‘Shh.’
The announcement goes on for another excruciating minute.
‘What did they—’
‘They are making us deplane. They will try to take us to Delhi in the morning. It will be a 5 a.m. flight, they are saying.’
‘Morning? They will make you wait at the airport all night?’
‘Wait, wait. I will deplane and talk to you.’
‘Okay.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
‘I thought I would be with you by now, baby,’ she says. ‘Soon.’
‘Soon.’
Click.
I look at the clock. 7 p.m. By now, even with all the delays, Megha and I should have been sitting in a cab, her fingers intertwined with mine, and on our way to the apartment—our first apartment. And yet, here I am, in the midst of hundreds of sweaty bodies, grumbling and on the phone.
She’s 300 kilometres away. Distance makes the heart go irritated.
Outside, the rain has eased up a little. I check the app and it’s showing a few cabs ten, and fifteen, and twenty minutes away. I just can’t bring myself to book a cab forhome. Is it really home till the time she moves in? Places her mugs on the shelves? Fixes the photo frame? Decides what curtains we want to put up? Without her, it’s just walls and fading paint.
‘It was nice meeting you.’
I turn to see Aditi standing behind me.
‘Umm . . . same,’ I say.
‘I will see you tomorrow morning, then?’ she says with a smile. ‘Did you find a cab?’
‘Ten minutes away,’ I say.
‘Awesome. See you then?’
I nod as she turns away from me. I glance back at my app, and once again, I can’t book a cab. I should just stay here; what’s a few hours? Back home, the wait begins again. Here, at least I will be at the cusp of something new. Back home, I will be thinking about the family again. The thoughts are already creeping up on me. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and will myself that when I open them, I won’t think about them.
It’s easier said than done. When I open my eyes, I watch the crowd steadily leaving the waiting area. And that’s when I see her. Aditi’s lugging her overstuffed backpack walking towards an empty seat. She sets her overflowing bag aside, a few clothes jutting out of it, and pulls a book out of it.
Then, she retrieves her spectacles from her back pocket and puts them on, balancing them lightly on the bridge of her nose. I can’t tell if this is intentional or if her spectacles have become loose from mishandling.
She’s going to stay here for the night. This bag is all she has. For a moment, my mind races back to the cupboards at mynew apartment, and the packed suitcases with the shirts and trousers I had splurged on in the first months of my job despite Megha harping on for me to save.
I don’t want to, but I have somewhere to go. But Aditi hasnowhereto go.
4
Aditi
‘There’s no way I’m going to a hotel!’
‘Hey,jaan. Listen,’ Aman says, as he always does to get me to agree to whatever he feels is right, and more often than not, I have to agree. He’s seven years older on paper, but it’s only when he uses this tone—commanding, yet soft—that it feels like it.
