Shaking my head, I hunker down in the chair and lean my head back. I close my eyes. Maybe I miss him a whole lot because I get a whiff of Julian. It’s strong enough that my eyes open and I wait for him to appear over me.
He doesn’t. Picking my head up, I look around the waiting room. He’s not here. Of course, he’s not here.
Sighing, I hang my head and realize I’m wearing Julian’s hoodie. One of the ones he wears often. I’m not sure when I put it on, but I’m not questioning it. I fold my arms over my chest soI can disguise the fact that I’m trying to hug this hoodie as if it’s Julian himself in it and not me.
Then I lay my head back and close my eyes again. Maybe tomorrow, when I’m more awake and the doctors tell us Ishika is perfectly fine, I’ll have the gumption to ask Julian the questions I simply can’t bring myself to ask now.
Or maybe I’m going to be stuck in India for the rest of my life with hundreds of what ifs and never see him again because I can’t find the courage to just ask a fucking question. There are still questions I haven’t brought myself to ask Jash about how our breakup went down and it’s been six fucking years. He’s my best friend. We talk all the damn time.
Knowing that about myself, I know exactly what’s going to happen. My story won’t get a happy ending.
CHAPTER 33
JULIAN
The silenceof my condo feels louder now. Everywhere I look, I see the shadow of Arush. Reminders he’s not here. That he belongs here.
I’m not sure if it’s the physical distance between us or the eleven-hour time difference, but his texts are sporadic. Sometimes I think he responds to a message when he thinks I’m sleeping. So I don’t answer?
I stand in the doorway of the bedroom where his belongings are unpacked—as I have several times over the last few days. There’s a drawer in the dresser not shut all the way. There’s an article of clothing sticking out, bunched up, preventing it from closing.
On top of the dresser are two framed pictures. Both have him in them with several others. I’ve come to the conclusion that the one with a lot of people is his family. Parents, siblings, and nieces and nephews. The second is him with his three close friends.
There’s a short pile of folded clothes at the end of the bed. A towel that he’d tossed beside them that he must have had wrapped around himself when he got out of the shower andentered the bedroom to get dressed. The closet will be filled with clothes if I open the door.
I know if I enter the bedroom and peer into the bathroom, I’ll find signs of him everywhere. A toothbrush on the counter. Shampoo in the shower. Maybe some shower gel. A razor? Will I find lotion? His skin is so soft, I feel like there must be lotion in his daily routine.
Turning my attention from the open door of the bathroom I can’t see into from this angle, I look at the desk to my left. Arush’s laptop is plugged in and charging. There’s a book on the corner of the desk. Another on the nightstand.
I catch a stray, balled-up sock sticking out from under the bed. A bed that’s rumpled. Not quite made, but not slept in. He hasn’t slept in that bed for the past two months. Longer than that.
Part of me wants to close the door of the bedroom. I don’t want to look in and remember he’s not here. Pretending that he was never here makes my chest ache, so I don’t.
Aimlessly, I walk back into my bedroom, where my bed is a mess. Blankets are strewn about as if I tossed and turned all night. I didn’t. I barely slept at all. Every time I rolled over to reach for Arush, he wasn’t there.
The pillow doesn’t smell like him anymore.
In the living room, I find his tablet on the end table where he left it. The two throw pillows he often sits with are right where he left them, wedged into the corner of the couch. There’s an engineering magazine on the coffee table. I want to flip through it, but I also don’t want to interrupt the memory he’s left behind.
My kitchen is filled with Indian flavors. Spices. Foods.
It’s inching toward ten in the morning, so I send him a text.
Me
Thinking of you.
That’s it. Three words. I stare at the screen, wishing he’d pop up and tell me he misses me. That he’s looking forward to coming back.
I refuse to entertain the idea that maybe he doesn’t want to.
I need to get out of the condo. The water bottles we bring to the gym are still sitting on the counter. I pick up the one Arush usually uses and fill it with water. Then I leave the condo to give his ghost a break from haunting me.
The hallway is no better. His hand is almost always in mine when we step into the hall. I can see his shy smile and feel the phantom pressure of his shoulder against mine when I step into the elevator.
The gym is empty. It’s a rare occasion that I’m the only one here, but I take advantage of it. I wish I could scream. Maybe I’ll take a dip in the pool later, just so I can scream underwater where the water will drown the sound.
I step onto the treadmill to warm up. I forgot my earbuds. Since I sent Arush home with the ones that are always in my pocket, I’m out of routine without them there to grab on my nightstand when I pick up my phone in the morning.
