Page 39 of Someone to Love

Love leaves memories even death cannot steal.

‘Hi, Surya Aunty,’ said Koyal, a tremor in her voice. Surya Aunty’s voice reminded her of a happy, young, carefree Ma. And how the idea of Ma being alive and healthy gave happy little wings to every cell in her body. Koyal wanted to hug the voice. To bottle it and keep for those times when her heart ached for Ma.

‘Where did you vanish, beta?’ came the voice again, sad now.

Koyal stayed silent, biting her lips, willing the tears that were threatening to pool in her eyes to evaporate before they appeared.

‘I know something upset you, but even if you won’t tell me what it is, will you let the past be the past? And come and meet me?’ came the kind voice.

Koyal remained silent.

Surya Aunty was asking for too much. To step into the home of the woman who had destroyed her life was unthinkable.

‘Do you … do you … look like Priya now, Koyal?’ Surya Aunty asked hesitatingly, after a pause. ‘I … Can I get a glimpse of my long-lost friend through you? … Will you allow me that gift?’

Koyal bit the insides of her cheek.

Long-lost friend.

This was a woman, unaware that her friend was lost forever, desperate to see a likeness of her friend in the daughter. Something about that made Koyal want to sob.

‘Will you come?’ Surya Aunty asked, her voice hopeful and teary.

‘Yes,’ Koyal heard herself say.

‘Saturday night, dinner? I’ll cook your favourite food.’

Koyal bit her lips harder. The last person who had said this to her was long gone. Koyal stood in the reception of one of the biggest hospitals in London, phone stuck to her ear, amazed at the little things that continued to remind her each day, each minute, each second, of her mother. Nothing, she realized in that moment, ever separates a child from her mother. Not even death.

‘Wait a second, mac and cheese followed by ice cream are still your favourites, or have you moved to some vegan, organic nonsense?’ Koyal could sense Surya Aunty’s grin and she smiled. Spunky, funny, Surya Aunty. That was how she remembered her – the only woman she knew back then who could ride a bike.

‘Mac and cheese it is,’ Surya Aunty said. ‘Give me your number, darling – I’ll message you the address.’

‘Will Uncle be there too?’ Koyal asked.

The pause on the other end was long enough for Koyal’s eyes to pool with tears.

‘Oh, gosh no,’ she whispered. ‘I am so, so sorry, Surya Aunty.’

‘I am sorry too, darling,’ said Surya. ‘He left us when Atharv was still in Medical School. It has been many years…’

When, a few minutes later, Koyal handed the phone back to Atharv, she didn’t look at him. His gaze. It seared.

It burnt.

It lacerated.

That he had the audacity to act like he was the victim made her blood boil. Had it not been for Surya Aunty, she thought, she would have never bothered with this man again. For her, Atharv did not exist.

And then her mind went back to the night in Hema’s house when his mere presence had reduced her to a mess. Who was she kidding, Koyal asked herself as she walked out of the hospital, every cell in her body dreading the confrontation with Nili that now awaited her.

20

Koyal took a deep breath and knocked on the door, amazed yet again that British homes rarely had a bell on the door. Atharv’s house was situated in a green cul-de-sac in posh Chelsea, and Koyal wondered idly how much it cost. She rolled her eyes at the two Range Rovers parked by the gate and tapped her foot impatiently – all tactics to ignore the nervous, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

‘Koyal!’ a familiar voice shrieked with joy and Koyal snapped out of her thoughts.

Surya Aunty! On autopilot, Koyal ran into Surya Aunty’s outstretched arms and wrapped her in a very tight hug.