#CosmoShortStories Love In the Time of Corona: A Tale Of Self-Love By Tazmeen Amna

It was a Saturday night, and she had already spent a majority of it crying in the bathroom. Isolated as she were in the quarantine and chaos of the Coronavirus, and given that she was a single woman living alone, she could have cried anywhere—in the living room, too—there was no-one around to stop, watch, or judge her. But even during a pandemic, Romance demands of women a characteristic crying jag in the bathroom. You see, that’s the thing about love. It doesn’t let you cry just anywhere. It makes you fake-smile through social gatherings, act like nothing has happened before your friends and colleagues, but on the inside, it is slowly taking over you all this while.

 

 A half-burnt cigarette in her hand, she writhed in the all-too-familiar ache of heartbreak on the floor amid hiccups and sobs. Distraught, she tried to collect herself and got up. She looked in the mirror, and her reflection unabashedly stared back at her. Eyes bloodshot with crying, nose runny and lips quivering. Her short, cropped mop of hair lay like a mess atop her head. She held back her tears and took a long puff of her clove cigarette. As clouds of smoke escaped her nostrils, she suddenly heard her phone buzzing. A notification, finally! Her face lit up as she desperately unlocked her phone, cigarette pressed between her lips to see who it is from.

“Please, be Z. Please. Let it be from Z.” She prayed.

It wasn’t. It was a reminder message from the government to wash her hands. Her face fell like a drunkard in high heels.

Z and everything about him, his smile, his rosy, wide lips. His soft skin against hers, his jet black hair all began to haunt her and appear in her mind!

Her perfect boyfriend, now Ex. There were not many great loves that she had experienced in her lifetime of 26 years, but Z felt like one.

They had broken up at the wrong time. Just yesterday she was sending him a Voice Note at work. “You’ve got to move past it. I made out with another guy but we were broken up. But if you’re going to judge me- then I’m sorry, I’m not here for it.” And with that voice note, followed a text that said “I’m sorry, Z. It’s over.”

Z never replied. The ticks in his WhatsApp window turned blue, but she got no response from him. He was oddly cool. Or cold, rather.

And now, it had just been announced that the whole city was to go on Lockdown. He couldn’t send her flowers or drive down to her apartment in the middle of the night and take her into his arms and apologize as she had imagined he would, and it would be as though none of this ever happened.  

She washed her face and went into the living room of her apartment and plopped herself down onto the couch and hugged a cushion. 

She scrolled through the list of contacts in her phone, wondering just which of the many men in her life- from ex boyfriends to one-hit-wonders, from serious lost loves to fleeting friendships-would make her feel at ease. None, she thought exasperatedly and dumped her phone on the sofa.

 She looked all around and tried to count the material possessions of the room, mentally making a list of gifts received from her various ex-boyfriends over the eyes.

Not one. Not one candle stand, lamp, diffuser, rug, runner, vase, or appliance was gifted by any of the men in her life.

Good, she thought to herself, Lesser things to remind of him-of them!

And then came an idea that would change everything.

Have I ever noticed the beauty in myself, in my flaws, in my very nature, the way I sit and sigh over Z’s? She wondered.

“Screw him, Screw the lot of ‘em.” She whispered to herself.

She had loved Z dearly, truly and sincerely. With him gone, she felt overpowered and overwhelmed by all the love she had but had no one to give or to channel to.

It was love, unconditional, pure, and eternal. Except she decided to direct it inwards, towards herself.

She suddenly began to look forward to the next 21 days instead of loathing them. She would dedicate them to rebuilding herself. Everything else could wait.

There was no hero here, but it was a love story alright. The only kind of love that would endure- self-love. It was Love, In the Time of Corona. 

Author Tazmeen Amna