Shruthi walked into her apartment, shoulders heavy from a long day at work - but her heart was carrying something lighter, warmer.
For the first time in months, she didn't feel like she was building everything alone.
There was a strange comfort in knowing that Arjun was still there, still waiting - not just for her return, but for their return to each other.
She looked around the apartment, the white walls echoing her silence. It never really felt like home. Not without him.
That night, she cooked a simple dinner - Arjun's favorite: rasam and potato fry.
She ate slowly, letting the taste carry her to their old home in India. The sounds of him humming while she cut vegetables. The way they argued about too much salt and not enough hugs.
She missed that.
She missed him - not just the idea of him, but the presence, the scent, the breath of their ordinary life.
Back in India, Arjun sat with his parents, quietly scrolling through a folder of old photos.
One from their honeymoon popped up - Shruthi asleep on the car ride, clutching his arm like a pillow. A soft smile broke on his lips.
His mother glanced over. "You still love her, don't you?"
He nodded, unsure what else to say.
"You know," she added, "love doesn't need to be perfect. But it must be present."
Those words stuck with him the rest of the evening.
Later that night, Shruthi video-called him - unplanned.
Her hair was tied up, face tired, but eyes full of emotion.
"I've been thinking," she said, "Maybe it's not just about one of us moving. Maybe we start planning a future that fits both of us."
His breath caught. "You mean… together?"
She nodded slowly, a tear slipping down her cheek.
"I want to come back. Not just to India. But to us."
He didn't say anything for a while. He just watched her - the girl he loved, the woman who was finally reaching back.
For the first time in two years, home felt possible again.