He nods. ‘With her, it was... love at first sight. And the feeling never went away. I just wanted her.’
‘Then, you must have been crushed when she was dating that other person?’
He nods. ‘But it didn’t make a difference. I knew it would end. It was a matter of time.’
‘Why?’
‘I saw their pictures,’ he answers. ‘They didn’t seem in love.’
‘You could tell that from the pictures?’
‘Of course, I could,’ he says. ‘She never stopped being in love with me. At least that’s what I told myself. I had to. It was unbearable otherwise.’
‘You are a romantic,’ I remark.
‘So are you, are you not? You’re running away.’
‘I mean . . . maybe,’ I say.
Such a strange word: romantic. To violently cut off your family for the sake of love is said to be romantic. To die for each other, that’s romantic. The word belies what it’s used for.
‘You kept texting him when he was on a flight,’ he says. ‘But you didn’t tell Aman your family showed up?’
‘It’ll just stress him out.’
He looks up. ‘But it happened. It’s a big thing. When Aman lands, your brother will still be looking for you.’
‘Exactly, it’s a big thing,’ I say. ‘So why dump it on him? He was already worried. He doesn’t need to know every single minutiae of this mess.’
‘It’s not about dumping. It’s just... shouldn’t he know?’
‘Why? So he panics while he’s in another city? How will that help?’
Raghav shakes his head. ‘Because he’s your guy? Isn’t that what this whole thing is? Being like... there for each other in moments like these?’
His voice is steady. Not angry. Just... disappointed. And I’m bothered that he’s disappointed. Why does he care? Why do I care that he cares? When will I stop caring what others think of Aman? Of me? Of us?
I feel my own voice rising. ‘But... if I can make life easier for him... why wouldn’t I? Things I can handle, I handle. I don’t want to burden him. He has enough going on.’
‘Like what?’
‘There are things you don’t know,’ I say.
‘I mean, I’m sure there is—’
‘Please, you don’t know the complete story, Raghav,’ I grumble, and the words come out sharper than I intend them to be.
But it has the desired effect. He’s about to say something, maybe apologize, but the rain starts to pelt down faster.
‘Sure,’ he says finally, but the silence that follows is stiff.
Like neither of us fully agrees with the other, but we don’t want to fight any more. And I don’t want to tell Raghav the entire story. I don’t want to tell anyone. I used to, and it evokes pity and I don’t want to start my life with pity.
‘We should go,’ I mutter.
The walk back is quiet. The guard lets us in with a nod. Inside, people are sleeping on benches, using bags as pillows. Raghav sits on one end of a bench. I sit on the other.
We don’t speak.
