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London.
Leicester Square. Tayyabs. Greenwich. Oxford Circus. South Bank. Camden Town. Thames.
The double-decker buses and the black cabs. The overcrowded pubs and fish and chips takeaways. The lamps and lights.
London had captivated Koyal’s heart the moment she set foot on its soil seven months ago – she loved everything about the city. But what she loved above all else was the air of London.
It made her feel as light as cotton, as soft as a snowflake and as gentle as a yellow lamp.
It smelled of freedom.
The freedom that comes from knowing that things are falling into place after years of seeing them fall apart.
Koyal walked the rest of distance home, smiling. She was about to open her door when her phone rang again.
‘Scott?’ she said without looking at the screen.
‘Who’s Scott?’ Hema asked in a mock suspicious voice.
‘That silly guy from work who keeps asking me out,’ she said, laughing.
‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’
‘No, gosh no!’ Koyal exclaimed.
‘Come on,’ Hema chided her friend. How badly, desperately even, she wanted this girl to be happy. ‘Anyway, the reason I called,’ Hema continued, ‘is that you are coming to Kent for the weekend. I am throwing a big party for Akki’s sixtieth and some of our friends are coming over. I know it’s all last minute but it would mean a lot to us if you can make it.’
‘Please come, please come!’ Koyal heard Akki, Hema’s husband, holler in the background.
‘Is that Akki shouting?’
‘Yes,’ Hema laughed. ‘His invitation is a lot less formal.’
Koyal laughed. She had met Akki a couple of times and was getting very fond of him. ‘Yes! Of course I will come.’
‘My son, Arjun, will be there too. I really want you to meet him, I’ve spoken so much about you to him! Many of his friends are also coming, so there’ll be lots of young people to keep you company.’
‘Hema Aunty,’ Koyal interjected, ‘I love, love, love coming over to your country home. It is my happy place in the UK. I would happily come even if there were no young people, just you old fogeys.’
‘KOYAL.’ Hema’s voice was laden with mock threat. ‘You are more of an old fogey than I am.’
Koyal dissolved into giggles.
‘I love it when you giggle like that,’ Hema said.
Koyal smiled. ‘I feel happy these days, Hema Aunty,’ she said. ‘Almost like I’m getting my life back.’
I have spent too long hating, Hema Aunty, Koyal said silently to her older friend, ten years is a very long time to hate with such fervor. I am done with the hate. I am done with my past.
‘Don’t ever become prisoner of your past again,’ Hema warned. Hema knew very little of Koyal’s past – only that there was a past, a horrible one, that included a divorce.
‘I won’t,’ Koyal said, her voice full of determination.
As Koyal stepped into her flat, she told herself that the past can’t be changed but you could learn priceless lessons from it. And she knew she had.
Letting go of someone you love is hard, but holding on to something that was never meant to be yours is harder.
Hating anyone is hard, but fighting with yourself to keep on hating a person
