Page 2 of No Other Love

‘I’m Vikrant,’ he said. ‘Vikrant Pandit.’ He held the pen and my gaze for a moment longer before letting go.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Vikrant Pandit.’ I clicked the pen open.

‘Yeah. Finally.’ He spoke softly, almost to himself.

I think I fell a little in love with him right then. With thatfinally.I wasn’t the only one waiting to make the first move, was I?

One

Vikrant

The Last Day

‘You’re really doing this?’ Anika asked, her voice rough with unshed tears. ‘You’re really leaving?’

I couldn’t answer. Just continued tossing things in my battered suitcase. At this point, it was all I could do to not howl. I picked something from the cupboard and placed it next to my running shoes in the suitcase.

‘That’s mine,’ my wife said.

I blindly looked at the item I’d packed. It was a tee shirt, torn at the hem. Splattered with cream paint. The howl threatened to come up again. Because I remembered, exactly, how the paint had gotten there.

On a rare, mutually free weekend, we decided to paint the ceiling of our bedroom a neutral cream. It was pouring cats and dogs in Mumbai and the air conditioner had stopped working. We listened to Natalie Imbruglia, the whole time.

I scraped and sanded for two hours, then Anika had worn scandalously short shorts and this tee-shirt and climbed on the step ladder.

I had watched her in fascination like she was Queen Mumtaaz, and the bedroom ceiling was the Taj Mahal.

I was always fascinated by her. That was the problem. Fascination was unrealistic. Impossible to live up to in real life.

Anika wasn’t fascinated with me anymore. If she had ever been.

‘Vik,’ Anika spoke again.

I grabbed the tee-shirt and threw it back into the cupboard. The howl of misery and lost love continued to simmer at the back of my throat.

‘Sorry,’ I said, in a low voice.

‘For what?’ My wife asked. Like she really meant it.

I looked up at the ceiling. The cream paint was peeling at the edges, because of leakage and seepage problems with their upstairs neighbor. And the landlord had asked me to wait for a year before doing any repairs, since another monsoon season was imminent.

I wasn’t going to be able to give it a year.

‘The rent is paid for till August.’ I locked the overflowing suitcase. The muscles in my wrist protested at the added pressure. The physical therapist had told me to stop using excessive force in my right hand, after the last visit.

‘The utilities are automated in the app. But I will keep checking in between and paying them anyway, so you don’t have to worry about it.’

‘I can pay the damn utilities on my own!’ Anika snapped. ‘I have the app on my phone. And with the new promotion, I can save up and take care of these things.’

‘I know,’ I replied. ‘I’ve heard of nothing but your new promotion for months now.’

I turned around and looked at the love of my life, dressed in crisp blue scrubs, a staple of all medical staff at the hospital where we both worked.

Usually, scrubs were meant to be shapeless, sexless even. But the scrubs did nothing to hide her innate curves, or the long, lean length of her legs, a product of intensive running.

Anika’s waist-length hair was in a severe plait, so not a hair escaped to frame her stunning face. The only concession she made to femininity was the thick line of kohl she’d applied around her golden-brown, almond-shaped eyes.

Desire hit me, inconvenient and consuming. Unrequited.