Page 82 of Mrs. Pandey
"I have a question."
"Yes."
"Your mother doesn't seem to care about my supposed pregnancy. You know what I mean. I told the villagers I was pregnant with your child to get you to marry me, but no one has asked me a single question about why I'm not showing. I mean, I'm still the same."
"Because you're not pregnant, Ira."
"But your family and the villagers don't know the truth."
"They do," he sighed. "After we got married, I went to the panchayat and told the villagers you weren't pregnant. I also told them you weren't a characterless person. I hated how people were looking at you after you announced your pregnancy. I told them we loved each other but our families' different castes were a problem. The villagers wouldn't normally agree to our relationship, but since I'm a hero to them and they found out you were a soldier as well, they made an exception for our marriage."
"You did all of that... for me?"
"For us," he smiled.
"What about your mother?"
"Please don't be offended, Ira, but she said she'd never accept you into her family."
"But I'm trying everything I can to please her," I mumbled.
"I don't want you to please her. I want you to be what you really are to her."
"I'm..." I hesitated.
"You don't need to justify your actions, Ira, it's okay," he smiled, pulling me closer to him.
I took a long, shaky breath and then released it. "Prashant..." I held his gaze. "I think I'm in love with you."
________
Chapter 38
IRA
Finally, it was the day when Prashant and I were returning to our duties in Barmer. My heart felt light yet restless. I was excited, almost impatient to share this new chapter of my life with him. There was something about the way Prashant had begun to look at me again, almost like he used to three years ago, that made me feel both nostalgic and hopeful.
What I didn’t like, however, was the confession I had made last night. It had slipped out, raw and unplanned. I told him I loved him. The words hung in the air, fragile and trembling, and for a moment he just stared at me, shocked, almost as if the thought had never even occurred to him.
Before I could read his expression properly or hear a response, his phone rang. He excused himself and picked it up; it was his mother. From the tone of his voice, I could tell it wasn’t a casual call.
It turned out she wanted him to pick her up from her sister’s house in the middle of the night. She said she couldn’t stand staying there a minute longer. I know it sounds petty, but I couldn’t help feeling a stab of irritation. She had, without knowing, ruined the tiny window of intimacy I had been craving with her son. I just wanted an answer, a sign whether Prashant loved me too. But the moment was gone. Maybe he was still processing it, maybe too shocked to speak, or maybe he just didn’t feel the same way. His expression had been unreadable, like a closed book with no title.
We reached the Barmer in the evening and reported in at the office. The familiar dust, the golden sunset, the slow hum of the place, it all felt like stepping back into an old photograph. I headed to my quarters, threw open the windows to let in the dry desert breeze, and began cleaning. It was a ritual, almost therapeutic.
By the time the place looked like mine again, I decided to make dinner for two. I wanted it to feel special, so I set the table with care, placed the plates just so, and even lit a small candle. I chose a nice dress, nothing too flashy, just something that made me feel soft and beautiful. Then I sat down to wait for my husband.
I glanced at the clock as it was half past seven. Still some time. To pass it, I reached for my phone and opened my private folder. There they were, the photos and videos from three years ago, when Prashant and I were in the same unit.
I smiled when I saw one where Prashant stood behind me, grinning like he had just played a prank. Another was from the restaurant we went to that rainy evening. Then the hills, God, I could almost smell the pine trees and hear the crunch of gravel under our boots. My thumb swiped again, and there he was in his parade uniform. I zoomed in. His face looked different then as it looked unburdened. No shadows in his eyes, no tightness in his smile, just pure, unfiltered innocence.
And I realised how much I missed that version of him. The man before the walls, before the distance, before us.
Why had I rejected him? What would have happened if I had gathered enough courage to reject Aryan instead? I should have done that. I should never have let Prashant go.
The more I scrolled, the more I lost myself. I saw videos of our treks, our tours, the rides where we laughed like reckless teenagers. I listened to the way his voice sounded when he called my name. I noticed the way his hand would always find mine without thinking. I played each memory like it was a scene from a movie I’d once lived in but could never step back into.
I was so deep in the past that I didn’t notice how the minutes turned into an hour. The candle had burned low, the food was cooling, and the room was still empty.
