But it isn’t love. It’s ownership.
Tejal and I have discussed this. This is what we believe. Or what I want to believe. He doesn’t love me. Shilpi has to be delusional to think her brother thinks of me the same way as he used to think of Megha. The only thing I associate with him is irritation. Anger. Sometimes support. Love isn’t even in the question.
‘No, Shilpi,’ I say. ‘He’s in love. But still with her, and I don’t think that will ever change.’
‘She’s not around any more, Didi,’ she says.
‘She’s still around,’ I say. ‘And she will be if it’s up to your Bhaiya.’
She just looks at me, confused.
‘Let’s go,’ I tell her because it’s not my truth to reveal to her.
When we emerge, Kunal is waiting for us. He smiles as I approach and casually puts his arm around my shoulders, a simple, affectionate gesture. He has done that a few times before and I have never second-guessed it, but today I stiffen for a second because Raghav’s looking, but then I have to force myself to relax to his touch. Over his shoulder, I see Raghav’s face scrunch. Love? No, not even in the slightest. Irritation, yes. I watch as it hardens, his jaw clenching.
The rest of the evening is a blur. The ride back to the apartment is quiet—the ease of the café, the taste of the cake, a distant memory. At my door, the day’s emotional toll becomes clear to Kunal. Like I know, he senses these things.
‘I had a really nice time today,’ Kunal says, his voice soft.
‘Me too,’ I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
I look at his face—the softness, the truth in his eyes, and I feel like I’m floating a bit. He leans in, his intention clear. And I am thinking about it too. It’s the perfect moment. Even in this moment, I can disembody myself and see that this is what I should do. Let go, and let this happen. Because, why not?
It’s the moment I’ve been both dreading and hoping for. This moment has almost happened a lot of times. At the end of a long work day, in his car, in the lift, in moments of closeness, in happiness, in vulnerability. But it never seems like it’s the right moment. It feels like it could wait. But for how long? What would I gain in waiting? If it’s nothing and it feels like nothing when I actually kiss him, then better to do this and get it over with. Then he and I can be work colleagues, put it down to chemistry but no real love, and I can go back to living like Raghav does... in memories of Aman, someone long gone. I’m looking at him, and he looks hopeful, bright. But as his face gets closer, all I can see is the look on Raghav’s face in the arcade. The pain, the possessiveness, the irritation. And according to Shilpi, love?
It’s like a poison, seeping into this moment, tainting it.
I turn my head slightly, and his lips land on my cheek. I gently stop him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m just... I’m not ready.’
He pulls back, and I see the hurt in his eyes, but also a deep understanding. It’s not fakery, I can tell. But who knows? Who the fuck knows? But he’s graceful in his rejection. And the smile is back.
‘I get it,’ he says. ‘Just wanted to... you know.’
‘Worth a shot,’ I say, and he laughs out loud.
After he leaves, I walk into the apartment. Raghav is waiting in the living room, sitting in the dark, the only light coming from the TV screen. I brace myself for another fight.
‘How was the kiss?’ he asks, his voice dripping with cynical, knowing cruelty.
‘We’re not there yet,’ I say, my voice quiet and honest.
The answer seems to break through his anger. He looks at me, really looks, and the hardness in his eyes softens for a second. He looks away, breaking the momentary truce.
‘Whatever,’ he mutters, his voice low. ‘If you need anything, you know where to find me.’
I don’t know what to say to that. So I just nod at him.
But as I turn to go to my room, I catch a look in his eyes I can’t decipher. It’s a flicker of the old Raghav, a deep-seated sorrow, a hint of possessiveness, and maybe, just maybe, a quiet plea. To not leave him alone in this state? I can’t really know. I don’t know any more what to do with him.
How do I tell him that I’m not leaving him alone? He’s choosing to be alone.
33
Raghav
The meeting is a special kind of hell, but then all meetings are.
