He’s twenty eight, almost twenty nine. January has always been a difficult month, it’s been the month of departures in his life. Most people are excited about the hope January brings with it, he’s terrifyingly cautious of the signs it brings - of people leaving, of things changing, and basically everything going to shit. His fears are not unfounded, he’s not a vague person like that. He’s seen things happen, he’s felt things hurt and he’s experienced darkness in its complete, mystifying totality. People think he's naïve, his problems self-made but tell that to the spiraling tornado in his head that won't quit screaming.
Fast forward to two years later, it's his thirtieth birthday eve. He grew up celebrating and anticipating this month, now he plans to sleep well before midnight. It's called growing up, they say, but he knows better. It signifies slowly dying instead, coming to terms with the fact that your lifespan is definite, irrespective of whether it's short or long. Some people's short lives are other people's excruciating hell, everything in this world is relative. Everyone compares their misery to the next person's, their accomplishments to another's.
Flashback to six years ago, he's just getting off work, trying to catch a cab home. He's grown to love this place he's been living in these past two years. It's calm, peaceful, yet lively. He's run into unexpected old friends, bitter arch nemeses of the past and namesakes and doppelgangers on the streets of this hauntingly beautiful city. He's still scared of heights but he prefers going to the top of his thirty story building every time he's stressed - looking down at the concrete gives him a thrill and strength he didn't know existed in him. He texts his friend, whom he's meeting this evening for birthday drinks as he rushes away from the traffic. The friend's already there - he curses under his breath and apologizes, promising her he'll be there in ten. He's not lying, he hopes he isn't.
Nine years later, he's walking down the streets of a city that dared him to dream. In his hands, he holds two cups of coffee as he walks towards his favorite person. He can see her standing in front of the fabled haunted house - their unspoken meeting place since eleven years. She stares up at the old banyan tree standing tall and proud, curiosity building in her eyes, clearly trying to decide between reaching out to touch the tree trunk and just staying put. He walks up to her quietly and calmly calls out her name, making her jump in place, causing him to grin. She looks at him and grins too. Life is good. It's always been scary, but now it's scary good.
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