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Message: <blockquote data-quote="InnocentDevil" data-source="post: 10310422" data-attributes="member: 359568">I waited for him to reach and fetch me.   It’s been fifteen minutes.   He told me he’d reach in five minutes.   I was rather frustrated.   Then he finally arrived.   He offered me the motorcycle helmet.   Why were you so late, I asked.   He was nonchalant. Not even a little hint of   guilt.   Oh..was watching tv, he said.   Watching tv? Why don’t you bathe, eat, nap then   come down here, I raised my voice.   I’m sorry, he said in a voice I never heard   before.   No explanation.   Nothing.   Just a simple sorry.   But it was the first time I’d heard him say   sorry.   Yes.   Oh well.   So I took the helmet.   And many times after that, he apologized for   being late.   Countless times.   He never gave the explanation.   And one day I couldn’t take it anymore.   Why don’t you ever explain why you’re sorry, I   asked, my temper boiling up.   I’m sorry, he said.   That was the 98th time he said sorry to me.   Why do you have to say sorry? Can’t you just   explain to me, I practically screamed at me.   I’m sorry, he said.   That was the 99th time he said sorry to me.   Let’s break up, I said. I’ve had enough of your   non-existent explanations.   And I left.   I lost all contact with him.   I never looked him up.   Neither did he look me up.   And a month later, I knew I was still in love   with him.   I couldn’t contain my feelings for him inside   anymore.   So I went to look for him.   I went to his school, and they said he had   stopped schooling for a month already.   I called his phone, and no one picked up.   I called his friend.   He’s in hospital now. He has congenitial heart   disease. Didn’t you know, asked his friend.   No, I said. Where is he now?   XX hospital, he replied and put down the phone.   I practically ran to the hospital.   He was there, face as white as could be.   I knelt down, crying, by his bedside.   Why didn’t you tell me earlier, I cried.   He opened his eyes tiredly, and smiled.   I’m sorry, he said.   Don’t say sorry, just don’t die. Please…I   haven’t forgiven you yet, I cried out, my tears   and sobs choking me.   And he closed his eyes forever.   I collapsed on his bed.   Why?   Why did you have to leave me so early?   His hands were tightly grasped to a bundle of   papers.   On the first one, he wrote: I didn’t mean to be   late. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you that   I felt my chest hurt terribly when I stepped out   of the house. But I still made an effort to   come. Forgive me, won’t you?   On the second, he wrote: ……   On the third, he wrote: ……   I read through all of them, my tears never   stopping.   On the hundredth, there was a photograph   attached.   He was smiling as radiantly as he could, for me.   His face was white, but I could see the genuine   smile.   He wrote: I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to   leave before you. I didn’t mean to make you cry.   I left because god didn’t give me a chance to   put a ring on your finger and say I love you.   You were the first girl I said sorry to, and the   only one whom I wanted to spend my life with.   Please, don’t cry. I don’t want to see you cry.   How could I not cry?</blockquote>

Verification: Nawa warak dahaya keeyada? (Namaya wadi kireema dahaya)

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