Chapter 32 Aditi
Aditi
And while I stare, he just looks on silently.
He doesn’t fill silences just for the sake of it.
When you’re with someone whose sadness can’t be quelled with words, I guess you kind of get used to it.
So he lets the silences breathe. He listens with a strange kind of stillness.
It makes me feel truly seen. I don’t know whether he puts it on, or he’s really like that, but it works for me.
If it’s an act, it’s a really good one with no cracks. Top-notch Oscar stuff.
And yet, he’s not the brooding type, thankfully. He can really speak, and when he’s done, then he really listens to what the response is. I think he feels guilty about having spoken a lot, that he has to listen. Or maybe that’s just how he is. I am not sure of that as of now.
And then, Kunal scoops up the rest of the cake and eats it. ‘You’re welcome?’ he asks.
‘What?’
‘You were sooner or later about to eat it and then feel guilty about it,’ he says. ‘So I solved it for you. No more guilt. Neither are you missing it.’
‘Maybe I’m missing it.’
‘Then, we should order another one,’ he suggests impishly.
‘Maybe we should,’ I say.
‘Fine,’ he chuckles and starts waving down the waiter.
I start laughing and he stops. ‘I know you,’ he says.
I try not to find too much meaning in the words even though he clearly meant it like that. ‘Fine, thank you,’ I say, still laughing when I see them.
My laughter dies in my throat.
The fragile bubble of my afternoon pops. Shouldn’t I be used to fate playing with my happiness by now?
Through the café window, I see Raghav and Shilpi walking through the mall’s atrium.
He’s holding a half-dozen shopping bags from H I should let it.
Then, Kunal drags me to a racing game. I narrowly beat him twice.
I keep telling him he plays too safe and he keeps insisting on one more, and one more, and one more.
And finally when he does win, he pumps his fist, then shouts out loud and suddenly takes me in his arms playfully.
I can wrest myself free, it’s light enough, but I let his hands rest on me.
The moment stretches, and by now, he knows I’m allowing this to happen.
It’s warm and sends tingles down my back. But it’s too much, it’s too much.
As I’m trying to wiggle myself free, I glance over and see Raghav leaning against a fighting game, his arms crossed, the familiar frown back.
He looks away when our eyes meet, and all the happiness drains out of my eyes and my body.
As he walks away, even with his eyes not on me, I feel a heavy judgement.
When did I give so much power to him? Why can’t I be happy for a moment without his words, his face popping up in my mind?
Do I not judge myself enough? Do I not punish myself enough?
I try not to look at him as we bounce around from one game to another.
It takes a lot of effort and in the end, I think I’m more angry than anything.
I feel irritation seep into my very bones and I can’t wait to get out of here.
A sense of relief washes over me when our cards run out of money and thankfully we decide that we have had enough.
Later, Shilpi and I go to the washroom. As I’m washing my hands, she leans against the counter and her eyes meet mine. She wants to say something, so I nod and give her permission to.
‘Kunal is pretty chill,’ she says with a broad smile on her face. So teenager-y, but also so appropriate. That’s the kind of the smile one sees when something like this is mentioned.
‘Yeah, he is,’ I agree.
‘Very tall,’ she says.
‘Yes.’
‘Like legit tall, tall.’
‘Yep, that’s true.’
‘Kinda too tall for you.’
‘Are you saying I’m short?’
She hesitates, then says, ‘He’s not Bhaiya’s vibe though. Doesn’t like him.’
I dry my hands, my movements slow and deliberate. ‘Your brother doesn’t like much of anything these days. I don’t know if you have noticed.’
‘Trauma, but you know that already, Didi,’ she says. And then her voice drops to a whisper. ‘Or maybe Bhaiya is low-key in love with you.’
The words, so naive and so wrong, hit me with a wave of surprise.
What? Raghav? In love with me? It’s a ridiculous thought, something only a teenager who sees the world in black-and-white terms of love and hate could come up with.
I can’t really blame her. There are others who have said the same thing.
Even Tejal, who knows me as well as I know myself.
And yet . . . the observation stings because it holds a sliver of a different kind of truth.
Shilpi is young. She doesn’t understand the tangled, ugly mess of our grief.
She sees his intense focus on me, his jealousy of Kunal and calls it love because that’s the only word she has for an emotion that intense.
But it isn’t love. It’s ownership.
Tejal and I have discussed this. This is what we believe.
Or what I want to believe. He doesn’t love me.
Shilpi has to be delusional to think her brother thinks of me the same way as he used to think of Megha.
The only thing I associate with him is irritation.
Anger. Sometimes support. Love isn’t even in the question.
‘No, Shilpi,’ I say. ‘He’s in love. But still with her, and I don’t think that will ever change.’
‘She’s not around any more, Didi,’ she says.
‘She’s still around,’ I say. ‘And she will be if it’s up to your Bhaiya.’
She just looks at me, confused.
‘Let’s go,’ I tell her because it’s not my truth to reveal to her.
When we emerge, Kunal is waiting for us.
He smiles as I approach and casually puts his arm around my shoulders, a simple, affectionate gesture.
He has done that a few times before and I have never second-guessed it, but today I stiffen for a second because Raghav’s looking, but then I have to force myself to relax to his touch.
Over his shoulder, I see Raghav’s face scrunch.
Love? No, not even in the slightest. Irritation, yes.
I watch as it hardens, his jaw clenching.
The rest of the evening is a blur. The ride back to the apartment is quiet—the ease of the café, the taste of the cake, a distant memory. At my door, the day’s emotional toll becomes clear to Kunal. Like I know, he senses these things.
‘I had a really nice time today,’ Kunal says, his voice soft.
‘Me too,’ I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
I look at his face—the softness, the truth in his eyes, and I feel like I’m floating a bit.
He leans in, his intention clear. And I am thinking about it too.
It’s the perfect moment. Even in this moment, I can disembody myself and see that this is what I should do.
Let go, and let this happen. Because, why not?
It’s the moment I’ve been both dreading and hoping for.
This moment has almost happened a lot of times.
At the end of a long work day, in his car, in the lift, in moments of closeness, in happiness, in vulnerability.
But it never seems like it’s the right moment.
It feels like it could wait. But for how long?
What would I gain in waiting? If it’s nothing and it feels like nothing when I actually kiss him, then better to do this and get it over with.
Then he and I can be work colleagues, put it down to chemistry but no real love, and I can go back to living like Raghav does .
. . in memories of Aman, someone long gone.
I’m looking at him, and he looks hopeful, bright.
But as his face gets closer, all I can see is the look on Raghav’s face in the arcade.
The pain, the possessiveness, the irritation. And according to Shilpi, love?
It’s like a poison, seeping into this moment, tainting it.
I turn my head slightly, and his lips land on my cheek. I gently stop him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m just . . . I’m not ready.’
He pulls back, and I see the hurt in his eyes, but also a deep understanding. It’s not fakery, I can tell. But who knows? Who the fuck knows? But he’s graceful in his rejection. And the smile is back.
‘I get it,’ he says. ‘Just wanted to . . . you know.’
‘Worth a shot,’ I say, and he laughs out loud.
After he leaves, I walk into the apartment. Raghav is waiting in the living room, sitting in the dark, the only light coming from the TV screen. I brace myself for another fight.
‘How was the kiss?’ he asks, his voice dripping with cynical, knowing cruelty.
‘We’re not there yet,’ I say, my voice quiet and honest.
The answer seems to break through his anger. He looks at me, really looks, and the hardness in his eyes softens for a second. He looks away, breaking the momentary truce.
‘Whatever,’ he mutters, his voice low. ‘If you need anything, you know where to find me.’
I don’t know what to say to that. So I just nod at him.
But as I turn to go to my room, I catch a look in his eyes I can’t decipher. It’s a flicker of the old Raghav, a deep-seated sorrow, a hint of possessiveness, and maybe, just maybe, a quiet plea. To not leave him alone in this state? I can’t really know. I don’t know any more what to do with him.
How do I tell him that I’m not leaving him alone? He’s choosing to be alone.