‘Are you sure, Bhaiya?’
‘Absolutely. I have spoken to them. You just need to pick one.’
She’s quiet for a moment, twisting a strand of her hair. ‘You’re not... bothered?’ she asks, her voice small.
‘No, not really. All these schools care about is money,’ I say.
‘Not about that.’
‘Then?’
‘That Aditi didi is leaving.’
‘How did you know?’ I ask.
‘I overheard Aditi didi and Tejal didi.’
I catch her gaze. ‘Why would I be bothered? It’s a good decision. She needs her own space. It’s healthy. I’m happy for her. Her hygiene is shit anyway.’
‘Are you sure?’
I give her a genuine smile and nod. ‘We need two bedrooms anyway.’
She smiles back, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. The quiet worry. Maybe she’s thinking I’m pretending. I can neither confirm nor deny it because I don’t know myself. And I don’t want to know. Sometimes, pretending to be okay is better than falling apart.
Later that evening, Aditi finds me in the living room. She’s been circling me all day, trying to find an opening, a crack in my demeanour. It’s irritating, to be honest. It’s like she can’t stand the peace. What does she want? Does she want me to beg her to stay? Stay and do what? Have her rub her healing and happiness and her quest for love in my face? Oh please. She’s better gone.
‘Can we talk?’ she asks, her voice hesitant.
‘Sure,’ I say, leaning back on the sofa, putting my feet up on the coffee table. ‘What’s up?’
‘Raghav, about the apartment—’
‘What about it?’ I interrupt. ‘It looks great. Good location. A bit small, maybe, but you don’t need much space. It’s perfect for one person.’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ she says, her frustration evident. ‘I want to know what you’re feeling.’
I look at her. ‘Feeling? I’m feeling nothing. I told you, I’m happy for you. This is a good thing. You’re moving on. It’s healthy.’
‘Healthy?’
‘Grief has an expiry date, and yours has finally passed.’
I don’t say: mine hasn’t. Mine doesn’t. Mine sits in the corner of every room, in the light under every door. Mine’s permanent.
I can see it again. She wants me to ask her to stay. I won’t. Why the fuck would I? She can go wherever she wants to. Leave me the fuck alone. That’s what happens in the end anyway.
36
Aditi
The sound of packing tape screeching seems like the soundtrack to an ending. The sound of separation. And with every strip of tape that I cut, I feel a sharp pain. Death by a thousand little cuts. A thousand little separations. But it also sounds like a beginning. And not only for me...
I’m sitting on the floor, surrounded by the ghosts of our life here, neatly contained in cardboard boxes. The life I had built on my own. Though saying ‘built’ is a misnomer. Gathered, accumulated, are more appropriate I think.
And Raghav . . . Raghav is actually helping.
I had braced myself for sullen silence, for taunts, for him rubbing his grief into my face, but instead, he’s been... normal.
