Suria was victimised by love – once too many times.
Before she moved to the prestigious postcode down at Kemensah Heights, before she drove the spanking German wheel at her feet, before she started adorning her body with gemstones and jeweleries, before the Cartier watch earned a spot on her wrist, before she had more money in her bank account than she cared to remember: Suria was just another pretty face leading an ordinary life, a divorcee at 33, with two adorable children in tow.
Despite the glaring difference in age, Suria fell for Imran – hook, line and sinker – against her inability to trust men again. Imran is 20 years her senior whose marital status I could never ascertain. I suspect (forgive me God) that he, too, just like any other man his age, is married. My courage to confront Suria (about Imran’s marital status) simply eluded me. I knew I was being untrue to myself and our decades-long friendship but I haven’t seen her laughed for the past five years; her beautiful face was frosted with dead eyes and caustic tongue since her divorce.
Hope beaconed in her life as Imran, and to borrow a fairy tale’s line, swept Suria off her feet. However, the relationship, in so far as my observation is concerned, bloomed to be one of those rapidly rotating whirlpools for Suria.
Together, they concocted the fatal recipe for intense relationship: baggage from their previous marriages, insane jealousy, highly compromised level of trust, notwithstanding the consumed feelings they reserved only for each other.
Imran has an added advantage – or curse, depending on the way you look at it – to burn money as he pleased. He started lavishing Suria in a manner mere mortals like me could only stare in utter disbelief. His ostentatious display of wealth nauseated my stomach. It must have been new money, for old money is always quiet and never showy. However, since I have a disconcerted point of view about money, I digress from dwelling on this point.
My suspicion proved to be founded when they decided to throw in the towels after bouts of fights, accusations and outright swearing on each others face. Mind you, they survived the relationship for years on end with on pattern. However, this time the break-up looks real.
The tricky part is that I, somehow, found myself in an unenviable position to settle this “mini-divorce” as amicably as I can. Before you ask me any question, please take note that, there in no such thing as amicable divorce or break-up. The amicable ones you see only happen on television or soapy romance novel you read. Honestly, how objective a lawyer can I be when my good friend’s heart being kicked without mercy?
So, a while ago, I sat facing Suria, itemising the gifts he had bestowed on her since he wanted it all back. Yeah, you read me right, Imran wanted ALL of it back: the gifts, the money, the house, the everything he paid for. I will then hold the items and cash as stakeholder pending execution of the settlement agreement.
Right this moment, in the privacy of my library at home, I keep staring at the one carat, perfect cut, colourless solitaire ring of Tiffany’s meant for their wedding, scheduled last month.The baby-blue box with Tiffany’s signature white ribbon around it, for the first time ever, looks despicable in my eyes.
How Imran had the audacity to price his love for Suria is beyond me.
And Suria, like a fool in love she has always been, returned them all to Imran – without an iota of regret in her heart. Because Suria, just like me, could never name a price to love.
Goodnight sleepless wherever you are.