Always Greesha.
I haven’t heard from her since the day after she finally told me that I’m not her future. Or at least I’m notin it.
We’d spent that day in a rare lull. She’d handed over the investigation to her seniors. Pulling herself out of it.
The normalcy of that day is etched into my heart. It felt like I was finally hers, for one last time. We made the most of it.
She didn’t even say goodbye. But her disappearance this time was slower. Moreintimate. She’d given us the time to part, without prying at our bond. It was a gradual slip.
I wonder where she is now, a year later. Is she still a special agent? Probably not. How does she fill her days? Does she add sugar in her coffee now? Is she the Greesha during our relationship or is she someoneentirelynew?
Is her name even Greesha anymore?
The thoughts bring nothing but a faint ache in my chest now. Initially, I was devastated. Vikram hadn’t known how to handle my moods. But therapy helped.
Because this time—it really was over. And I was actively working on accepting it—albeit poorly.
Parking my car on the street, I head over to the bungalow. The same house I grew up in. At first, when everything about Khushi was still fresh—I’d refused to step foot in the house. I couldn’t handle the regretful gazes of my parents.
It was almost as though we’d brought a ghost back to life. Like the corners of the house that were once part of their healing reality—suddenly held the hidden sorrow I’d endured.
I couldn’t manage that—what with everything else in my life. But for the past few months, it’s become easier.
Maybe not easier—but lessagonizing.
“You’re here!” I hear Ishika. She’s excitedly running toward me as I enter.
The house is in a state of disarray. Uncles, aunties, a few neighbors even—strewn about. The pre-Diwali festivities are already in motion.
“Wouldn’t have missed it, Ishi.” I grin at her, giving her a hug. “Where’s my girl?”
“Oh Lavi is currently with her Daadu.” She turns around, gesturing to follow her inside. “Want something? Juice? Chai?” (Daadu = father’s father)
She pauses suddenly, a smirk forming as she looks over. “Whiskey?”
I snort, my arm slinging over her shoulder. “Thank you,Bhabhi Ji.But I’m good.” (Bhabhi Ji = wife of your brother)
I bask in the comfortable warmth of my family. I hadn’t been dreading it—but I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to handle the awful question around finding a significant other. The last time I was asked was months ago—onHoli. Needless to say, I wasn’t in a good place.
The loss of Greesha was still fresh then. And I had snapped pretty hard. Aggressively even.
But I was better this time around. I felt quite confident that I’d be able to scurry around the question, if asked.
Surprisingly, though, no one brought it up.
At around midnight, the laughter and music has died down. Most people have left—leaving me with the tender intimacy of close family.
I am on the balcony now, nursing a glass of juice when someone claps my shoulder.
I turn around to see the very beaming face of my brother. “So... how’re you feeling?”
I roll my eyes at his favorite question. That’s how most of our conversations start.
“I’m fine, Vicky,” I grumble.
He chuckles. “Iknowyou are. You’ve been getting better. I just... this is the first festival with the whole damn family where you didn’t—you know—disappear off to the side.”
I quirk a brow, smirking at the fact that I’m doing exactly that. Given I sought solitude on the balcony.
