‘I will.’
‘When?’ Her voice is a little stern this time.
‘I mean, that’s up to us. We will take our time.’
‘Is it up to you though, Daksh?’ she commands, and then in a softer tone continues, ‘Of course, it’s up to you. But think about what you asked me to do all those years ago.’
I give her a blank look, pretending not to know what she’s talking about. I don’t know why I do that. Maybe not to have the conversation we are about to have.
‘You wanted me to be sure when I was barely twenty-two. You’re thirty now and you want to take your time? That’s convenient.’
‘I’m not thirty.’
‘You look thirty,’ she grumbles.
‘What?’
‘It just came out,’ she says. ‘You look twenty-five at best. And I hate it that you still look so cute.’
‘I was going for handsome.’
‘You know you’re handsome. But you’re cute, too. That’s just annoying. You won the genetic lottery.’
‘You’re talking about a genetic lottery? Look at you,’ I say. ‘By the way, you traded up. You have Saket. He’s something. More than something.’
‘Saket and you, you guys are on different scales of handsomeness. And stop making me look shallow. I don’t have folders with scales and boy faces in front of them,’ she says. ‘And how did we get sidetracked?’
‘Because I wanted us to,’ I confess.
‘I was twenty-two when you asked me to marry you, Daksh. Twenty-two,’ she taps her finger on the table to emphasize her point, wasting no time in circling back to the topic. ‘You gave me no time to decide. And threw it all away because I couldn’t make a decision.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You said that we could figure out... What?’
She looks at me, her eyes widening with surprise. I never apologized to her for what I did to her. It strikes us both at the same time.
‘Did you just apologize to—’
‘I did,’ I say.
Silence.
It looms large between us, expanding to fill every corner of the room. My apology comes out too weak, too abrupt, too incidental. No matter the care I put into my words, the gentleness in my gaze, the sincerity in my tone, the number of words I use—my apology seems destined to be inadequate. It’s a bandage over a wound too deep.
I continue, ‘I’m sorry. What I asked of you was unfair. What I did was unfair. I can see that now.’
The words seem to deflate her. From her initial poised stance, back arched and eyes sharp, she now reclines into her chair, her gaze getting softer.
‘You can’t just apologize to me like that.’
‘I know I should have called,’ I say. ‘But I didn’t think it mattered to you. You seemed to have moved on. I think it was just easier to let things be.’
She takes a deep breath.
‘You’re right, it didn’t matter.’
Another silence descends. She locks her eyes with mine. I can hear my heart thump.
