Until my pain in the ass of a best friend decided to show up unannounced and disrupt my schedule and all of my meetings.
Aarav came in to invite me and Aisha to one of his influencer-invite-only fake wedding parties. These days it is common, and since he has no date this year—which is a shame, and I will always hold it over his head—he wanted us to go with him so he doesn’t feel alone.
I think he might be behind something and making me and Aisha spend more time together alone. It kind of reminded me of the time in university he would forcefully arrange for us to spend alone time together. Until I asked her out, of course. I wouldn’t leave her alone after that.
I was attached to her like a leech. I was just a hopelessly devoted, obsessed man in love with his gorgeous girlfriend.
He should have left after giving me the invitation, but he didn’t. Rambling on about some other influencer who he has been competing with the past few years. It is all childish in my opinion.
In the midst of all this, he made me late to my meeting with our biggest client of this year, the famous multimillionaire also known as the king of media—Dominic Wolfe. He wants to work with us in expanding his offices in New York, and I have always wanted to work with people who matched my ambition, and he is the best person for that.
My lateness made our meeting stretch out for long, and in the midst of it all, I forgot about our family night tonight.
I didn’t waste a single second after that. I drove back as fast as I could. All the while I kept thinking how much of a fool I am and how much more I can possibly fuck up.
Whenever I think about making it up to Aisha, about not hurting her so much, I end up doing far more than just hurting her.
* * *
I tell myself it is okay, that I can make it up to her, that maybe she will understand. But I know that I have lost the right to ask her to understand me now. She has all the right to be mad at me.
I enter our house, and I can faintly hear the music from the end credits of“Jab We Met.”I gulp past the guilt as I walk in slowly. My mom looks at me, and her eyes throw daggers at me. Aisha doesn’t look at me, though I know she is aware of my presence.
She can sense my presence even with her eyes closed. That is how attuned to each other we are.
“I am sorry I am late,” I announce to the three ladies, and that is when she looks at me. I had expected to see some sort of disappointment in her eyes, anger, and resentment, but to my surprise, I find nothing.
And that hurts me more than anything else.
“Why are you late?” The question she should be asking is asked by my mother.
“I got caught up in work,” I tell the same old excuse. What I want to say is much more than that, but I wantherto be the one listening.
She shakes her head, and that’s whenMaacomes up. I look at her apologetically, but she shakes her head, her eyes pointing towards Aisha.
“You should have let us know,” is all she says before grabbing Mom’s hand and taking her away from the scene.
Aisha’s face comes into view, and I finally look at everything. The half-eaten food, the soft hum of the movie player, the blankets that now lay lazily, and most importantly, the distance between us.
In our home, we stand apart from each other. When we used to be standing together, side by side.
Now, we stand at such a huge distance apart that I don’t know how to bridge it.
“I am sorry, Aisha.” I start walking towards her as she starts to clean up the space. She doesn’t even spare me a look, and I am practically begging her to look at me. To say something to me.
Her silence and indifference hurt me more than any words could.
“I know this is not the first time I have done this,” I continue, following her as she keeps the used plates in the sink. “But I have a fair reason this time. I should have informed you, I know, but I just got so caught up in things. Once I found out how incredibly late I was, I came as fast as I could.”
She doesn’t say anything, choosing to go back into the hall to fold the blankets and make up the couch perfectly.
The couch was the place we used to spend our nights at when we first moved in together. Each day she would pick one movie of her liking, mostly one of her Bollywood rom-coms, because I can’t say no to her and because when it comes to movies, my taste is bland.
Plus, I enjoyed looking at her in awe of all the fictional characters. It filled my chest with happiness I can never deliver in words.
Now, it looks as messed up as we both are.
“Aisha,” I plead, my voice nearly begging. “Please say something. Look at me, once. I know you are mad at me, and rightfully so, but—”
