The sight freezes me. I don’t know whether to run to him or back away.
I walk over slowly.
‘Raghav?’
He looks up, his face a mess of tears, his eyes red and raw. He wipes them away when he sees me.
‘It’s so empty . . . to do this.’
I sit next to him, our knees touching.
‘It is,’ I say. ‘I know it is.’
We sit there for a long time, in the dark. The distant sound of the party seems a world away. After a while, he composeshimself, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He looks at me, his eyes red but clear.
‘Okay,’ he says, taking a deep breath. ‘Okay.’ He manages a small, watery smile. ‘I just... I need to try harder.’
‘One step at a time,’ I say.
He nods. ‘Call me for the next event too.’
I smile at him.
‘You should go back,’ he says. ‘I will call a cab for myself.’
I shake my head. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m coming home with you.’
‘Are you—’
‘Sure?’ I ask. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
Back in the living room, the smell of cardboard hangs in the air. The boxes stare back at us. We don’t talk. We just wordlessly resume our task. He hands me the last of my books. I place them in the final box. He folds the flaps down, one over the other. I pull a long strip of tape from the dispenser, that screeching sound again: it echoes in the quiet room. I press it down firmly, sealing the box shut. Sealing this chapter of my life shut.
The sound rings in my ears. Louder than it should. Final.
We both stand up. The room is bare now, stripped of my presence, it’s just his apartment again, like it was that day, two years ago.
‘Well,’ I say, my voice thick. ‘That’s it.’
He just nods, his throat working.
‘I don’t think this is it, is it?’
He looks at me, his eyes filled with a universe of unspoken things. Sadness? Gratitude? A terrifying, bottomless fear? Because I feel all of those things?
And then he steps forward and pulls me into a hug. It’s not romantic. It’s not even really a hug between friends. It’s the desperate embrace of two survivors. His arms are tight around me, and I can feel his shoulders shaking slightly. I wrap my ownarms around him, burying my face in his shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself cry.
We stand there, in the middle of the empty room, holding on to each other like we’re the only two people left in the world.
And in a way, we were for the longest time.
37
Raghav
I can’t believe that I’m saying it, but it feels good. To have these people around, words and jokes and anecdotes flying about.
‘No, seriously, this boy has a separate protein shaker just for his post-workout post-workout shake,’ Tejal is saying, her voice ringing with laughter. ‘But it’s the same thing!’
