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''It's Time For Me To Move On...'' Says A Heartbroken Yet Happy Girl

Once upon a time, I was living a fairytale. I found the “perfect” guy every girl prepares a checklist about:-Tall-Handsome-Funny-Smart-Looked after me like I was a baby (simultaneously respecting the “strong independent woman” in me)-Delightfully generous in bedand with a body that belonged in Bollywood.I had some personalized add-ons too, though – also all of which he checked:-Health conscious-Similar cultural and political opinions-Spoke the same languages (for a North Indian girl studying in South India, this is a priority)and my favorite: he could cook. (Shirtless!)But what went wrong? Here is my story for you...

We even belonged to a similar region of the country – although I didn’t count in his case because he was an ever-fleeting army BRAT.So what went wrong? Well, sometimes even perfect isn’t perfect. It’s still hard for me to comprehend that we’re incompatible. There are certain things about him that are unbearable for me, and perhaps it’s a reciprocated affair – not that he’d ever voice it.We broke up our not-so-long relationship many months ago. It was an agonizing process – getting over him. I started out with the standard protocol of avoiding him. But the common friend circle made it impossible not to see him.The next obvious step was to pretend to try friendship. Like that was going to go anywhere healthy!So I finally quit. I locked myself up in my room and in my head and avoided all social contact with him or anyone else who reminded me of him. I soon got labeled as the one who ditches every time and cancels all plans. It was an added insult to my injury that my friends were upset with me for not being a social sport.Recommended story: Reasons Why Getting Back To Your Ex Can Be A Great Move

While I was coping with this, the unspeakable happened. Him and one of my closest girlfriends from that group got close. Really close. So close that everyone started questioning it. I was repeatedly being advised that it was time for me to move on and that he wasn’t worth crying over if he can really hurt me in such a manner. I mean, it wasn’t that I’d made my “discomfort” at their intimacy a big secret! I’d asked both of them multiple times and received a denial. Yet somehow every next day, they could be seen together – isolated from the rest of the world and content in each other's company.Meanwhile, I was bawling my eyes out in the same room I had chosen to shut myself up in. I saw red. I really did. But the reason I couldn’t hate either of them was because I loved both of them, and I blamed myself. With him for not giving him the attention and time he deserved; with her because I was a miserable grit of a friend to be around.But there was light at the end of my dark tunnel. After this semester was over, I would be free to leave. I’d be in a different city and while I had not cared to follow up with my ex, I was aware that my lady-friend was going to go away to another continent. And though I expected to be the bitch that was happy at the riddance, all I felt was happiness for her, at the better opportunities she would have abroad.

Fast forward a few weeks and I’m sitting in Chennai. New place, new people, new aims and a clear head to make the best of each of them. Hadn’t spoken to my ex in months and had already patched things up with lady-friend. Life was good.Life was nominal. Platonic. Even catatonic, one could say. I was miserable no more; but it had been too long since I had been really happy – laughed till I snorted. But I settled. That was the price I’d pay to never see that kind of pain again.

10 days in, and I am called back to my college for a formality. In fact, the whole group was there – my entire class. As was he. He looked better, if anything. He’d gotten what he always wanted from life – he’d been admitted to the Indian Navy. So after the agni pariksha was successfully done with, he let himself go. He ate a lot at home in celebration (for vegetarian non-drinkers like us, food is celebration, yes.) and lost his washboard abs to a cute little bulge in his abdomen. How do I know? He stripped to go take a bath while I was in the room.Being the pretentious gentleman he always has been, he tried talking to me like nothing had happened and like we were friends. But I was far from ready to play along. I avoided him as much as common courtesy permitted, and I think he got the idea.I soon learned that he was shifting to Chennai as well, and not too far from where I’d been living. Him and another guy from class (again, common close friend) insisted that we travel together and that I’d spend time with them in the city and show them around. It wasn’t negotiable, apparently.That was the day I decided to test myself and see if I could work with the “being friends” notion. It was really hard – I hadn’t realized there were residual feelings I hadn’t drowned yet. But I wasn’t going to let anything surface in our first meeting after months. I swallowed it and put on a happy face while maintaining a casual distance.

But three days later, I went to see them again. Voluntarily. I wasn’t planning on spending the night or the next, but I did anyway. During those 40 hours or so with him in the same house, for the first time ever, we opened up and spoke to each other face-to-face about what all had happened and what were the problems. This was a novel experience because we were in a college where both of us were trapped in our hostels - not to mention that my (then) boyfriend wasn’t ever really verbally explicit.In that conversation, the epiphany hit. He was perfect, perhaps. But I wasn’t. And he wasn’t perfect for me – no matter how much I convinced myself otherwise. One of his most charming attributes was his carefree nature. But it stung me that this trait applied to me as well. He isn’t one to think before acting, and I was super sensitive to some of the things he did. He was hurting me, and he didn’t know it. I was complaining, but he didn’t feel sorry about it because it was who he was.And what had become of us is what the lexicographers call an impasse. Nothing about him has changed, and nothing about me will. And as desirable as he may be, we’re not going to happen. It took me 8 months to realize this and about 8 hours to develop the will for it: It’s Time For Me To Move On.

P.S.: Not because there is someone else waiting for me to find them, but because I am waiting for me to become everything I look for in a guy. My thumb rule with relationships is this: I know I will cry and I know I will laugh, but “the one” will make me happy more than anything else.