My best friend is my diary.

It wasn’t that it was my best friend from the first day of arrival. There is a short history behind it.

I still remember the day I got it.

My brother and I were walking side by side on the bridge. It was my birthday. But no one ever celebrated it except for my elder brother. The sun was almost set. The sky was full of colours – crimson, light pink, indigo, orange – and the red sun sitting in the midst of all these beautiful colours. It was so beautiful.

“Blue,” he called me with sign language by the affectionate nickname that he gave me, “I got the best birthday gift for you this year.”

My brother had hearing impairment since birth. He couldn’t hear any sounds, and he started learning to use his voice just recently. So we communicate using sign language. He called it ‘talking with fingers’.

My brother said that there were some sounds which don't require ears to listen. You can hear them through your skin. Like the sound of heartbeat, the sound of rain falling, the sound of breathing.

He always said that he wasn’t hurting because of his disability, but he lied. To me and to himself as well. Deep inside, he was hurting. I only realized it after he left.

“What is it?” I asked using my fingers. Inside, I thought, your existence is the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't need any more gifts.

He took the gift out of his pocket. It was a diary with blue cover.

“A diary? But you know I don't write diary.”

“I know. But I think you should start writing. I know there are a lot of things going on with you and the thoughts burden you so often. Since I am not always with you, use this instead to unburden yourself. Treat it like your best friend.”

“Thanks, brother. I love you,” I pulled him in a hug. He lowered his head and kissed me.

As I didn't have the habit of writing, I didn't write anything in it for a whole year. I just hugged it from time to time whenever I missed my brother, and inhaled the scent of the pages.

But then, a shocking incident turned my life upside down.

I lost my brother.

I lost the only person in the world who loved me. I was in a trauma.

My parents, of course, were indifferent to me as ever. I cried over him, I couldn’t sleep at nights. And I didn’t have a single person to share my pains.

That is when I turned to the diary.

I opened it at the middle of a sleepless night. I remembered my brother. ‘Blue’, I remembered that is what he called me. So I started writing.

“Dear Blue,” I started, but my eyes were full of tears. I buried my face in the diary and burst into tears. The pages soaked wet with tears. I couldn’t bring myself to write. It was so hard to pen them down.

Days passed, and the pain subsided. On another sleepless night, I attempted to write again. And this time, I could write a few lines before breaking down.

As time passed by, I became comfortable with writing. I could express myself more and more. And I realized why my brother gave me that. A diary is really a best friend to an introvert. It will listen to you without talking back. It will take all your pains in without complaining. It will keep all your secrets buried in the chest.

It was better than humans.

And it did help me unburdening the thoughts inside me, just like my brother said. It worked like a therapy.

And that is how it became my best friend.

It was midnight. She still could not fall asleep. She was tossing and turning in her bed, turning the lights off.

"Hey, are you having trouble sleeping again?" someone said from the door.

"Hey!" She sprang up, "You startled me!"

"May I come in?"

"Of course."

Her twin brother entered the room, it was still dark.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" She asked him.

"I was sleeping. I just woke up. I thought it would be good to check on you."

"Do you do it often? I mean, checking on me?"

"Hmm," he confessed.

"Then you must know that I have trouble sleeping often these days."

"I know."

"Do you know why?"

I know, he thought, it is because you feel lonely. You want someone to hold you at nights.

It had been happening since she divorced her husband.

He sidestepped the question and said, "Let me help you." Saying that, he took out his phone and plugged the earphone in. Then he handed her the earphones.

"Close your eyes. Lean on me."

"What is it?"

"A lullaby to help you fall asleep."

She did as she was told.

On my pillow

Can't get me tired

Sharing my fragile truth

That I hope the door is still open...

"Ah, this is... So soothing...So beautiful... "

He looked at her. She fell asleep. He gently put her on the pillow, took the earphone out and left a kiss on her forehead, then left.

Two years later.

She couldn’t fall asleep again. Now her brother wasn’t there for her. He got married and now lived separately. Maybe now he listens to that song together with his wife when any of them has trouble sleeping, who knows?

But that song was still there.

She fell on her bed and plugged her earphones in. She could even feel her twin's warmth through that song. It brought back memories.

She was not alone anymore. That voice is now there to accompany her and sang her to sleep.

i.

They were sitting face to face in a cafe. Both of them were silent.

“Hey,” she was the one to break the silence, “I am not going to see you for a while.”

“Why?” He asked.

She couldn’t say the reason to him. How could she say that she felt tired, exhausted, drained out from accompanying him, that she needed some time by herself, to breathe easily, to have some days without having to worry about him?

“Are you tired of me?” He said.

“No,” she lied.

“Don't lie to me. At times, I become tired of myself too. So it makes sense.”

Am I being selfish? She asked herself.

They say sometimes you need to put yourself first. But when your loved one is suffering from depression, then maybe that person should be your priority.

“It’s fine,” he said, “I will be fine by me.”

No, you won’t. Don't lie. What do I do?

“Okay,” she finally said, “I will not see you, but I will text you everyday. And you will text me, too. If things seem to be too hard, tell me and I will come back right away.”

“Okay.” He said.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She knew all too well that he couldn’t keep the promise once he got depressed.

She was afraid to leave him alone. She was afraid that if she left him alone, he would make a wrong choice, an irreversible mistake.

But it was also true that she needed to take her time. She was human too.

ii.

I had a nightmare.

In that nightmare, I saw you standing on the edge of rooftop. I ran to you and reached at the last moment. I grabbed your hand but I couldn’t hold onto it, because you let go. I watched you falling, helplessly.

I woke up, startled. Tears streamed down my face.

I realized that was what happened with us all along. No matter how hard I tried, my support never helped you. I reached out to you but you let go. Whatever I said to comfort, you always said, “It won’t work out for me, because I am pathetic.” I took you to the psychiatrist but you stopped taking medications.

“Help me.” Every time you said this, I felt helpless, to be honest. I knew that you needed help. You couldn’t make it out alone any longer. But ironically, the one you had by your side could do nothing but to listen. All I could do was to cry with you.

In my dream, even if you let go of my hand, till the very last moment you looked at me. I saw your eyes. They were filled with tears. They were saying, “Save me. Don't let me fall.”

How can I save you if you keep letting go of my hand like that?

Do you know how much it hurts when you have to see your loved one dying in front of you and there is nothing you can do? For quite a long time, I felt helpless; I even blamed myself, thinking that it was my fault that I was unable to help you.

I know that you went through so much. So much that it drained all energy out of you and left you all exhausted. That you don't have the energy to fight against this storm anymore.

But now, I have stopped blaming myself. I stopped it the moment I realized that I wasn’t your healer, counsellor or anything. I was just someone who could accompany you through this dark tunnel. I am not your light. I can just help you find the way to the light, maybe lead the way. But the one who has to walk towards that light is you. You are the one who has to make your way through the darkness.

No one ever told you that you were also a light. You were also a star. You lit up my world, so you can light up yours too. You brought the best out of me, so you can do that for you too. You gave me love, you can love yourself too. You are a star of my universe, now it is time for you to be your own star.

You gave me the courage to live. So now you better start living your life too. I promise I will be there for you.

It had been raining all day long.

She spent her day in an idle way. She was in a melancholy mood. Well, whenever it rained, she became like that.

She spent half of her day lying on the bed, scrolling through memories. Now the day was coming to an end. She was sitting by her window with a cup of coffee. A soft indie song was being played in her phone, a song that fit the mood of the day perfectly. She was playing with a rubber band in her hand.

On rainy days, I am reminded of you.

She was all his. When she promised to share her life with him, she meant it with her heart and soul. Gradually, she started to become more like him. She absorbed his trivias, his habits, his likings and his tastes.

She liked short hair, but she kept her hair long because he liked long hair. She wasn’t a fan of indie music, she liked upbeat pop music more. She liked tea, he liked coffee. She didn’t like to have her hair tied, but he said he liked it that way. She still remembered the day he bought the rubber band and braided her hair with that with his inexperienced hand. He loved playing with her hairs. She loved the feeling of his fingers going through her hairs.

That rubber band was the only gift he ever gave her aside from his unconditional, wholehearted love.

She thought, am I losing myself? Do I still have my own likings left?

She didn’t know anymore. But one thing didn’t change.

On rainy days, she felt more like herself.

She looked at the sky and have a conversation with someone in her head.

Hey, can I live as myself now?

She closed her eyes and portrayed his face in her mind.

Of course you can.

I didn’t regret living the way I lived, though.

I held you back for way too long. But now I let you go. You should live for yourself now.

Another melancholic song was being played in background. She started to like sad songs now.

I watch drops of water fall from the end of my hair.

I have just got out of shower, and found out that it is raining. It surprises me. Even though the sky was cloudy, I didn’t think it would rain. It’s December after all. But sometimes things don’t go as you predict.

I have always had a fascination for rainy days. But now, rainy days have become even more meaningful for me. On rainy days, I am reminded of a certain memory. A certain person.

I sit by the window to watch the rain closely. As I inhale the scent of damp soil, listen to the harmonic pitter-patter sound and see the rain fall, I find myself lost in thoughts of him.

* * *

That day, we were sitting by the window, leaning on each other. It was raining.

"To me, you are like rain," I said.

"Why?" He asked.

"You know, ever since I was young, I have always thought of rain as a miracle. Even though I have learnt the scientific explanation behind rain, to this day it still feels miraculous to me. You came to me just like a miracle. No matter how much time I spend with you, it still feels too good to be true.

You know that I love rainy days. On summers, I have to wait for a long time for rain to come. The more I wait and anticipate, the more beautiful rain seems to me. Sometimes it also rains at unexpected times, like today. After a long wait, after going through a really rough and lonely time, you finally came to me. You came to me when I lost hope and expectations. That's why, to me you are someone as precious as rain."

He smiled, "I'm thankful that you feel this way."

"Tell me, what am I to you?" I said.

"You are like a warm cup of tea to me."

I smiled, "Explain why."

"Because a warm cup of tea is my source of comfort. On good days, I simply enjoy having it. On bad days, it comforts me. It always makes me feel warm and happy. It may seem ordinary to people, but to me it’s a part of my everyday life. A important and precious one at that. Just like that, you always make me feel warm inside. You make me happy and comfortable. You are always there for me."

We were happy and grateful to know how much we meant to each other.

But there was something I forgot about. The fact that rain showers usually don’t last long.

* * *

I remember the last time I bade him goodbye. "Come home safely," I said while hugging him. He promised me that he would.

But sometimes you don’t have control over your promises. Hence, you have no choice but to break it.

He never came back.

Once the rain is over, the burning summer comes back again. But rain doesn’t give only momentary relief - it gives the soil and plants that dried up in summer a new life.

He gave me a new life before leaving me forever.

She woke up as usual that day, followed her morning ritual – washing up and brushing teeth. When she looked at the calendar, only then her expression changed.

10.9.23.

10.9.19. The day he lost his six-years-long battle with depression. It’s been four years already.

How ironical.

* * *

“Let’s live together.” He was the one who proposed it, “I will understand you better than anyone else, and I am sure you will understand me better than anyone.”

She had nothing to lose. There was no one way anyone would come and tell her that he liked him. She wasn’t some beauty. And moreover...she had depression.

Just like him.

“Why don't we just get married?” she said. She wanted their relationship to be stable after all. She lost touch with her family, so it would be nice to have an official family.

He thought about it, and said,

“Okay, but on conditions.”

“Spill it.”

“No wedding ceremony. It will be quiet and something just between us. And we are allowed to leave each other anytime and start living separately.”

She agreed.

* * *

They were both musicians. He was mainly a guitarist, but he also sang, wrote and produced songs. She was a vocalist with baritone vocals, and also a lyricist.

He was attracted by her works. Her lyrics and the emotions that she put in her songs.

“We would make a great duo. Trust me.” He said. “That way, we will be able to reach more people like us.”

He was really passionate about his work. He gave it his all when it came to music. And he said that the only time when he felt alive was when he worked on his music.

She loved working with him. Their songs were like conversations with each other. Things they could never tell each other normally, they told those through their music.

* * *

Their relationship was nothing romantic.

They worked in their respective studios all day. They met each other only at nights. And they were not the romantic type at all.

They were just two tired and lonely people comforting each other at the end of a long, exhausting day.

* * *

That night, she came home late.

The apartment was dark. Entering their bedroom, she found the bathroom door locked from inside. Maybe he was taking a shower, she thought.

When half an hour passed and he still didn't open the door, her sixth sense warned her. She knocked the door and called his name. No reply.

Her heart sank. She called 911 immediately.

Her instinct didn't lie. But it was too late anyway.

* * *

They weren’t lovers.

They weren’t friends.

They weren’t family.

They were mere companions who comforted and accompanied each other through darkness, two people who understood and empathized with each other. They just happened to get stuck in the same place together.

She knew that she could never save him. And if it were her instead of him, he couldn’t have saved her either.

* * *

Why was she still here even after four years? It was his apartment, after all.

Because she was tied to him and his memories in one way or another. They shared something special and it couldn’t be denied.

Now she was back to making music alone and living with herself, but there was a hole in her heart.

It was September 10 again, and she was missing him.

Today too, I wait for her at the school entrance.

I still vividly remember how she gasped in joy the first time she saw me waiting for her here. How her face beamed with pure happiness. How she hurriedly came and grabbed my hand and dragged me with her. She felt comfortable doing this with me only. We did this every single day. We chatted about trivial things, and laughed our heads off as if there was no one around us. We were total weirdos who didn’t give a * about what other people thought of us.

She had no one else waiting for her like this, and I had no one else to wait for.

I was excluded from everywhere. Neither my family nor my friends accepted me for who I was. But that girl, she was the only one who was happy to be with me. Who liked me the way I was.

I knew how lonely she was. I wanted to be by her side for a long time and make good memories together. But in the end, I, too, betrayed her and left her alone.

I see her coming this way, hoping that she will brush past me. But to my surprise, she looks at me. My eyes meet hers.

She can't see me, I know. But I see her. In the gaze of her big eyes, loneliness and pain of loss are clearly reflected. She stares at the place so hard that I have this intense urge to grab her hand, or hug her.

Finally, she turns away. I silently follow her. She called this place 'the entrance of friendship'. At the end of long school hours, this short time we accompanied each other were the best time we had. This place was full of our memories. We left invisible footprints on this road. I guess she is being haunted by those memories.

She had another friend besides me. I wonder why that friend left early, leaving her alone at a time like this. Shouldn’t she come and comfort this sad lonely girl, now that I'm not around?

While getting into the car, she looks at me once again. For a split second, I wonder if she can really see me. Well, she once said we're soulmates. Maybe that's why I'm still lingering around her? Because she can't let me go just yet.

In that case, I'll wait for her tomorrow too, and the day after tomorrow, and after that...

One sentence was all it took.

As if a switch was flipped, your mood changed in an instant. Your expression turned dark. Your stomach felt twisted. You started sweating, even though the weather was cold.

It was as if someone pressed the trigger and shot you.

You felt warm liquid filling your eyes. That's when you knew that it was time to hide. Things were getting out of your hands and you didn’t want anyone to find that out. Especially not those people who were the very reason why you were like that.

You got up from the chair and ran straight to the bathroom, not turning back to see the surprised and shocked look of people sitting around dinning table. You didn’t stop to hear them blurting out stuffs like "Hey, what's wrong? Where are you going?"

You felt nauseous, balancing yourelf holding onto the bathroom sink. You grabbed the left side of your chest to feel your heart beating violently, as if you'd run a race. You felt short of breath.

You tried so hard not to feel this. The same feeling kept you up last night. You wished that a good night's sleep would make things better, that you would wake up feeling fine next morning.

Those insincere people, they had to remind you what you had been trying so hard to forget. They had to ruin your mood. They would act so ignorant as if they were all innocent, as if they hadn’t been the reason why this terrible feeling was eating you up.

You started crying. People who never experienced these feelings would think you was being dramatic, that you was literally crying over something silly, so silly that everyone else forgot about it and talking about it so casually as if it were a joke. As if it didn’t made you lose your mind into overthinking. As if it wasn’t a trauma trigger for you.

Once you were done crying, you started blowing imaginary candles to calm your breathing and heart as well. It made you feel better. Maybe you could go through next few minute with this until the switch flipped itself again.

You got out of the bathroom and closed the door to your room. You weren’t ready to face people yet. It'd be better for you and everyone if you stayed holed up in your room for today.

You needed to be with yourself more than anyone on a day like this. Because who else would take care your messed-up mind other than you?

No one.

1.

While organizing her things and tidying up her room, she happened to open her secret closet.

The closet where she kept all his memories.

Twelve years had passed. But going through those things today, she felt like it was only yesterday when she became his fangirl. Her heart ached in melancholy.

Fangirling. She never knew what it meant until she met him. She thought she would be listening to him even when she would turn thirty, and even after that. Ah, how wrong she was.

She remembered those days clearly. Those days of euphoria, heartbeats, excitement. Feelings that she alone cherished and treasured. Also, those days when her friends and even loved ones mocked her for being his fan, but that made her hold onto him even more. There was a time when she thought about him all day and even dreamed about him.

Those days when she, who was never into documentaries, watched documentaries on him for hours, getting to know him even more. The way he worked hard and pursued his dream motivated her to do the same. He was her idol.

She genuinely respected him for his music and his way of storytelling. She loved him. Not like those obsessive fans who wanted to marry him, but in her own way. Like a best friend, or like someone special...

In a way, he was her first love. Not a crush-like love, it was a different kind of love that only fans would understand.

How did things end up like this?

Maybe it started when she got into college, around that time when everything got hectic. She stopped starting her day listening to his music. She didn't have time for listening to him during the rest of the day, either. In fact, she barely had time to do anything.

Without knowing, she was letting go of his hands.

Sorry. I’m so sorry I let go of you.

Today, that secret closet brought back old memories. Memories that were covered with dust.

She looked outside the window. It was raining. It reminded her of the first time she ever listened to him. She later bought the whole album, it was the first album she ever bought and she bought it with her pocket money.

She took out the CD, put it into her ages-old CD player and plug her headphones in.

Tears streamed down her face. Tears of nostalgia. Tears of melancholy.

I miss you so much. You were there for me when no one else was. How could I let go of your hand?

Today, on a rainy day, she remembered her lost love.

2.

Twelve years ago, on a rainy day.

Even though it was 10 a.m. in the morning, it looked like it was afternoon as the sky was overcast with clouds.

She was lying on the bed, looking outside the bedside window and listening to the melodic sound of rainfall. Rainy days always made her feel happy and calm, with a little bit of melancholy.

She took her phone and started searching for a song to listen to. A song that would fit the mood of this rainy day perfectly. She scrolled and scrolled until she found something.

She pressed the play button.

Followed by a calming piano instrumental, soothing voice filled up her room mixed with the sound of rainfall. She closed her eyes and listened. She didn’t even know the lyrics of the song, and the language was foreign. But she could feel the emotions of the musician, and she felt melancholy.

Even when the song ended, the lingering feeling of melancholy stayed in her heart. She played the song again.

After the song ended, she was already curious about the singer. She looked him up online, and learned that he was actually a rapper who was a member of a boyband. The song she bumped into was not a rap song, though. She decided to listen to some of his other songs.

It was the beginning of a new chapter in her life, but she wasn’t aware of that.

Even though she was never a fan of rap music, she fell for his rapping. Before she knew it, he was slowly stealing her heart. Or to be honest, it was his music that stole her heart. Without realizing, she was spending more and more time listening to his music, and thinking more about him. And one day, she realized that she had become his fan.

His music made her feel at home. And she could relate to him as a person. His songs were like a warm hug that comforted her. When she felt like a weirdo and thought no one in the world would ever understand her, he made her feel understood. When she was sinking in depression, he told her that her feelings were valid. On lonely day and nights, his music kept her company.

But like every other good things, one day she lost him too.

All she ever wished for was a hug.

But she could never say it out loud until she reached the breaking point.

She finally managed to formulate the words, with a shaky, hesitant voice,

“Can you...please...give me...a hug?”

He looked at her as if she just said the weirdest thing anyone can ever say.

“Why?” he asked.

“Never mind,” she brushed off her first and last request.

Little did he know what went through her mind at that time. If only he knew.

Now, alone in darkness, he desperately wanted to say,

“Can I give you a hug?”