nice to fan her memories of our early days together.


Those were heady times as we relished in the newness of our relationship. 


We would call each other first thing in the morning, just to say hi before the rush of the workday carried us in separate directions. She loved working in the big city for a big-name advertising agency, the golden girl of copywriting. I was a writer, too, and would go where the news was, even if it took me to the boondocks of Puncak Alam.


And we would call each other last thing at night as we snuggled in our separate beds. Those pillow talks were romantic even though we were apart. In the dark and in that intimate space, we were connected by soundwaves that carried our secrets and dreams to each other.


But lately, those morning calls had become more infrequent, replaced instead with the occasional sun emoji sent via whatsapp with little else to warm my heart. The goodnight calls were even more rare. 


I suspected something was amiss. With well-honed journalistic skills, I began stalking her. I checked her social media feed every minute, obsessed about where she was, who she was with, and what she was up to. Fortunately, she was the kind of girl to broadcast her entire life online.


There were one too many mentions of a particular Fendi, and I was savvy enough to know that it wasn't the designer bag. Although, with the way she always had him on her arm, he could pass off as her clutch.


Wait, didn’t we just declare our love to each other last month?



Photo by Mike Tinnion on Unsplash

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