The way she looks at me makes me squirm in my seat. Do I? No. No matter how much he has hurt me, I would never be able to do the same back to him.
Because a part of me knows he didn’t do that intentionally. The Reyansh I fell in love with would never intentionally hurt me.
“I don’t… I don’t know,” I tell her, a sigh leaving past my lips. I press the pads of my fingers to my temple, trying to find somerelief. “I can’t even stand the thought of hurting him, honestly. I can’t see him in pain or any kind of discomfort.”
“Despite all that he did to you? Despite all he put you through? Aisha, I know you love him, and I think he does too. But I would be lying if I said he isn’t the biggest dick in the world because of his actions. He put you through so much.”
Her words remind me of all the stuff we—I—have been through. All the days I spent waiting for him to show up, all the nights I stayed up late wondering where the hell he was only for him to show up without any notice and not acknowledge me, all the days I spent sick all alone when he should have been there, and so much more.
All of that boils my blood.
“I know what he put me through, Sasha,” I bite out. “How pathetic does it make me look when I say that a part of me still believes that he would never hurt me intentionally? I can’t forgive him for all of the years I gave him the benefit of the doubt. But I also refuse to believe that the love fizzled out just like that. Six years of it—just gone like that.”
She stays silent while I burn out. I’m lost. Confused. Choosing a career felt easier than this. Fuck, even knowing he was the one was easier than facing the possibility that he might not be anymore.
“What does he have to say about all this?”
I roll my eyes. I don’t know which show or movie or book he got influenced by, but he acts like a groveling hero, and my heart is not ready to handle all that.
“He acts like he wants to fix it. As if he can fix it.”
She gives me a look, and I can’t emphasize enough how much she resembles my mother-in-law at the moment.
“What?”
“Don’t murder me,” she says, and I quirk my eyebrows. “But I feel like you are more scared about the possibility of what ifit does work out. What if he does switch things up? I think you have grown so comfortable with the idea of hating him—in whatever humble way you do—that the idea of him fixing himself and this mess makes you want to run away.”
It feels like she punched me in the face. Hell, it would have been better if shehadpunched me in the face.
“Sasha, you can’t go around saying things like that to my face.”
She chuckles, and I don’t get what she found so humorous. I am dead serious. People need to stop slapping the truth in my face just like that.
“Face it, babe. The sooner you do, the better.”
* * *
The drive back home was quiet with just my thoughts playing on loop. I won’t deny that Sasha’s words hit deep. I knew what she was saying was true. The idea of us working out was scary. Not because I didn’t love him or anything. But because I loved him too much. Because I know that if he manages to get my heart back, I might not be able to recover if he ever leaves again.
All these years, all these months, the disappointment in our relationship slowly turned into resentment. And that gave me strength to leave. I won’t be able to do it again, and I don’t trust us enough to not wreck this thing again.
Once I enter our house, I realize that our moms have managed to not bring the house down. These two together can be lethal. One moment they are gossiping, and the next they are fighting like sisters.
I was expecting Reyansh to be back too, since he promised that he would be here.
But he is not, and I am not even surprised.
“I am back,” I yell in the silence, and just like that, both of them come out of the kitchen. Why do all moms have such a crazy obsession with the kitchen and cooking? If I wasn’t a foodie and survival wasn’t based on food, I would never step foot in the kitchen.
“Hello, Aisha.” Mom comes and pecks my cheek, and I have to stop myself from asking her to not do it because I probably have a thousand germs on my face.
“Hi, Mom,” I smile back. “Had a good day?”
She waves her hand in her true fashion, and I chuckle. “Yes. Meher isn’t that boring.”
My mom chuckles, coming with a spatula in her hand and a kitchen robe tied around her waist.
“I am not the boring one, Margot.” My mom taps her with the spatula, and she fake owws. “You are just not used to real entertainment. Should have learned from us when you colonized us, huh?”
