He was thirty-two. He was the new head of marketing at the publishing house. He was, in the language of office gossip, "actually unreasonably good-looking" — tall, fine-featured, with the kind of easy posture that comes from a confident childhood. He had been raised in Delhi, educated in London, and had returned to India because he had wanted to. He was not married. He had no apparent damage. He laughed easily. He read poetry. He listened — actually listened — when people spoke.
He met Aaranya at a Friday office lunch.
[ The office canteen. He has been seated across from her because no other chair is free. ]
AADITYA — "I'm Aaditya. New here. Marketing."
AARANYA — "Aaranya. Finance."
AADITYA — "Aaranya. That's a beautiful name. It means forest, doesn't it?"
AARANYA — "You know Sanskrit?"
AADITYA — "A little. My grandmother taught me."
[ A pause. He does not drop his eyes. ]
AADITYA — "The name suits you."
It was such a small thing. The kind of compliment a thirty-two-year-old gives easily. But Aaranya, who was forty-five and had not been told that any part of her suited her in over twenty years, felt something move in her chest that she did not know was still capable of moving.
Over the next months he found reasons to talk to her — book recommendations, financial questions about a new imprint, simple office things. He never crossed any line. He had the manners of a man who had been raised by women.
One evening, after a book launch, he offered to drop her home. They sat in his car at her gate.
AADITYA — "Aaranya. May I say something? And you can tell me to never say it again."
AARANYA — "Say it."
AADITYA — "There are women in this city who are twenty-five and beautiful. They walk into rooms and the rooms turn to look at them. I have known many of them. None of them have ever made me feel the way I feel when you walk past my desk holding a cup of coffee."
[ Aaranya does not breathe for a moment. ]
AADITYA — "I know the age. I know the situation. I know what people would say. I am not asking for anything, Aaranya. I am only telling you so that — if this matters to you, if you ever want it to matter to you — you will know it was always available."
[ Aaranya looks at him for a long moment. ]
AADITYA — "Take your time. I have nowhere else to be."
She walked up the stairs of her own building, unlocked the door of her own flat with her own keys, lit her own diya, and sat on her own balcony with her own cup of tea — and for the first time since she was twenty-two, she let herself, deliberately, feel what it was like to be wanted.
It was a strange feeling. It was a wonderful feeling. It was, also, just a feeling. She was, by now, a woman who knew the difference between a feeling and a decision.