Aisha Kapoor
As I drive back home, I can’t help but think back to what Sasha said. My sudden admission to wanting a divorce left her surprised. But I doubt it was a surprise for me.
She said that I am being irrational—letting my resentment take over my relationship but I doubt that’s the case here.
The reason why our relationship worked for as long as it did was because we never had to ask each other to be seen. It was something that naturally happened between us.
Now, it feels like I have turned into a background noise in Reyansh’s bigger picture.
Divorce makes sense. Nobody can change my mind about it.
Saying the words out loud actually made me feel a lot lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulder. In any case, that wouldn’t be a good sign. But considering how things have turned out for me and our relationship, divorce might just be the best option for both of us.
What good is it doing us anyways? Staying in a marriage that has barely any love and compassion left isn’t beneficial to either of us. It’s about time we go our separate ways before we start losing respect for each other.
No matter how tough it may be.
* * *
I step into the cold deserted hall of our house—one that Reyansh built on his own from the ground up.
It was his first project when he started his own company and we both brainstormed millions of ideas before settling on this half desi and half videshi vibe of this house. It was our little dream home.
Before it turned into a deserted, lifeless house filled with unspoken words, unshed tears and resentment.
The lights are off so I assume that he isn’t back home. I drop my keys on the table, before turning to switch on the lights when I spot him, sprawled across the couch, his tired frame falling half off the couch.
I wince as I walk towards him and my heels make an annoying sound clicking with the hardwood flooring beneath my feet. I slip them off before tip-toeing towards him.
I lift his legs off the floor, my back crying in protest as I struggle to place them properly on the couch.
Damn he weighs a lot. Maybe if he spent less time in the gym and more time with me, our relationship wouldn’t reach this point.
I shake my head as I fix his shirt and remove his tie. He reeks of alcohol and while I am not against drinking, I don’t like the idea of him drinking and driving this late at night.
I turn to leave when he touches me and maybe it’s been too long since he has touched me this softly that my heart races in my chest. It feels exactly like they show in cheesy Bollywood movies, when the hero touches the heroine.
I look back to see him holding my hand in his before tugging it closer causing me to loose my balance.
I bend down and look at his face to see if he is actually sleeping or pretending—but truly he has passed out. I doubt if he was awake he would touch me like this. Softly as if scared that he will hurt me.
Just like old times.
I wave my hand in front of his face to confirm if he is truly asleep or not. I sigh and I don’t even know why my heart breaks slightly within my chest at realizing that he touched me in his sleep and not while he is conscious.
“Don’t leave me, please,” he mumbles in his drunk state and I wonder if my ears are ringing. I try to take my hand out of his grasp, but he just tightens his hold, placing my hand under his face.
My eyes roam over his face as I let myself mourn my husband—the one I am going to lose soon. Or maybe I had lost him a long time ago and I am just coming to terms with the truth of our relationship.
I trace his beautiful face with my finger, my eyelashes turning heavy with the weight of tears I won’t let fall.
Not yet at least.
“I don’t have a choice, baby,” I whisper in the silence, knowing fully well he can’t hear me. “After all, you left me a long time ago.”
* * *
I don’t remember walking back to my room, nor do I remember falling asleep on the comfort of my bed. But when my phone rings in the morning at sharp 8 a.m, I find myself nestled in the comforter and softness of my bed and pillows.
Strange.
I squint my eyes open as I stare at the contact. “Maa” flashes in front of my eyes and I smile lazily.
Ever since my dad passed away while I was still in school, my mother and I got more close.
I was apprehensive about the idea of leaving her all alone in India but she pushed me to pursue my dreams, knowing how much I craved being in London.
After all, I had been dreaming about moving to London since I was thirteen.
But with her support came a long list of do’s and dont’s which included not partying till late—knowing fully well I despised going out, not getting any tattoos or piercings. “Your body is too precious to be carved in,” she said.
And most importantly, she said to not fall in love with any Gora man.
“They don’t value their women,” she said, her superstitions overpowering her modern thoughts.
So, I went ahead and fell in love with a man who was not fully Gora. I was a little scared about introducing Rey as he was half british but she seemed to ignore that little detail once she got to know that his father—like us— was Punjabi.
I let go of the past memories with a yawn as I answer her call.
“Happy birthday, Aisha,” my mom cooes from the other side and a small smile graces my lips. At least, someone remembers.
“Thankyou, Maa,” I smile as I get up from the bed when a note on the side table catches my eye. “How are you?”
“What’s going to happen to me?” she says and I chuckle. “I am perfectly fine.”
“That’s good to hear,” I tell her. “Come see me once, now, please.”
I have asked her to visit me multiple times, but she always refuses, saying it’s not too nice to overstay at your married daughter’s house.
Typical indian mother excuse.
“Soon, bacha,” she says, the same thing she tells me every single time. “You tell me, how’s Reyansh?”
My heart stutters in my chest, not knowing what to tell her. While I can talk about anything and everything with my mother, I also know she will likely have a minor cardiac arrest knowing that our relationship is broken.
One of my fears is the backlash from our extended family.
After my father’s demise, they helped us when we needed financial help which made us indebted to them for our entire lives.
They ideally wanted me to get married to some man they found for me.
A typical arranged marriage. But my mom stood by my side as I wanted to get married to the love of my life at the time.
They said love marriages don’t last long. I am afraid their stupid prediction might turn out to be true.
“He is fine, Maa,” I assure her. “He is out at the moment.”
“So early?”
“He is probably in the gym,” I shrug.
“Probably? Beta, you should know the whereabouts of your husband.”
I roll my eyes silently, not regarding her with anything.
After silence for a few minutes, she speaks up as I unfold the note in my hand, my eyebrows furrowed.
“Aisha, is everything okay between you and him?” she questions and my stomach dips
“Yes,” I lie easily. That’s what I have been saying to her for years now. “Everything is fine, Maa. Don’t worry.”
“Aisha, if there is anything tell me,” she urges but I know I won’t break. Not yet at least.
“If there’s anything wrong between you and him, talk it out.
Relationships aren’t always a smooth road but what matters is if you are willing to walk through that road with the person you chose for the rest of your life.
You took seven pheras around the holy fire, making you bound to him for seven lives.
While we don’t know whether that sentiment is true or not, you have got to make it through this one life at least. Not with resentment or force, but with love.
It can get difficult but all that matters is the person you love. Remember this, hm?”
Her words are not something new I am hearing. This is what she told me when we first got married. While I would never have any issue holding these words true, I doubt Reyansh took them seriously every.
For him seven lives is a myth and I am afraid, so was our love.
“I know,” I tell her. “Don’t worry, everything is fine between us.”
“That’s good,” she says. “Now, I will let you do your work. Happy Birthday, Beta. I am proud of you always.”
Now that makes me truly happy, calming me down.
“Bye, Maa. Take care.”
I drop the phone back on the bed with a sigh as I finally read the note carefully.
“Don’t get ready for office. I called in for a leave on your behalf. Rest a little.”
Strange. Why would he call in on my behalf?
“Reyansh,” I call his name as I get out of our room. “Are you here?”
My eyes widen as I see a bouquet of flowers on the dining table and the smell of poha and chai wafts through my nose.
“Yes,” he says. “I am here.”
He turns around, no shirt covering his chest and a red hue creeps up my cheeks and neck. The slight hair at his chest make him look undeniably hot and I am filled with a need to be closer to him. As if a part of me yearns to feel his touch. But that’s just me ovulating.
“Why did you call in for me at work?” I question “And what’s all this?”
“It’s your birthday so I thought I would do something for you,” he says, genuinely and my heart aches slightly because this isn’t fair. “Happy birthday, Aisha.”
It’s not fair that he decides to love me one day and give me the cold shoulder the next day.
He sits down at his regular place sipping his hot tea leaving me more confused.
“Why are you doing this, Rey?” I ask, slightly hurt
“Doing what?” he asks in turn
“Trying to make me feel special?”
“You are my wife, Aisha. I don’t need to make you feel special because you already are.”