Reunited...

It was five-thirty in the evening, and dusk was descending. Brushing her fingers through her hair, Aziza chanced to look upon her reflection in the old mirror hanging on the peeling wall. Her eyes were swollen, she had slept for too long. There was still some light outside, and to keep the mosquitoes out, she went to shut the windows. That was when she saw them.  

On the barren lawn, a man in his early thirties was playing with a toddler. He was well built and tall, but with a childlike countenance that contradicted his looks. He would throw the ball to the little boy who caught it and served back. And each time the man missed, he cackled out in innocent laughter. Looking at the toddler, Aziza thought, "Ayaan does look a lot like him".

She gazed at them, in the shade of a windowpane, hungrily absorbing all that was happening between the child and his father. Unconsciously, her mind began flitting through memories, some black, some white, some grey and some even rainbowy! The game proceeded, with intentional misses on one side, complemented by a haughty applause on the other. She kept watching their nuances with unwavering interest. She didn't know why she somehow felt safe observing them from a distance. Close was not a place she wanted to go, it was out of her comfort zone. As the game came to a conclusion, Ayaan shouted out in mirth, 'Yay! I won, I won...', and his father lifted him up in his arms and planted a kiss on his forehead. Just then, Aziza's eyes met his. Both of them paused for a fleeting moment...and then, in a flurry of movements, she banged the window close and returned to her solitude.

The room was dark now, except for the diminishing rays infiltrating into it. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the shadows around her, trying to extract some meaning out of them. Then, she remembered the dirty dishes in the sink. With nothing better to do, she decided to devote herself to work, in order to keep away the thoughts that were gnawing at her memory. She began humming an old tune, to ensure that she could not hear them. Her hands toiled, but her conscience was someplace else. There was a rap on the door...

'Its me', Arunoday said. Aziza opened the door and let him in.

'What happened to the lights?'

'Powercut. It won't be back for at least an hour. Where's Ayaan?'

'He went to play with the boy who lives next door. What's his name...Bunty?'

Without a reply, she returned to the sooty kitchen of the one-bedroom rented shack she called home. He closed the door behind him and followed her in. There was no intimacy traceable in the conversation that they shared. An imaginary firewall existed between them, spurred on by the wounds that had accumulated with time.  

He leaned against the frame of the kitchen door and watched her silently. 'Do you need any help?' She did not answer. The bangles in her hands tinkled against each other as she scrubbed the utensils clean. She could feel his eyes scan her, and this made her feel uneasy. So, she pretended to be indifferent to it. By then, Arunoday was used to the cold shoulder she was giving him. After what seemed to be an eternity of noisy silence, Aziza tried to break the ice.

'When are you going back?'

"What? Oh...Um, as soon as I get you two to come with me.'

This got under her skin. Leaving the dishes undone, she clenched her fists to control her temper, bit her lips and turned towards him.

'Arun, I've been meaning to talk to you about something, for a while.'

He saw determination in her eyes, which were otherwise quite gullible. He braced himself and looked right into them, making her flinch. She lowered her gaze and turned to the side, then taking in a breath, spoke to the wall.

'I think we should get a divorce.'

It knocked the air right out of him, leaving him tongue tied. She had expected him to say something, so when she did not get any response, she faced him with hesitant eyes.