Page 60 of Mrs. Pandey
Pari nodded. "He used to tell me everything. Back when you both were in the same unit, before things unraveled. He needed someone by his side when he tried to convince Maa to agree tothe marriage. He fought for you. But before he could reach you, before he could get you to believe it, you broke his heart."
I looked at her then, at the soft anger and aching sadness in her eyes. "If I had a choice, Pari," I whispered, "I'd always choose your brother. Always. But..."
I trailed off, the words catching in my throat like glass.
"...sometimes love just isn't enough to keep things from falling apart."
Pari sat quietly beside me, her fingers brushing over the freshly upholstered armrest. Her posture softened.
"It's not love's fault," she murmured, not really looking at me. "It's people. People who don't know what to do with it once they have it."
I leaned back, the weight of her words pressing down. Silence settled between us again. Outside, the trees danced in the evening breeze, casting long, elegant shadows across the clean, newly painted walls.
I stared at them, thinking of Prashant's silence. The way he pulled away not because he hated me, but because he was wrapped so tightly in his pain. It was his armor. Like his uniform, rigid, clean lines, defined boundaries, locked emotions.
"You know," I said softly, "I thought if I fixed this house... maybe I could fix us too. That he'd walk in, see what I did, and something inside him would soften again."
Pari didn't respond right away. She just reached out and took my hand. Her touch was light, almost hesitant, but grounding. I was surprised at the warmth of it.
"I think I tried to mend the walls between us by literally mending the walls," I said with a faint, self-deprecating smile. "But love isn't like a renovation project. You can't just knock it down and rebuild it because you want to. It doesn't work like that."
Pari squeezed my hand gently. "Maybe not," she said. "But it's a good start."
I nodded, blinking against the sting in my eyes. "Do you think he'll like it?"
"I don't know," she said.
That night, after she had gone to bed, I wandered through the house slowly, like I was seeing it for the first time.
In the hallway, the soft pendant lights cast a warm glow. The shadows were no longer haunting, they were gentle, graceful. The scent of paint still clung faintly to the walls.
I ran my fingers along the wooden railing of the staircase, brushed my hand over the clean linen of the guest bed, and adjusted a frame on the wall just slightly.
In the kitchen, the blue tiles shimmered under soft overhead lights, like small, quiet waves frozen in time.
I ended up in the bedroom, our bedroom. Or maybe just mine now. I wasn't sure.
I touched the edge of the new bedframe, ran my hand over the crisp sheets I'd folded with my own hands, placed just right. On the nightstand was a frame. No photo inside. Just space.
Waiting.
I walked over to the window, slid it open, and let the cool breeze touch my face. It was quiet. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Farther away, the low rumble of a car engine broke the silence for just a second.
And somewhere Prashant was thinking of nothing or maybe thinking of me. Tomorrow, he would return. I didn't know what would happen. But I would open the door.
And wait.
Wait until he realised his love.
_______
Chapter 28
IRA
I had imagined this moment so many times that it had started to feel like a dream before it even happened.
I'd pictured the cab pulling into the driveway, the doors swinging open, Prashant stepping out with that soft furrow in his brow. He would be surprised, not angry. His eyes would scan the walls, the doorway, the new warmth that now filled the old bones of this house. I thought maybe he'd walk inside slowly, quietly. That his silence would mean something like acceptance or even pride.
