Dear Nakul,
Two hours have passed since I've written those words—dear Nakul. I don't have any right to use that endearment, any right to speak, let alone spell your name. Yet here we are.
Dhruv said that you've moved back to your village now, but since I can't recall its name, I'll mail this to your Lucknow address, hoping you'll find it there, sooner rather than later. (Is Dhruv the only person you're in touch with? Akshat had no clue when I asked him where you've been all these years, neither did anyone else).
At first, I thought of e-mailing you, could've taken the ID from Dhruv, then figured it would be best not to involve him this time. And anyway, a real letter seemed more appropriate, for old times' sake.
Seven years ago, asking him to deliver any message of mine for you was second nature. I saw him on papa's birthday last month and he confessed to me how, in spite of all the incessant complains he muttered under his breath, he actually enjoyed playing cupid. Somehow, it made him feel like a closer friend to you, being in on a secret that had Ved out of the loop. He agreed with me when I remarked how childish that was.
Then again, keeping us a secret from Ved was my idea, and it killed you to lie to him, or rather never tell him the truth. I wish I had listened to you. Told him before, well, you know. The knowledge that he died ignorant gnaws me even today.
All because I had the silly notion of secret relationships being romantic.
Though you never voiced it, I know you always felt the secrecy to be something more than the outcome of my stupidity, that I was ashamed of you. No Nakul, that couldn't be further from the truth. If anything, I didn't believe myself to be good enough for you.
I loved you. My most vivid memories of those eighteen months are all of you. Even before that, when Ved first came home with you, both newly commissioned Lieutenants. I had every intention of hating you, the friend who had influenced my brother's decision to join the army. But I just...couldn't.
There you were, smiling a smile that could win over the coldest of hearts, joking about everything, especially yourself. And most importantly, when you thought no one was watching, silently looking out for my brother—hiding the whisky after he had had one too many drinks, listening, actually listening and not pretending like the rest of us, to his latest renditions and then giving genuine feedback, comforting him after the whole Priya fiasco. You were always protecting him, even in his final moments. You might not believe it, but I do. That freak accident wasn't your fault.
And so obviously I loved you. Long before you returned my love, long after you stopped. Heck, a part of me still does. How can it not?
I'm sorry for saying this, for bringing back those memories I'm sure you were happy to forget. But I'll be sorrier if I don't say these things, if I don't own up to all my mistakes.
So here is another, much bigger crime I need to confess. Remember that phone call? Our last bit of communication till this very letter? I asked you to choose. Barely a week after Ved's cremation—cremation you couldn't attend because you were still on duty, still serving in those unforgiving mountains, the same ones which had taken my brother's life. Do you remember how I begged you to choose me?
How spineless you must've thought me to be, and rightfully so.
Do you remember that? Because I do. I still remember how the loud crackle of the poor network almost drowned your heavy breathing. I still remember the way my stomach dropped when I realised, a second before you said it, what your answer would be. I still remember how your clipped tone couldn't hide your vulnerability when you finally said the words.
We always loved being dramatic.
The next few months were a blur to me. When I agreed to marry Madhav, I wasn't thinking of anything but how much it'll hurt you.
Because my love didn't stop me from wanting to hurt you at least half as much as you'd hurt me. It was unfair to him, to you and to me. But I did it anyway. I've already told him everything and for some miraculous reason, he forgave me. But I had to apologise to you too.
I'm sorry Nakul. I'm sorry for making you lie to Ved, going against everything you stood for. I'm sorry for making you choose. I'm sorry for silently blaming you for my decision to ruin another man's life. I'm sorry for being too ashamed to even accompany Papa when he visited you in the hospital. None of that would've happened if I had been brave enough to not make you choose.
But I was selfish. And toxic. God I was so toxic. I won't blame you if you don't forgive me, but I had to try. I couldn't leave these things unsaid if I'm making this other, selfish request.
Papa is not well. Stage III Leukaemia. I know you still write to him and what he'll never say in those letters is that he always has and always will think of you as a second son. He won't ask you this but please, if you can, then visit him. It would mean so much to him and I just...please don't punish him for my deeds. I'll steer clear of your way when you meet him, promise. Just tell me in advance when you'll be there.
Ma and him have moved from Benares to Lucknow for treatment. I'll enclose the address, it's not far from your home.
I can't believe I filled two pages without asking you once how you were. See? So many years later and I still can't get over my own problems. I don't expect you to tell me anything about your life though—why would you?—and I hope and wish and pray that you're happy and healthy and back to that same person my twenty-one year old self had fallen head over heels for.
Best wishes,
Vidushi.
Madhu traced her finger over the signature when she finished reading, over the way the dot atop her last "i" had punctured a hole in the paper, as if the writer had kept the pen pressed to the spot longer than she needed to, breaking its nib. In other places, the ink was smudged leaving the paper uneven. She didn't know if the tears that caused the smudging belonged to the writer or the reader.
The letter burned her hands, yet she couldn't let go of it. She was in awe of this document which charted the worst points in the life of the man she loved. Charted by the woman who loved him just as fiercely as Madhu, who had been the reason behind many of those worst points.
Nakul had told her most of what the letter contained in his usual dismissive way. As part of casual conversation.
"Oh my ex? Yeah her name was Vidushi and we didn't work out."
He acted as if it meant nothing, as if breaking up with the love of his life from thousands of miles away a week after his best friend's death, which said love blamed him for, meant nothing.
How long had he carried the trauma for? How long had he continued to believe his own accident was well deserved?
Was that why he chose to come back to Bhabra instead of taking up a normal job? Or why he got so touchy about Madhu learning Sign? Mad because that would make life easier for him. And an easy life was not good punishment.
There were other letters inside the drawers, more than two dozen of them. They looked older. Madhu was sure they recorded Vidushi's words from seven years ago. Love letters. She didn't touch those, knowing that would be too egregious of an invasion into his privacy. She was about to return the one she had read to its place, debating whether she should tell Nakul or not.
But he made the decision for her by walking into the room the very next second. Caught off guard, she jumped to her feet, still clutching the envelope. "Nakoo I--I was looking for towels and this...I didn't mean to—"
It took him a minute to realise what was going on. Having just woken up, he wasn't wearing the hearing aid and Madhu knew him to be too sleepy to lip read. Though seeing what was in her hand sobered him up.
She didn't know how to sign towel. She didn't think he'd care even if she could explain her excuses.
She started towards him but he backed away, mumbling, "I have to brush."
Her heart sank when she saw him duck out of the room.
She would've preferred if he'd shouted at her. Or snatched the letter from her. Or questioned her. Anything apart from closing off and retreating. She hated when he did that.
Worst of all, her hair was still fucking wet. Going back to their room, she retrieved the hand towel she always kept in her carry bag, patting dry her hair until it no longer dripped.
The sound of water running came from the en suite bathroom.
Sighing, Madhu went to the kitchen. The counter was littered with pizza boxes and glasses they had been too preoccupied to clean last night.
She restored the whisky back to his bar, threw out the empty beer bottle, washed the glasses and wiped the slap till the black granite was shining. The more she cleaned the better she felt, and soon she had swept the kitchen and the living room with a broom she had found in the small balcony attached to the kitchen.
She was in the middle of soaking an old dusting cloth inside phenyl water to wipe the floor when Nakul walked into the kitchen.
"What the fuck."
For the second time that morning she jumped at his sight, before relief replaced the shock. "I'm sorry."
Coming over to the corner where she was squatting, he crouched next to her. "What are you doing?"
"Pocha?"
"I can see that. Why?"
"Because the floor is grimy and I needed to occupy my mind while you were showering for..." She checked the clock hanging over the fridge. "Forty-five minutes."
"I had to wake up. And think."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, relaxing to sit cross-legged on the floor. "It wasn't my place to go through your things and—"
"Don't, no, you don't have to. I don't care that you read them." He sat down properly too, taking her hand and tracing the water wrinkles which had formed on it. "That's why I was here for five days, to see Ved's dad. I should've told you but didn't know how."
The idea that he might've acted upon Vidushi's request hadn't even crossed Madhu's mind, she had been too preoccupied with the first half of her letter. Though now it made sense why he'd been away for so long. Withdrawing cash to pay for Suman's jewellery couldn't have taken five days.
"How's he?"
"Dying," Nakul said, closing his eyes as his head fell back on the wall they were leaning against. "We talked about his chemo and cricket and teen patti. He told me about his grandkids, photos and everything."
"Vidushi's kids."
"Yeah."
"You met her too?"
He opened his eyes, turning to face her. "Uncle called her to invite her over, she made an excuse as promised."
She wanted to ask more. Know whether he wanted to see her, whether he was disappointed she didn't show up, but held her tongue.
"I don't know what I would've said to her if she had arrived when I was there," he continued, oblivious to Madhu's internal battle. "I hadn't spared her a more than a passing thought since returning to Bhabra. Before that, before my accident, I used to be so angry with her, for not accepting me completely, for wanting me to quit. So angry with myself too, for not being good enough for her, for making her feel ashamed of me."
"She didn't think that," Madhu corrected him, not sure why she was defending Vidushi. "She was just a young person in love. They tend to make bad choices. I know I did until very recently."
"What makes you think I wasn't the same?"
"You wanted to tell Ved."
"And if I was a better person, I would've." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But it doesn't matter now. He's never coming back and I've made my peace with it. Though I'm glad Vidushi asked me to visit uncle, it was good to see him."
"You would've regretted not visiting," she agreed, remembering her Ma and how in her last days Madhu made sure to spend every single moment she could next to her.
"Anyway," Nakul said, breaking the brief spell of silence. "I'll throw the letters out."
"Don't!" When he frowned at her insistent tone, she clarified. "I mean, if you want to get rid of them then do it, but not because of me. I get why you kept them, good memories and all. There's something pure about that."
"Good memories, yeah. That was the only reason I kept them, given I had no plans of being with someone again."
"Smart plan."
"It was. Until this woman came bounding in my life, punched me in the face and then allowed me to dogsit her fat Labra."
"Even I don't love Chikki as much as you do, and he's my dog!"
"Can you blame me? Don't worry though, I love him only slightly more than I love you."
Her heart skipped a beat. But she tried to hide it by matching his playful tone. "I saw what you did there."
"Shit and here I thought I hid it well."
It was that smile. That darn smile again which broke through her act. She leaned in to kiss him. Soft and tender. Her lips lingered against his, curling up when she felt him breathing hard.
"I love you too."