‘No, you’re not coming.’
‘You know I am.’
Ten minutes later, we are in the cab. He’s stubborn like that.
The airline office is annoying. White walls, tinted glass, a logo that means pure evil to me. I have spent countless hours here, jumping bureaucratic hoops. The security guard at the gate is huge and is probably a deterrent for irate customers. I remember the protests that happened here when the investigation was too long, and when they tried to palm off their responsibilities. There were different guards then—smaller ones. We’re barely five steps from the door when Raghav slows down.
I follow his gaze.
There, by the parking bay, is a taxi. A white Swift Dzire. And stepping out of it, Megha’s parents. Her mother in a soft cotton sari, hair tied in a low bun. She looks likeher. Raghav, of course, sees that too. Her father, tall, shirt tucked in too neatly, holding her by the arm, in his other hand a file. I know what the file contains: because I have a version of it with me as well. To prove that the person once lived and had a family. A beat later, Yash steps out. Megha’s brother.
And that’s where Raghav loses his courage. He turns away.
‘This is your chance,’ I tell him. ‘If you still want to do this, that is...’
He exhales deeply, rubs the back of his neck, nods and slowly follows me towards the gate.
We’re just a few steps from it when I see him again.
Naman.
Like he’s been waiting. He waves once, not as a greeting but a warning. And then he walks up to us fast. I watch Raghavtighten up. But he’s walking towardsthem,not us. He stops and greets Megha’s mother.
‘How do they—’
My words trail. They must have met at the protests. At the hearings. Maybe from the group. The conversation is brief. Raghav and I watch it unfold. And then, Megha’s parents turn. They are looking straight at Raghav. And there it is—I see it in Megha’s mother’s eyes. They well up immediately. But she doesn’t cry. Doesn’t break. Just folds her tissue, presses it to her face and turns away like she never saw us. Megha’s father glares at Raghav, but what’s there to say, really. It’s only Yash and Naman now: the bereaved brothers. Naman’s clearly talking about us because every now and then, they both turn towards us. Although saying that Naman is bereaved is a bit much. Or he is, I don’t really know any more. Sometimes I wonder what my parents would have felt had I been on the flight. Bereaved? Or relieved? Do people who kill their daughters feel relief? What happens after? Is their honour restored?
I want to leave. Right now. But it’s too late. They are walking in our direction. Naman stops right in front of me and Raghav does that familiar dance of coming between us.
‘Aditi,’ Naman says, looking straight at me. Then, to Raghav, his voice a notch colder, ‘You too came.’
Raghav just nods. ‘We did.’ He adds, quietly, to Yash, ‘Hi—’
‘I have nothing to do with you,’ Yash cuts in tersely, not even looking at Raghav. ‘I’m just here because Naman said that the last time he requested you guys for the money, you got physical with him. So please, don’t talk to me.’
I see what Naman’s trying to do. Recruiting people for his cause, and who would be easier than Yash.
‘I’m not here to fight,’ Naman says quickly, hands raised slightly, palms open. He’s playing his role well. ‘I know you don’t care, but it’s been hell. For everyone. I know you guysdon’t understand. You think you do, but you don’t. So please, make it easy for us.’
Such a bastard. I should have recorded those calls where he called me names.
‘She will make her own decision,’ Raghav replies, calm but firm. ‘Whenshe feels prepared.’
‘For someone who led them to death,’ Yash says, eyes now on Raghav, voice flat but slicing, ‘you guys are shameless.’
That stuns Raghav into silence. His shoulders stiffen. Yash’s tone isn’t cruel, but it’s cold. Surgical. Like he had been planning to say this. I haven’t seen Yash before today, but Raghav told me he’s nineteen. Looks much older. Despite his harshness, I only feel sorry for him. He’s the only one who’s not responsible. He knew of Raghav, he knew Megha would run away, and he told Megha that she needed to do what she needed to do despite him feeling that it was stupid. He’s the only one who is blameless and who deserves to be felt sorry about.
He continues, his voice venomous, ‘What, Raghav? You thought your regret means anything? No. Zilch. Nothing.’
Naman adds, ‘Be a decent person, and give the money to me. Both of you have no idea what you have done to us. Both of you got the love story, right? We got the news article. You should end it here.’
Is Naman trying to guilt-trip Raghav into convincing me to give him the money? How low can he go?
‘Yash—’ Raghav starts.
‘No one’s talking to you,’ Yash snaps. ‘How the fuck will you understand that?’
Naman’s eyes lock on to mine.
