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Forget Me Not.

Tamilshaadi.com. Tamilshaadi.com. It's a rhythm that doesn't stop. It comes back, advertising me with marriage websites, humming a rather catchy tune that only comes to my mind at times when I need wit and knowledge. Gallarain kuptacha? That's what I hear; the first word is possibly not right.

As much as the way they sing these lines sticks to my head, I don't need marriage. I am there for the music.

I am listening to the music I have earned the right to listen to. Three advertisements where I have to listen to a music app tell me I can choose the music I want to listen to only if I pay.

The black bean noodles I have wanted to taste forever. At least that procrastination has ended; I have finished the manual as well. A little too late, but the event went well.

All I can think of are the cooked black bean noodles in front of me at this moment. Two friends beside me. One looks slightly dejected. One has eaten it; they say it's a sweet kind of spicy. I am wondering what it's like as the other twists it and puts it into my mouth. It's burning my tongue. It doesn't feel sweet. Maybe if I concentrate, it will.

What kind of flower would our friends be? I said she would be the biggest flower ever, stinking of corpses. I have a mouthful of noodles to demonstrate how wide I can stretch it. I get it from my dad, I say.

I told myself I would wait until everything was done to eat it all. But I have broken my promise, looking at her hand extending a fork full of food into my mouth with an open-mouthed expression.

I think I would be a miserable flower, always asking to be remembered and promised. A forget-me-not. Is that a flower? I know not.

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