As I drive back home, I can’t help but think back to what Sasha said. My sudden admission to wanting a divorce left her surprised. But I doubt it was a surprise for me.
She said that I am being irrational—letting my resentment take over my relationship but I doubt that’s the case here.
The reason why our relationship worked for as long as it did was because we never had to ask each other to be seen. It was something that naturally happened between us.
Now, it feels like I have turned into a background noise in Reyansh’s bigger picture.
Divorce makes sense. Nobody can change my mind about it.
Saying the words out loud actually made me feel a lot lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulder. In any case, that wouldn’t be a good sign. But considering how things have turned out for me and our relationship, divorce might just be the best option for both of us.
What good is it doing us anyways? Staying in a marriage that has barely any love and compassion left isn’t beneficial to either of us. It’s about time we go our separate ways before we start losing respect for each other.
No matter how tough it may be.
* * *
I step into the cold deserted hall of our house—one that Reyansh built on his own from the ground up. It was his first project when he started his own company and we both brainstormed millions of ideas before settling on this half desi and half videshi vibe of this house. It was our little dream home.
Before it turned into a deserted, lifeless house filled with unspoken words, unshed tears and resentment.
The lights are off so I assume that he isn’t back home. I drop my keys on the table, before turning to switch on the lights when I spot him, sprawled across the couch, his tired frame falling half off the couch.
I wince as I walk towards him and my heels make an annoying sound clicking with the hardwood flooring beneath my feet. I slip them off before tip-toeing towards him.
I lift his legs off the floor, my back crying in protest as I struggle to place them properly on the couch.
Damn he weighs a lot. Maybe if he spent less time in the gym and more time with me, our relationship wouldn’t reach this point.
I shake my head as I fix his shirt and remove his tie. He reeks of alcohol and while I am not against drinking, I don’t like the idea of him drinking and driving this late at night.
I turn to leave when he touches me and maybe it’s been too long since he has touched me this softly that my heart races in my chest. It feels exactly like they show in cheesy Bollywood movies, when the hero touches the heroine. I look back to see him holding my hand in his before tugging it closer causing me to loose my balance.
I bend down and look at his face to see if he is actually sleeping or pretending—but truly he has passed out. I doubt if he was awake he would touch me like this. Softly as if scared that he will hurt me.
Just like old times.
I wave my hand in front of his face to confirm if he is truly asleep or not. I sigh and I don’t even know why my heart breaks slightly within my chest at realizing that he touched me in his sleep and not while he is conscious.
“Don’t leave me, please,” he mumbles in his drunk state and I wonder if my ears are ringing. I try to take my hand out of his grasp, but he just tightens his hold, placing my hand under his face.
My eyes roam over his face as I let myself mourn my husband—the one I am going to lose soon. Or maybe I had lost him a long time ago and I am just coming to terms with the truth of our relationship.
I trace his beautiful face with my finger, my eyelashes turning heavy with the weight of tears I won’t let fall.
Not yet at least.
“I don’t have a choice, baby,” I whisper in the silence, knowing fully well he can’t hear me. “After all, you left me a long time ago.”
* * *
I don’t remember walking back to my room, nor do I remember falling asleep on the comfort of my bed. But when my phone rings in the morning at sharp 8 a.m, I find myself nestled in the comforter and softness of my bed and pillows.
Strange.
I squint my eyes open as I stare at the contact. “Maa”flashes in front of my eyes and I smile lazily.
Ever since my dad passed away while I was still in school, my mother and I got more close. I was apprehensive about the idea of leaving her all alone in India but she pushed me to pursue my dreams, knowing how much I craved being in London. Afterall, I had been dreaming about moving to London since I was thirteen.
