Page 48 of No Other Love

I shrugged, got the tears under control. ‘If it’s okay with you, I’ll leave tomorrow instead of day after. You can tell your folks I have a medical emergency or something. They’ll believe it.’

‘But why?’

‘This isyourlife, Vikrant. I have to go back to mine. Because much as I’d like to stay here and assist you with everyday medicine it is not my heart’s joy. I’m sorry for what my father said to you. He’s never loved anyone but himself and his scalpel. He doesn’t know that I…’ I swallowed and sniffed some more.I will always love you even if we never work out.

I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter now. I’ll just go tomorrow. You can do the visarjan, the idol immersion without me, right?’

‘Yes,’ he answered instantly. ‘But I was thinking we could…’ His eyes pleaded with mine. A reminder of all the times we’d been stuck in this toxic loop of accusations and regret.

‘What? Get back together?’ I shook my head. ‘One phone call from my father was enough to derail all the trust we’ve built, Vikrant. We aren’t enough. Our love isn’t enough.’

He looked devastated. But he didn’t protest. He didn’t say I was wrong. Because Vikrant was also learning boundaries and healthy communication. And that meant knowing when to keep his mouth shut because the other person was right.

I mustered up the last bit of my pride, walked two steps and leaned up to kiss Vikrant on his cheek. ‘Don’t change who you are. Not for anyone. Not even me. Okay?’

Then I ran to the bathroom before I broke down further, my humiliation complete.

Oh, how naive I was. To think Vikrant and I were ever going to make it. We were too different, our families complete opposites, which meant our value systems were different too.

And you could change what you were all you wanted, but your basic self, remained the same.

I came from a line of selfish, consuming overachievers, Vikrant from a family of givers, compassionate, empathetic people. The twain couldn’t really meet.

It was better to leave now before the damage became unsurvivable.

Yes, it was better to leave now.

Twenty-Six

Anika

‘May I talk to you, Anika?’ Vikrant’s mom, Laxmi, asked diffidently a few hours later, standing at the threshold of the room I had shared,reallyshared with Vikrant.

I paused in the act of packing my stuff, spread all over the bed. The sari blouse clenched in an unconscious fist. I made a deliberate effort to relax it. It worked. Kind of.

‘Sure, Aai. Please come in.’ I mustered up a smile from somewhere deep inside me.

It turned puzzling when Vikrant’s Baba, Yogesh, followed Laxmi too. They came in and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. I awkwardly cleared up the lingerie from the side of the bed and waved them over.

They glanced at each other before Laxmi took a seat on the bed. Baba sat on the dressing table pouffe. She wore a silk sari, one that I remembered I’d gifted her for Diwali and hernatth(nose ring) was a brand-new piece of jewelry. Baba wore his customary kurta pajama, looking, for all the world, like a more refined, regal version of Vikrant.

They made a handsome couple, with Vikrant inheriting the best of both of their genes. Something that would now not happen with us. Not that I’d actively thought about having children even with him, wanting to focus on my career for now.

The sheer loss of it had tears smarting in my eyes. I blinked them away rapidly.

‘Aapko kuch chahiye tha?’ Is there anything you needed?I asked them politely in Hindi. I still wasn’t fluent in Konkani enough to have a whole conversation in it.

‘Haan, chahiye tha.’ Yes, there is. Laxmi replied slowly, in Hindi.

It took me a moment to realize the expression on their careworn faces. Desperation.

‘Tell me, Aai. What is it?’ I asked gently.

‘Did Vikrant tell you why we aren’t staying with him?’

‘No.’ I shook my head, confused at the sudden question. ‘He didn’t. He just told me you were still living in your old home.’

‘When he came back, my son looked like a ghost. He had no joy in him,’ Laxmi said the words carefully. As if she’d rehearsed them many times. ‘I thought he’d be happy coming home, back to us, running the local hospital. That had always been his dream. I was even prepared to tolerate having you here with him because he loved you.’