We don’t take sugar

She not only told innocent fibs like anyone else, but she was also a pathological liar. Her claims of love were false. If I insisted, she would say, “I love you, and you love me too. It's our love that makes you suspicious about me.” 

I used to look down and listen to her jabbering. Whenever I tried to look at her luminous face adorned on the lovely neck, she seemed polite, dignified, and sincere like a sad and heartbroken angel. When I looked into her shining eyes, her black pupils would become darker and by drowning in their abysmal depths, all my pain and anguish would have always gone.

She was a liar. She lied ‌politely. When we were in university, she used to talk about her village and lands as if all the Patwaries Tehsildars were her slaves. When we both planned to come to Europe, she calmly told us that her father would easily afford the expenses of the university.

“You should apply for a scholarship in the Higher Education Commission or find a donor agency.”

I knew she had more knowledge about those programs, and definitely, she would have been trying to find some help. I got some and maybe, she too. 

We both shifted to a hostel. The rooms were so small that one bed and a reading table could hardly fit. A shared bathroom and kitchen for five rooms. In my ancestral house, there was a single room and a roofless bathroom in a corner of the spacious courtyard. For me, this hostel was like Taj Mahal. 

“It's hard to live in such a hostel,” she complained, blinking her huge eyes, which were haunted by the ghosts of lies hidden in her dark, deep pupils. 

“I am used to living in palace-like homes.” 

The following year, she moved into a large house near the university as a paying guest.

That's where the trouble started.

It added the poison of lies to her expression of love. Now fibs would come out of her lips and grip my soul. She would gently hold my hand and say, “You should trust me. I'm just yours. That old man takes great care of me. What's the problem if I go shopping with him?”

“Now, please stop this nonsense,” she said while changing her attitude. “Let's go to some place of solace to refresh ourselves! Can’t you buy a pizza for me from your favorite shop?”

“Why don't you bring it yourself?”

I don't feel comfortable with the Afghani owner at all, he stares at me furiously. I can come with you however, I will stay behind

She remained with me for some time. While leaving, she kissed the back of my hand. I tried to embrace her, but she ran away. 

“Tomorrow we will meet here. Please come in time.” 

This was also a lie. 

I reached there and waited for her for a long time. The evening changed to a dark night. She never came. Overwhelmed by loneliness, I walked in the streets, on the roads, don’t know how I reached in front of the grand house in which she was residing. It was completely dark in the house.

A single bulb dangled from the ceiling of the parking lounge was lighting up a small area in front of the main door. I was gathering my courage to go to the door and knock, but could not dare. For a long time, I wandered on the footpath on the other side of the street. Every time I passed in front of her house, my eyes remained fixed on the closed doors and stared into the closed windows of this luxurious house. The night was getting darker and colder. Sometimes, if a car would pass, breaking the dead silence of the street, I would hide in any corner. One such car drove around and entered the garage of this house. A tall, fair-skinned old man emerged from this vehicle. Stepping gracefully, he came to the passenger side and opened the door. She came out, put her arm around his waist and both of them went inside.

The next day was the same discussion and her false consolations and promises.

I kept quiet.

In the final year, of course, my financial situation was getting worse. It was difficult to make both ends meet with a twenty-hour-a-week job. So I started working at that pizza shop. His Afghani employer would pay the overtime in cash. No tax was deducted, and no time limit was imposed. I became busier, and she also avoided me. 

Time passed. Our course was over. Now my intention was to go back, and she aspired for Ph.D. I became dubious.

One night, I saw both of them in a nightclub. She was dancing with that blonde. Both were swaying hand in hand with music and liquor. She also saw me but showed no response.

The very next day I asked her, “tell me the reality, what's your relation with him?”

“He is the owner of the house, and I am his paying guest.”

“What about that dance?”

“Dance? It can be performed with anyone. You don't?”

I anathematized her explanation and counter-allegation. 

With a face as cold as ice, black deep eyes shedding false tears, she said, “What kind of accusations are you making? He is of my father's age.”

“That's what I'm saying, he's your sugar daddy.”

She raised her eyebrows and said in a calm tone, “it's none of your damn business, get your mind out of this gutter.” 

She was lying very confidently.

I looked at her face. In the depth of the eyes was concealed the invalidity of her claim. No sign of embarrassment was present on her face. The truth was hidden somewhere in the thick mass of black hair tied back on the scruff of the neck

She knew ‌I could not prove her lies. She also knew that just one soft word spoken by her would end my excruciating pain and suffering. I knew that word would be a deception too but was waiting for it. Then that word came from her lips, but it made me more dejected.

“I loved only one person and that was you, but after this false allegation I had to think again.”

“I only want to hear the truth, even if it is as bitter as poison to me. I might die after listening, but please tell the truth. Even if I survived after knowing the truth, I will not follow you.”

“Then listen. The truth is that I can't live with a poor scumbag like you.”

“So the truth has come on your lips that he is your sugar daddy. That old blond man is your ….?”

“You are lying.”

 She was silent for a while and then spoke, “May I say something about the accusation you were making against me?”

“Ya, ya, you can.”

“Do you still remember that Afghani pizza man who hated me? What did he do whenever you went to get pizza from him? You always looked at me to see whether I have noticed his connotations.”

She was talking nonsense.

“You are telling another lie to cover up your lie,” I yelled angrily.

“Come on, this may also be a lie. The truth is that I am beautiful, very beautiful. I can't live with you all my life. I don't want to live a poor life with regrets. I wish to live a quiet and comfortable life as a trophy wife of a rich man.”

She walked back, enticing Mon Guerlain's Amber Woody fragrance, brandishing a Gucci cross-body bag, tiptoeing in Christian Louboutin

 high heels.

After thinking for a while, I ran after her. I knew that her ‘truth’ was not true, it was a pack of lies.

Now We are settled in Europe. People say “meals are incomplete without desserts” but we don’t take sugar because we are diabetics.

Maybe that's also not true.