Me: see anu. Problems will come that’s for sure. But we will face. We will make your parents convince. I will talk to vishal and he will inform my parents about divorce and later on we will tell them about our relationship and I am not bothered about their decision either. Its just you and me. We are the deciders.
I squeezed her hand gently. The future was uncertain, full of challenges and unanswered questions. But in that moment, holding her hand, I knew I was exactly where I wanted to be. I was with her, and that was all that mattered. The journey had just begun.
“Alright, Anu. Friends. We’ll start there. No pressure, no expectations, just… us. And we will deal with our parents later. One step at a time.” I tried to sound reassuring, even though a part of me was still disappointed. But I also knew that she was right. She needed time, and so did I. Building a foundation of friendship was the best way to start.
She managed a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you, Vinay. For understanding.”
“Always,” I replied, squeezing her hand again. “Now, how about we order some takeout? I’m starving. And maybe watch a movie? Something light, something… not about love.” I winked, trying to lighten the mood.
She chuckled, a genuine laugh that reached her eyes. “Deal. But I get to pick the movie.”
“Fair enough,” I said, relieved. The tension in the room had dissipated, replaced by a fragile sense of peace.
We spent the evening watching a silly comedy and eating greasy pizza. It wasn’t a romantic date, but it was exactly what we both needed. It was a return to normalcy, a step away from the intensity of the past week. As the credits rolled, I felt a sense of hope I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time.
The calendar pages flipped, each one marking another day in our shared sanctuary. Day 8 had bled into Day 30, and the sterile white walls of the apartment had slowly absorbed the color of our lives. The routine we’d established – the shared meals, the stolen stories, the comforting rhythm of evening walks – had woven a tapestry of unexpected warmth. I was careful, acutely aware of the invisible threads of vulnerability that still bound Anu. Vishal’s ghost lingered, a silent reminder of broken trust and shattered dreams.
So I cooked her mother’s recipes, the familiar smells filling the apartment with a sense of home she hadn’t felt in years. I cleaned, scrubbing away the residue of her past, hoping to create a clean slate for her present. I folded her laundry with meticulous care, each act a silent promise of security. After Vishal, she was a fragile bird with a broken wing, and I was determined to be the gentle hand that helped her fly again.
One evening, elbows propped on the counter amidst a mountain of soapy dishes, the silence hummed with unspoken feelings. She turned to me, her eyes shimmering with a depth I hadn’t seen before.
“Vinay,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “I never thanked you properly. For everything. For being here… for being patient… for just… being you.”
My heart swelled, constricting my throat. “Anu, there’s no need for thanks. I care about you, a lot. And I want to be here for you, always.” The words felt inadequate, a pale echo of the emotions swirling within me.
She reached out, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down my spine. “I’m lucky to have you in my life, Vinay.”
The air thickened, charged with electricity. I yearned to close the distance, to finally taste the sweetness of her lips, but I held back. It wasn’t coercion. It was respect. It was waiting for the moment to be right, for her to be ready. Not just for me, but for herself.
A month unfolded, a kaleidoscope of shared experiences. Movies, beach trips, quiet evenings spent lost in comfortable silence. We celebrated small victories – a good day at work, a successful therapy session, a shared laugh that echoed in the now-familiar apartment.
Then came Day 30. A weekend afternoon swallowed by the comforting darkness of a movie theater-sized screen in our living room. We were watching “Dia,” a Kannada romantic tragedy, a film known for its heart-wrenching climax. I stole glances at Anu, my concern growing with each passing scene. The tears started silently, tracing paths down her cheeks, reflecting the flickering light of the screen.
Suddenly, she reached out, grabbing my arm with surprising strength. She turned to me, her eyes locked on mine, a tempest of emotion swirling within them.
“Vinay,” she choked out, her voice thick with tears, “I love you.” And then, without warning, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek, a fleeting touch that reverberated through my entire being.
The world tilted on its axis. Cloud nine felt like an understatement. I gently cupped her face in my hands, my thumbs wiping away the tears that continued to stream down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” I murmured, my voice rough with emotion. “I won’t leave you. I was waiting for this moment.”
Slowly, tentatively, I lowered my head and kissed her forehead, a soft, reverent gesture. Then, drawn by an irresistible force, I moved towards her lips. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, a gentle exploration. But as our lips met, a fire ignited. We smooched slowly, savoring the taste of each other, the culmination of weeks of unspoken desires.
She kissed my ears, my neck, a soft moan escaping her lips. When we finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, we clung to each other, locked in a tight embrace. The past, for a moment, seemed to fade away, replaced by the promise of a future, built on honesty, trust, and a love that had blossomed in the most unexpected of circumstances. We were finally home.
…….