In Memoriam

In Memoriam

"My phone?"

"In your pocket, no doubt jammed to death with messages from the women from last night's party."

"Aw, don't be jealous, Geet. That's the price you pay for marrying such a handsome devil." His wink was reciprocated by her sarcastic nod.

"Here's your wallet. And here," she said, pointing to the notes in her hand, "is the 1000 you will never see again, courtesy of that little remark." She stuffed the money into her pocket and continued with her breakfast.

"And my keys?"

She rolled her eyes. "Where they always are, Maan. With the driver."

He chuckled and reached for the bowl of grapes. Popping one into his mouth, he leaned forward on the counter and brought himself to her eye level. "And my beautiful wife?"

She smiled into her cereal before meeting his eyes. "She's right here, Maan." He watched the pretty blush grow on her cheeks and was leaning in for a kiss when she added, "She's watching her fool of a husband flirt like a smitten schoolboy when he should be on his way to work." Pushing his forehead back playfully with a smirk, she took the grape from between his fingers and popped it in her own mouth.

"Charming," he drawled sarcastically. "My wife, the sweetheart."

Her smile stiffened ever so slightly before relaxing into a lazy grin. He thought about asking her what was wrong but when her eyes quickly regained their twinkle, he became convinced that he had imagined it all.

"You certainly had no complaints last night, Maan. At the party, I mean, of course," she added with a teasing wink.

"Who would?" he replied mischievously before leaning down and kissing her cheek. She watched him as he left the kitchen; faint traces of sadness pulled at her smile. The door closed and she slumped against the worktop with a sigh.

"Toh main tumhare naam se na bulayun toh kis naam se bulayun? Mishti?"

"Mishti kaun hai?"

"Kyun? Sweetheart ko Hindi mein kya kehte hain?"

"Don't you dare, Geet," she whispered to herself. "He's okay, he's alive. We're still here today, with or without the memories. There is a lot to be grateful for."

Ignoring the gentle pang in her heart, she cleared the counter and left for work.

* * *

The quiet knock on the door froze her fingers as they reached for the files on the table. Her heart lunged from her chest and began to race at a pace she could not keep up with. She brought a hand up to her left side and felt the thudding beneath her fingers with awe. Dhak dhak. She smiled.

"Come in."

He looked fatigued and a little leaner than she remembered. He had allowed his stubble to grow for a few days longer than usual. A tremor ran through her as she imagined the sensation of the prickles against her own cheek.

"Maan..."

"Never again." He said nothing else; he didn't need to. She stood up swiftly and pushed her chair back against the wall as he took quick, purposeful strides towards her.

An hour later, they were sitting on the floor of her study, facing the fireplace she had insisted many years ago that they install. His chin lay resting atop her head, her wild curls tickling him as they caressed his contented face. He stretched the fingers on his left hand out towards the glowing embers and she wordlessly took the coffee from his right to allow himself to warm those fingers too.

"Three weeks," he murmured softly, pulling on the end of a curl and watching as it sprang back with a silent twang.

"You've been gone longer before," she whispered absently. Her glazed eyes watched with quiet fascination as the little flames licked the charcoal. She was no longer here and from the way she chewed on her lower lip, he knew it too.

A blazing fire, an open window, an empty cottage and... shivers, ones that had been more from his feather light touch than the cold rising from the snow...

She looked up at him suddenly and the intensity of her gaze startled him. Silhouettes, fluid and elusive, danced on his handsome face; the orange of the fire watched her from the darkest shadows of his eyes. Fingertips rose and those very eyes closed as she traced the hollows of his face in awe.

How could he be real...

He let out a gentle, satisfied sigh.

"Dusht Danav..."

He opened his eyes at her whisper and his lips curled into a smile at the new name.

"Danav?"

Her eyes snapped back into focus and she blinked as she tried to catch the thread of his words.

"Such harsh assertions you make, Geet. Would this help change your mind or would it earn me the title of a Zalim Briber too?"

He reached into his pocket and opened his palm with a subtle flourish. She faltered, looking down at his hand as a sense of confusion and surprise began creeping upon her. A pair of earrings, delicate and silver, lay before her.

Jhumkas - just like the ones she used to wear all those years ago.

"I saw them at a bazaar on the last day. When I realised that they made your absence a little more bearable, I knew I had to get them."

"Maan..." she stared at him in disbelief and paused. Finally, "Well, aren't you going to help me put them on?"

* * *

"I don't understand. Why did you remind me to bring cab fare if you wanted me to drive?" Her eyebrows knitted in confusion as she grudgingly drove away from the kerb.

"No questions," he replied, gently putting a hand onto the steering wheel to ease her in the right direction. "And drive carefully this time."

"This time?" She cocked an eyebrow at his remark. "I always drive carefully."

He smiled knowingly in return but remained silent.

She shook her head, unable to understand just what it was her husband was up to. She thought back to the hurried phone call he had made to her earlier that afternoon.

Geet, we're going out tonight. Be ready by seven-thirty and come to my office. I'll be waiting outside at eight o'clock. Oh, and bring cab fare. We're going to need it where we're going.

He had cut the call before she could get a word in edgewise and she had rolled her eyes at his unpredictability. Maan Singh Khurana: The Alag Che Edition.

"Maan, can you please tell me where we're going?" She sighed when he shook his head stubbornly. "At least tell me if what I'm wearing is appropriate. I don't want to be overdressed."

"You're dressed..." he looked at her cream anarkali carefully, his eyes telling a story she couldn't yet understand. "...perfectly. You're dressed perfectly, Geet."

She took a left upon his saying so and her eyes narrowed at her surroundings. They had driven across the city and were now flirting with its outskirts. Delhi's famed restaurants had left them half an hour ago and the roads were now becoming more and more deserted. She wondered whether he was planning on taking her out or killing her.

"Take a final right here. We're headed just up this road."

"Oh, good. I was starting to question your sa -". She stopped short, recognition dawning on her before it was swiftly replaced by perplexity.

No...

"Here...?" Her voice floated away from her like a bubble. Everything around her seemed to shrink as she struggled to understand.

"Here," he assured her. His nonchalance bewildered her. Was it all in her head? Had it just been a coincidence, some great fallacy she had yet to shake herself away from?

"But Maan... Dhaba?"

His eyes twinkled in amusement. "Why, Geet? You're not in the mood for dal makhani?"

Her eyes widened but he cut in before she could reply. "I don't know about you but I'm starving. Would you park the car while I begin ordering?" She nodded dumbly and he stepped out of the car. She had closed her eyes, trying to make sense of the situation, of herself, of him, when she heard a quiet tapping to her left. She rolled down the window.

"I think I've left my wallet in the glove compartment. Would you please bring it with you? Thanks."

Reaching forward, she opened the small door and fished inside for the wallet to no avail. It must still be sitting forgotten in his pocket. She withdrew her hand and began to close the door when she noticed the pieces of papers she had dropped. Sifting through them, she returned them to the compartment. They had all been about car details, save for one small, folded note. It was the sort she remembered passing in her school days during an inattentive teacher's class.

She stared at it from the corner of her eye and, caving to curiosity, took it out of the compartment. Her eyes narrowed when she recognised Maan's handwriting.

You have always been far ahead of me, guiding me with the light by which I tread the world. I'm so sorry it took me this long to catch up with you. Forgive me, my Mishti.

- Maan

P.S. These tyres aren't new, I know, but I'm sure you now understand why I asked you to bring cab fare.

She stared at the page in her hands, the words washing over her and running through her like the rain that had bound them that night. She fought with herself, not quite daring to believe that she understood the words he had written and yet knowing in her heart of hearts that they were true.

Quiet singing brought her out of her thoughts and she looked up to see his retreating figure.

"Roop tera mastana,

Pyaar mera deewana,

Bhool koi humse na ho jaye..."

"Roop tere os ka mastana,

hamara padne kaPyaar deewana,

Bhool koi humse na ho jaye..."

comment me bhool na ho jaye..

nice os..