‘Family.’
Blood is thicker perhaps than those connections that run their course. Reasons and seasons.
‘There was the house,’ Andrew said, ‘I could’ve done all that online.’
I nodded. It had nothing to do with me.
A sharp evening drift swept past us, clearing the space between us.
‘How many times I called and messaged. You could’ve told me you wanted to be alone. I would’ve understood,’ Andrew said finally.
‘Really, Andrew? Did I need to tell you that?’
His eyes were clouded. ‘I thought it was rejection,’ he said. He was looking down at his palms. ‘You, too?’
Why would he feel rejected? And why me, too? Because Meena dumped him not once but twice?
‘You didn’t want to have anything to do with me,’ he said.
I wanted to remind him that I had just lost my mother in a way nothing in the world would’ve ever prepared me for, but he put his hand up for right of way.
‘With Noelene gone too…’ he said, shaking his head, ‘I was alone, all alone in this world, without a next of kin. I had no one.’
Yet he had returned to Bengaluru, India, chosen to work inMorning Herald, because of family that did not exist.
Andrew turned away, looking into the darkness.
I felt the hollow within him.
Andrew didn’t bring up my asking him to go. He hadn’t forgotten; it was deliberate.
‘Myraah.’ He breathed my name. ‘Believe me, please.’
Andrew and Meena and now Andrew and Pooja. The wind was playing havoc with my nerves. I wanted to run; I wanted control of my senses at least.
Andrew exhaled.
I was on my feet, and Andrew followed. I motioned towards where his car was parked, and he followed me.
He held the door open and waited for me to get in before following suit. I noticed a bottle of water in a side pocket. I took a swig and spat it out.
I sank into the seat and threw a glance around me before determinedly engaging my mind with the interiors. Andrew’s car wasn’t one of those flashy vehicles, even though his salary would allow for that. It was a mid-range sedan, but it was prized, I could tell, just by the way he put the car in gear and let it glide before he stepped on the accelerator. I wondered how much it cost and then looked around me again. There was a pen drive, an unopened box of Marlboro Gold and a lighter on the ridge that divided the front seats.
We were quiet for a while, and then I exhaled.
‘Why didn’t you reply to my messages?’ My tone was casual.
‘What messages?’ he asked. He was smiling.
‘My messages to you, Andrew. I sent you two of them.’
‘You never messaged, you never communicated; you just let me fly away like a kite and then cut the thread.’
‘I had messaged you, Andrew. How could I not?’We’re only separated by the physical miles. I love you, and I know you love me.
Andrew pulled up at a dimly lit side road and turned off the ignition. I didn’t have to tell him that was how I had signed off my first message.
‘Messages… two…’ He had turned and was staring out of the window. The night was dark, and I was beginning to see the light.
