Stepping out of his building, I tried to calm my breathing—gasping to take in more breath rather than think about the gracious threat looming in the air in his cabin. Nobody ever made me nervous to such a core that every vein tightened, each fibre aware of his presence, every breath waiting for his reply.
He was lethal.
His presence was ominous.
His words are traitors to my own.
"So, are we going back?" I had forgotten about the girl. "Are you okay?"
Yes, I was okay.
I would be okay.
I nodded, not trusting the words stuck at the bottom of my throat. Licking my lower lip, I cut my gaze to her figure. She had joined me in the elevator, and for the past five minutes, I had no reply to share with her regarding the conversation between Rehan and me.
"Take a cab and go to the office. It's on me. If Sagar asks, tell him not to bother me today." I had another visit planned in my head. Before she could reply, I jogged to my car, slid on the winter seat, shut my door and revived out of the office to go to my destination.
Inch by inch, my breath came in ragged gasps, sweat pooling in my palms as the world blurred at the edges. Each frantic wheel spin sent the car swerving like a drunken dancer, tires screeching in protest.
I wasn't supposed to think about how I caused the death of the person I claimed to love. I wasn't supposed to utter the murderous thoughts in the air, but nothing aided as I jogged those words in my head—punishing and scratching for claiming my murderous thoughts in the air.
You had to do it.
Hot and salty tears trailed down my cheeks, blurring the distorted view.
I love you, Vanya.
If not you, then whom?
Be with me. Marry me. You, only you, I need.
I crave you, Vanya Rao. I don't think I can love another.
I love you, Vanya.
Be with me. Marry me. You, only you, I need.
Breathless. That's what you make me. Breathless.
Kill me if you want, but I won't leave you ever.
Now, did I leave you?
The blaring music thrummed against my skull, mimicking the frantic rhythm of my heart. The memories came crashing down, my thoughts turned erratic, the place became uncomfortable, the reality seething from the darkest parts of my mind.
A scream thrashed at the edge of my throat, begging to be let out, but I gulped the breaking emotions and tried to secure them in the safest lock of my soul. I couldn't open the lock of the forgotten memories in the wake of night, the treacherous truth had to stay hidden, locked inside for none of us to see.
The road stretched ahead, lonely and desolate, mirroring the emptiness within me. And I slammed my foot on the accelerator, the car lurching forward. The setting sun cast long shadows across the landscape.
With a deep breath, I placed my head on the cold wheel.
No, you didn't, but you should, Ved.
A lone tear fell from the corner of my eyes.
I don't know how to, Vanya.
***
The mahogany door groaned in protest as I slammed my keys onto the worn surface of the cabinet. Laced with a hint of resignation, a familiar voice drifted from behind me, "You're late."
On my arrival, her tired observation was the same as usual.
"I don't live here," I replied, twisting the lock with a finality that echoes the hollow space.
"It's your home," Her voice cracked with the familiar echo of unhealed grief.
It was the same dance between us. My defiance, her unwavering belief. My home, in truth, remained across the city, a small apartment filled with the ghosts of laughter and love, haunted by the whispers of Ved's voice and the imprint of his presence in every corner.
Yet I didn't live there also.
I turned, facing the etched lines on her face, the silver streaks in her once raven hair a stark reminder of the time stolen and the burdens borne.
"I am hungry," the same reply went.
As if she had expected my words, she led me to the dining table, the familiar aroma of comfort food filling the air. I never understood her uncanny ability to know when I'd come, a silent thread connecting us despite the vast gulf between our realities. In the start, I had thought she kept it every day—hoping her old Vanya would be here one day—not the emotionless daughter she had no reminder of.
The clatter of silverware against porcelain filled the silence as she heaped food onto my plate. My gaze drifted across the room; the familiar surroundings were suddenly foreign. I yearned to ask if her nightmares still lingered, if my father's ghost still haunted her heart, but the words remained trapped in my throat, a constant battle between yearning and silence.
"Vanu," she started, worry etched on her brow, "you need more nourishment. Sagar told me you hardly eat or sleep." Her worry remained constant. "This isn't right. You'll wear yourself down."
I allowed her words to wash over me, to soak into the same space where the remnants of our once vibrant relationship resided. Each bite I took seemed to bring a flicker of contentment to her eyes, a small victory in the face of my emotional turmoil.
A million questions swirled within me. How did she survive Dad's death? How did she find the strength to carry the weight of both of us and this house after he left? How could she live with his memory when each day was an agonizing reminder of my loss? Perhaps it was the stark difference—Dad's death from illness, my love sentenced to blood by my own hand.
Her eyes flickered to my finger; a grace of worry stretched her eyes before she blinked it back.
That remained constant, too.
"Ma," I finally broke the silence. "I won't be able to visit for the next three weeks." Rehan's demands wouldn't let me breathe for a second. "Some big wedding project." A flicker of joy lit up her face.
"I am so happy for my Vanu," she said, pulling me into a tight embrace, her kiss landing softly on my forehead. "But I needed to talk to you about something." My body visibly tensed under her grip. "Did you contact the therapist?" No, I didn't. You know I couldn't contact one, foster out the memories of the past in a stranger's wake. "You need to."
I stood abruptly, shrugging her arms off me. My gaze fell on the faded floral pattern of the worn sofa, the black spot where dad had thrown an ink bottle years ago—a stark reminder of the past I yearned to forget. No one sat there anymore. No one watched the old television that dominated the corner of the living room. Once filled with life and laughter, this house now echoed with a deafening silence.
"I will." Never. "It's fine. I'm okay."
"You need to talk about his death," she insisted, her voice firm. "You can't ignore the reality." What reality is she speaking about? "Ved did—"
"I am not here to discuss about him," I snapped, my voice betraying the storm brewing within me.
"It has been three years, Vanya." My eyes burned. She never used my full name unless it was serious, or she knew I was hurting from the inside, even when I wouldn't utter a word. "Please, see her for me. One session, just one, please, beta, please."
My heart rebelled against her plea, but my body betrayed me, a silent nod escaping my lips. After everything she had endured, raising me alone, witnessing the remnants of my shattered heart all these years later, I could grant her this.
"Good," She signed, relief etched on her face. "After three weeks, you will see her. Promise me."
"I promise, ma."
She will take you away from me, Vanya.
I won't let her.
Upon my agreement, my phone vibrated in my hand, and a text was displayed on the screen.
Come to my office immediately. Your intern landed herself drunk and, in my company, – Rehan.
_____________