numbers in memory

+ 92 347 407 8818  It was his number. I had it in my notebook. I had it in my mobile phones, two of them. and in my memory.  Magical numbers I could always dial and hear his voice.

I was in hot dusty India, now hundreds, not thousands miles from him and I didn’t know what to do. I looked like shit and didn’t have visa, which I should get in Poland before my trip. I took metro and then took a riksha to the Pakistani Embassy in Delhi. It looked like in a war zone. Building was destroyed from the outside, surrounded with a tall fence ended with a barbed wire. I was trying to talk to the small bared window, trying to explain, whilst all the people around me were STARING. Stop staring!- I shouted in my mind and then shouted something to the small window, which closed immediately, leaving for me the last glimpse of an official smile. Tears came to my eyes mixing with sweat. Every second of the day I was sweating. Sometimes even in a shower. After some time I got used to that and I almost started to like it. Living here was different. All the small things that we do throughout the day in Europe seem easy, normal, something we don’t even pay attention to. But here, they become an enormous tasks which gave it all a sense of an adventure. It is here when you’re doing every day random stuff, like crossing the street or getting a lunch and feeling that you’re finally alive. It’s addictive. Because you finally feel like you are living for real.

So I called him. He wanted to see me. His voice was the most calming voice in the world. He said everything is gonna be fine. He will get the visa.

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