Aisha Kapoor
On a scale of one to ten, I would place Reyansh’s cooking at a nine, which is weird considering he rarely cooks. But when he does, it’s always so good. Anyone can fall for him if they only ate what he cooked. Till they get to know him, of course.
What can I say? I might love him, but I can’t deny that his social skills are negligible until or unless he is in a professional environment. Otherwise, he is as good at conversations with people as a caveman.
I sometimes wonder how he was able to get me. It’s a thought I ponder upon a lot. I am not too full of myself, but I know my worth.
What I was not expecting, however, was for him to cook Indian food for me.
Let alone eat the same food himself. Living with him has made me aware of the fact that he is a picky eater.
There are some things that suit him and some that don’t.
I have tried to accommodate his special diet in my cooking.
I didn’t realize when I stopped cooking the food I liked and our house solely became full of bland British cuisine.
I didn’t want him to feel left out or as if I were doing too much for him—going out of my way. He never knew it, but I would move the sun and the moon for him. He made me happier than I’d ever been—happier than I’d even known I could be—and that was all I needed.
Him cooking for me made me realize one more thing that I had slowly lost in our relationship, and that alone was enough to break my heart into pieces early in the morning.
I didn’t converse more with him—choosing to get ready as fast as I could, say my goodbyes to our moms, and then leave for work.
I took a calming breath as I entered my office building—hoping it would take my mind off of things.
Off of my husband.
* * *
“So, you are telling me that your mom and mother-in-law both have asked—no, let me correct myself—ordered you two to stay together for three months before calling it quits?” Sasha asks me as we sit in our empty office cafeteria with a sandwich in hand.
“Yes,” I repeat. “That’s what happened.”
Honestly, saying it out loud to a third person feels bizarre. No adult would ever listen to their parents regarding their personal life to this extent. But when you are raised in a desi family who values relationships to this extent, you can’t help but take their word into account.
“And you said yes?” she questions, shock etched in her words
“Yes,” I tell her with a sigh. “It is not like I had a choice. Reyansh won’t give me a divorce otherwise. I doubt he will ever. He said no outright when they asked him, and I have never been so angry, Sasha. But then I realized one thing.”
“What?”
“If I make these three months hell for him. If I make him go through shit and don’t cooperate at all, he will have to give up. We only have to be together for three more months.”
When I say it out loud, it sounds easy. But if I think deeply about it, it pierces my heart to think that if I go through this and consider my luck, we will probably end up divorced at the end of these three months. What will follow after will probably be the worst days of my life on end.
Because no matter what I say, no matter how much I say that this is a good decision, I know a part of me will end up in ruins after our separation. I have only loved one man, only given a piece of myself to him, and only ever yearned for his presence, and that man happens to be Reyansh.
I know they say you shouldn’t be stuck on someone for too long, you should move on and live your life and all that TikTok self-growth bullshit—I am all familiar with that.
But I can never see myself looking at another man the way I do at him.
I can never fall for someone so freely the way I fell for him.
Even the thought of that sends shivers down my spine, and not the good kind.
I’ve always been a Bollywood fanatic. I believe in the whole idea that love is roses and the world stops when you’re in it, because I grew up surrounded by stories like that, even if they sometimes felt unrealistic. And the only man who has ever made me feel that way is my husband.
Sasha gives me a look you would give to an abandoned puppy on the side of the street, and that doesn’t make me feel any better than I was already feeling.
“Do you think you can actually do that?” she asks me, her eyes softening at the edge.
The way she looks at me makes me squirm in my seat. Do I? No. No matter how much he has hurt me, I would never be able to do the same back to him.
Because a part of me knows he didn’t do that intentionally. The Reyansh I fell in love with would never intentionally hurt me.
“I don’t… I don’t know,” I tell her, a sigh leaving past my lips. I press the pads of my fingers to my temple, trying to find some relief. “I can’t even stand the thought of hurting him, honestly. I can’t see him in pain or any kind of discomfort.”
“Despite all that he did to you? Despite all he put you through? Aisha, I know you love him, and I think he does too. But I would be lying if I said he isn’t the biggest dick in the world because of his actions. He put you through so much.”
Her words remind me of all the stuff we—I—have been through.
All the days I spent waiting for him to show up, all the nights I stayed up late wondering where the hell he was only for him to show up without any notice and not acknowledge me, all the days I spent sick all alone when he should have been there, and so much more.
All of that boils my blood.
“I know what he put me through, Sasha,” I bite out.
“How pathetic does it make me look when I say that a part of me still believes that he would never hurt me intentionally? I can’t forgive him for all of the years I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
But I also refuse to believe that the love fizzled out just like that. Six years of it—just gone like that.”
She stays silent while I burn out. I’m lost. Confused. Choosing a career felt easier than this. Fuck, even knowing he was the one was easier than facing the possibility that he might not be anymore.
“What does he have to say about all this?”
I roll my eyes. I don’t know which show or movie or book he got influenced by, but he acts like a groveling hero, and my heart is not ready to handle all that.
“He acts like he wants to fix it. As if he can fix it.”
She gives me a look, and I can’t emphasize enough how much she resembles my mother-in-law at the moment.
“What?”
“Don’t murder me,” she says, and I quirk my eyebrows.
“But I feel like you are more scared about the possibility of what if it does work out. What if he does switch things up? I think you have grown so comfortable with the idea of hating him—in whatever humble way you do—that the idea of him fixing himself and this mess makes you want to run away.”
It feels like she punched me in the face. Hell, it would have been better if she had punched me in the face.
“Sasha, you can’t go around saying things like that to my face.”
She chuckles, and I don’t get what she found so humorous. I am dead serious. People need to stop slapping the truth in my face just like that.
“Face it, babe. The sooner you do, the better.”
* * *
The drive back home was quiet with just my thoughts playing on loop.
I won’t deny that Sasha’s words hit deep.
I knew what she was saying was true. The idea of us working out was scary.
Not because I didn’t love him or anything.
But because I loved him too much. Because I know that if he manages to get my heart back, I might not be able to recover if he ever leaves again.
All these years, all these months, the disappointment in our relationship slowly turned into resentment. And that gave me strength to leave. I won’t be able to do it again, and I don’t trust us enough to not wreck this thing again.
Once I enter our house, I realize that our moms have managed to not bring the house down. These two together can be lethal. One moment they are gossiping, and the next they are fighting like sisters.
I was expecting Reyansh to be back too, since he promised that he would be here.
But he is not, and I am not even surprised.
“I am back,” I yell in the silence, and just like that, both of them come out of the kitchen. Why do all moms have such a crazy obsession with the kitchen and cooking? If I wasn’t a foodie and survival wasn’t based on food, I would never step foot in the kitchen.
“Hello, Aisha.” Mom comes and pecks my cheek, and I have to stop myself from asking her to not do it because I probably have a thousand germs on my face.
“Hi, Mom,” I smile back. “Had a good day?”
She waves her hand in her true fashion, and I chuckle. “Yes. Meher isn’t that boring.”
My mom chuckles, coming with a spatula in her hand and a kitchen robe tied around her waist.
“I am not the boring one, Margot.” My mom taps her with the spatula, and she fake owws. “You are just not used to real entertainment. Should have learned from us when you colonized us, huh?”
A laugh bubbles out of me, and Mom just shakes her head, not even defending herself.
These two could have been sisters in another life and universe; I can bet on that.
“Reyansh isn’t back yet?” I ask them.
They give me a sheepish look, and I just stare at them in confusion.
“Missing your husband?” Mom teases, and Maa elbows me like I am a teenage girl discussing her crush with her two weird best friends.
“No way,” I tell them. Not a chance. “He just said that he would be back in time because you two want us to watch a movie together.”
“Oh yes,” Maa says. “That’s right. Totally our plan.”
“What do you mean?”
Mom gives her a stern look. “Nothing. He isn’t back yet, but I am sure he will be. You go shower and change. We have been cooking all day for our movie night.”
“I have been cooking. She has been eating my ear off.”
I chuckle as they go back to their banter. I don’t want to be a bitch and say that I doubt he will show up. But my gut yells that he won’t. He has never, so why would he now?
I just hope I am wrong this time.
* * *
I have eaten half of the bowl of fries Mom put in front of me. I have finished a quarter of the Coke. I am onto eating everything else as we wait for my dear husband to show up.
He hasn’t picked up our calls, he hasn’t texted me back, and I just know history is about to repeat itself.
He is not going to show up, and I am disappointed at myself for thinking and hoping otherwise.
“He must be busy,” Maa says, giving me a sad look, and I just shrug. I am not even feeling bad for myself. I am used to this. I am disappointed for them because they still think he is the perfect guy that he was six years ago.
“He should have let her know then,” Mom comes to my support, and I don’t even hesitate in nodding in agreement.
“Never mind him,” I tell them, taking the remote and picking out the movie for today. “He is going to miss out on this amazing party.”
I don’t even know who I am comforting. Them or me. One thing I am doing is training myself for the future. When he is gone, I am not going to stop enjoying things by myself, which is exactly what I have been doing in the past.
“Not waiting for him?” Maa asks.
“He didn’t care to tell us, so why should we wait for him?”
She doesn’t say anything, but I see the question in her eyes and worry in Mom’s eyes.
But I am used to this.
Or at least that’s how I comfort myself till Aditya from Jab We Met’s face comes on screen, distracting me from my dooming life.