Two years after the divorce, Rudraksh came to her flat unannounced. It was a Sunday morning. She had just come back from her walk. Her hair was in a single plait, jasmine tucked in. She was forty-six and looked, by anyone's measure, beautiful.
She did not invite him in. She made him stand at the door.
RUDRAKSH — "Aara. May I come in?"
AARANYA — "Why are you here, Rudra?"
RUDRAKSH — "I — I wanted to see you. Vihaan said you were —"
AARANYA — "Vihaan is sixteen. Do not use him as a reason."
[ He looks down. He has not been spoken to this way by her — by anyone — in his entire adult life. ]
RUDRAKSH — "Aara. Naina is gone. It ended a year ago. I have been alone."
AARANYA — "And you came to tell me this because — ?"
RUDRAKSH — "Because I made a mistake, Aara. I made many mistakes. I was a coward in my mother's house. I was a coward in mine. I — I look at you and I cannot believe I did not see you. For so many years. I cannot believe I did not see you."
[ A very long silence. Aaranya leans against her doorframe. She is not unmoved. But she is not what she once was. ]
AARANYA — "Rudra. Do you know what the hardest part of leaving you was?"
RUDRAKSH — "What?"
AARANYA — "That I had to do it twice. The first time, when I packed my suitcases. And the second time — every morning for two years — when I had to wake up and choose, again, not to go back."
AARANYA — "I did not leave you because I stopped loving you. I left you because loving you was costing me my whole life. And in the two years since, I have built something that costs me nothing. It is small. It is mine. I am not going to risk it."
RUDRAKSH — "Aara —"
She closed the door. She did not cry. She made herself a fresh cup of coffee, walked to the balcony, and lit a small clay diya in the morning sun for absolutely no reason except that she felt like it.