Payal. What can I say about her? What is there that I could describe and still capture the essence of her? She is the white flower, untouched by the frost – unbent, and coldly awaiting the first of the sun's rays to bring her to full vibrant blooming life. Rarely does she laugh, but when she does, it is the refreshing dew on the morning rose.
Slender pale beauty that she is, she carries herself like a paragon of virtue. Whenever I picture her, her head is bowed, but her back is straight. She is… messaging. She makes me sick with envy, for she has everything.
For I am not her lover, I am her rival.
And she has my loyalty before all else.
It falls upon me to write of her love to the love of my life – and I must do it. There is something that people call friendship, and they tell me we have it. This sombre tone does not suit me, but these reflections cannot be made in another. The man who said no, and rose several notches in my estimation –so much so that I would take him as he is, if he but speaks – it is to him that I must speak, beseech, beg, all on her behalf when I would do it on mine, and may whatever God looks on give me the strength to go through with it and commit to it all the resources I have available to me.
Though he said nay the last time, I know this time will be different; my plans for his ensnarement with Payal were quite comprehensive. I have enough confidence to say it will work, but oh, how I wish I would be wrong! These words are not to be spoken, and I will commit them to this slender volume and then perhaps burn them. The knowledge that my protest has been recorded somewhere soothes me, and helps me do what I must. The world is cruel that I must… in the name of friendship… give up the one man I have loved, and perhaps always will.
It is a sense of rebellion, and aye, a touch of self-pity that I will close this book and walk out of that door…
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~The other p2p stories: