Caramel Popcorn

Image Credits: Karuna Ezara Parikh

I hate caramel popcorn.

You gave me so many things to cherish. Your love for movies, mountains, tattoos. That sweet and salty caramel popcorn.

When we first met, you were standing at the booth, eating those popcorn. When I reached you, you pushed them towards me saying, "There's no flavor better than this. Trust me." I wanted to tell you then that 1) I didn't like caramel and 2) trust was a hard limit for me.

But you were smiling at me with those crinkled eyes and I realised I would do almost anything for you if you smiled at me like that. And I relented.

Later, at your place, we watched your favourite Kubrick movie and you explained to me how mad that man was. Lunatic, you said. I didn't know then who Kubrick was and why was he mad. But you had that smile, and I relented.

Kubrick's been my favourite madman ever since.

This one time you disappeared for days, no contact, nothing. When you came back, I fought with you for leaving me like that and you told me that you had gone to meet your lover so you couldn't tell me. When I decided to leave, you asked me, "Don't you want to know?" You had that bloody smile on your face and I relented. Mum always told me I was a masochist, anyway. You took me to the mountains, and I, too, made him my lover.

It was winter, with my head on your shoulder, my fingers tracing the ink across your body. I wondered why would someone want to mar their body and skin with all that black and grey. Asked you so. You said, "They are reminders of the things my mind would rather forget. Or my heart. They keep me sane." You kissed me and smiled in that way. In that moment, I realized I had fallen in love with that smile.

So the next day, leaving you and your bloody smile in bed, I ran. First thing I did? Got a reminder in ink.

I have read somewhere – you are a result of people you have met and loved. And hated.

One thing, though, even your love couldn't change.

I still hate caramel popcorn.