“You did,” she reaffirms, and that makes me gulp past the lodge in my throat.
“Yes,” I take a turn towards the road that leads to her office. It is a 1.5-hour extra drive for me towards my own office, but I want to spend every single second of my day with her. Because as sure as I am that we will not separate, I also can’t say for sure. Because Aisha doesn’t change her decisions easily.
I still remember how she was asked to leave me and not marry me by her extended family, who have supported her mother and her through difficult times but failed to respect them as a whole. And she willed to marry me in front of them—which was an atrocity in their opinion. But she held her ground, and I am so grateful to have a woman like that love me.
I let out a hollow chuckle, and that makes her turn and look at me.
“What?” she asks.
“I just…” I lick my lips and gulp as my throat feels too dry. “I just feel like saying sorry to you over and over again, but I also realize how meaningless they might feel to you if I can’t show you proof of that in actions.”
I look at her and see the shocked look on her face. Maybe she didn’t expect this level of accountability from me. And to be fair,I wouldn’t even be surprised if she didn’t. My actions haven’t been that amazing.
“What?” I question
“I didn’t expect this level of…” She takes a second to think of the most appropriate word, and I fully expect her to use a word in Punjabi I can’t ever understand. “emotional maturity from you.”
I shrug. “I won’t hold it over you. I haven’t been emotionally present or mature.”
We reach her office, and I just want to lock the doors and keep her beside me. I don’t know when I will get this unguarded version of her again. The one who looks at me with everything she is feeling without masking it, the one who is open with her words and doesn’t try to make them less painful for me.
She passes me a small smile, unbuckling her seat belt before grabbing her bag and phone.
“Thanks for dropping me off,” she says, but before she can leave, I stop her. I take her hand in mine, pulling her towards me, and her mouth falls open, probably expecting me to just drive off.
“I am also coming to pick you up,” I say, and she shakes her head in a no. Too bad I am not going to listen to her this time. “It wasn’t a question, wife.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I smile. I love getting under her skin. It gives me so much joy.
“Firstly, you are not coming to pick me up because it will be way past 1 by the time I am done,” she tells me, and I so want to cut in and say I don’t care because I would wait for her as long as possible. As long as she would want me to. But the fury in her eyes is just too adorable. “Secondly, don’t call me wife. I am soon to be your ex-wife.”
She smiles because in her head she has made a point. If there’s one thing I like doing, it’s proving her wrong. She waswrong about never falling in love with a man—I proved her wrong. She was wrong about me letting her go easily—I proved her so very wrong.
She is wrong about becoming my ex-wife, and I can’t wait to prove her wrong.
“You are cute when you get mad.” I pinch her cheek, and she swats my hand away with a glare. “Firstly, I am coming to pick you up however late it gets. I don’t care. Secondly, you will never be my ex-wife. The only time you will get rid of me is when I die, and I don’t plan on dying for the foreseeable future.”
She rolls her eyes, getting out of the car, and I blow her a kiss, which she very profoundly ignores, making me laugh.
It will be good to prove my silly little wife wrong, and I can’t wait for it.
* * *
It is a blatant mess at Carter & Co. this morning. The moment I enter, I am swarmed with work and meetings. Dominic Wolfe is our biggest client this year, and we don’t want anything going wrong. I already hate that I got late to our very first meeting. Dominic has a reputation of not sparing people. He is very articulate and values discipline. I don’t know what made him stay for our meeting, but I am grateful for whichever gods were by our side that day.
But I don’t want to make any mistakes anymore. Not in my professional life and not even in my personal life. Work is such a lousy excuse to keep away from my wife, and we are changing that from today.
So when my PA gave me all the meeting details, I dived headfirst into work. I told my assistant that I don’t want to meet anyone today. Until it is my wife or an emergency.
So imagine my surprise when I see my father waltzing in my office when I am going through some files—in his plainkurtaandpajamas. This is how I know he didn’t go in to work, because he only wears his Indian clothes when he is at home.
“Dad,” I say, keeping my files aside. “What are you doing here?”
“You have lost your manners, Reyansh,” he says, coming and making himself comfortable in my seat. “No “Namaste” or touching your father’s feet to take my blessings.”
I shake my head, lowering myself to touch his feet properly. My dad was never too hell-bent on me choosing his traditions over my mom’s. But he liked when I paid my respects to his ways when I was with him.
While my parents had a love marriage—just like me and Aisha—their story was quite different. They parted ways when they realized they didn’t have much left in between them. Aisha and I are quite their reflections. The only thing that is different is that I won’t give up on Aisha the way my dad did on my mom.
