The Last Love Letter

Chapter 22

Later that evening, Akash opened the door for Subah, smiled, didn’t offer his hand, and walked her in after they greeted each other. The arrangement in the living room was simple—a large sofa that could seat three, and two single ones. Akash asked her to sit in one, and after she sat, he occupied the other.

‘Thank you for the last-minute help on the exhibition at the Habitat Centre. It worked well for me.’

‘I should thank you. You were my first client, and I’m glad my work helped you reach people and achieve your target.’

‘Well, you sure know how to spark curiosity with your campaigns.’

‘That’s my job.’

They were quiet for a few seconds, and Subah had no clue what else to say. Usually so confident and in control of every conversation, she felt a little lost at the moment. Akash did make her feel different, and that was one fact she couldn’t turn away from.

Even though she was attracted to him and fantasies periodically haunted her, Subah had been confident that she would be able to control her emotions when the time came, however strong they were. Until that moment. It was not just her resolve that was under threat—she was scared that something was transforming her from deep within. Probably it was the same spot her hatred of men came from. Akash’s influence, to her agony and delight, was eroding that very spot. She had no idea if that was a good thing, but whatever it was, the change was altering her fundamental understanding of life and love.

‘Before we begin, can I offer you something? Tea? Or coffee, perhaps?’

‘I don’t want to trouble you…’

‘It’s no trouble at all.’ Akash was already on his feet. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee.’

He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. She heard drawers opening, the slosh of water, the click of a lighter, and some other sounds.

Where is Sara?

‘Sara’s sleeping. Should be up any time now,’ Akash shouted from the kitchen.

How did he know what I was thinking? She shifted in her seat.
Subah looked around the living room. It was done tastefully. The furniture, the double curtains, the bookrack in the corner, the art pieces on a contemporary shelf to one side and the few paintings on the walls—the arrangement was minimalistic but refined. She zeroed in on the paintings and strolled over for a closer look.

There was one by Natvar Bhavsar and two each by Maya Burman and Samir Mondal. She was attracted to the one by Natvar more than the others. Tilting her head and moving back and forth, she examined it from all angles and found herself communing with it.

Overall, it was an eclectic collection, and even though the painters, and indeed their styles and techniques, were different, they fit well with each other on the wall. To be able to make an amalgam of disparate pieces that was collectively coherent as a larger work of art required an understanding of art and, more importantly, of life.

‘Nisha bought those when we were setting up our house.’ Akash’s voice reached her from the kitchen.

‘These paintings are beautiful. In fact, the diverse expressions combine to create a unique art piece,’ whispered Subah without turning, unable to peel her eyes away from them.

‘The coffee is ready,’ Akash said. His voice was polite and distant, just like she had heard it many times before.

When she turned, she saw that a middle-aged woman was also seated in the living room now.
‘Mom, this is Subah. She’s a painter, and she’s here because I’m helping her with an ad campaign.’ He paused, turned to look at Subah and said, ‘Subah, this here is my mom.’

‘Nice to meet you, Auntyji.’

‘Same here. It’s good to have an artist in our home.’

‘Thank you. Yes, I’m an artist, but I’m more known for helping women through my NGO.’

‘That’s brilliant, beta. Tell me more about it.’

Akash left the two women and walked into the adjacent bedroom to check on Sara. She was still asleep, but as soon as he walked in, she stirred and opened her eyes. On seeing him, she smiled and whispered, ‘Dad, I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ He caressed her hair and bent down to kiss her.
She laughed. ‘Your beard, Dad.’

Akash instinctively raised his hand to his chin and realized that he had not shaved for the past two days. Since he was working from home now, he was taking it easy.

His thoughts turned to Subah. What would she think? She surely must have noticed his shabby look. But what did it matter what she thought of him?
He could hear his mom and Subah talking in the living room.
‘Dad, who is Dadi talking to?’

‘Remember that painter aunty?’

Sara pulled the blanket to one side and dashed out of the bed and the room. Akash straightened up, smiled and returned to the living room.