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‘Have fun,’ said Koyal, wishing he would hurry up and go. For, somehow, she didn’t want to know where he was headed. Or, more importantly, with whom.
‘Daddy,’ shouted Mansha, grinning, ‘have fun!’
Laughing, Atharv turned to leave the room and Koyal went back to staring at the piano, lost in thought.
‘I think Daddy has gone out on a date,’ Mansha said chattily.
A sinking feeling of despair flashed in her heart and Koyal quickly, hurriedly, frantically stamped it out. No! NO!
‘With Kimberly,’ Mansha was saying, ‘from the hospital. I heard him and Dadi talk.’
Koyal nodded. She knew. She had seen Kimberley’s eyes in the hospital.
‘She’s really nice,’ said Mansha, narrowing her eyes at Koyal in a way that made her very uncomfortable, ‘really nice, but not good enough for Daddy.’
As the evening progressed, Koyal found herself often staring at the clock and wondering about Atharv. Eating at a very fancy restaurant? Dancing? Kissing? In her house? In her bed?
Koyal shook her head. There was no room for this madness in her life. Yet, she was struggling and she wondered why. The answer came to her in the midst of another recital from Mansha. Despite what Atharv had done to her, for the longest time every decision she had made, the course her life had taken could find its origins in her feelings for Atharv. To witness how easily, effortlessly even, he had moved on was turning out to be harder than she had imagined.
Atharv let himself in at close to two in the morning. The house was steeped in darkness and silence, but Atharv liked it that way and didn’t bother switching on the lights. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of chilled water. He drank it slowly, closing his eyes, focusing on the cold water as it hit his throat.
Only now that he was back home did he realize how exhausted he really was.
He walked to his bedroom and then towards his closet, switching on a bedside lamp, still thinking about all that had happened in the last few hours. Mechanically he pulled out his favourite tee and pyjamas. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, lost in thought.
And then someone coughed.
Atharv snapped back into the present. His hands flew to the first object he could find, a water bottle, and he readied himself for an attack, eyes darting everywhere. The crime rate in London was generally low, but one could never be too careful.
For a few moments nothing happened, but as Atharv’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he became aware of a mound on his bed.
And then the mound heaved.
Someone, something, was there, thought Atharv, hoping, praying, that Mansha and Surya were safe.
When, in the next few moments, nothing happened, Atharv found himself stealthily moving towards the bed, ready to strike if the need arose.
Movement.
Atharv raised his hand, ready to hit whatever came out of the mound.
A slim, delicate hand appeared from under the duvet.
A silver bracelet chimed, the delicate noise cutting through the tense silence of the night. Atharv stared at the bracelet – he had seen it a million times.
Koyal.
Surprised, Atharv inched closer and gently pulled the duvet away. His eyes widened in surprise.
Mansha and Koyal were both fast asleep on his bed, curled into each other like furry little puppies.
There was something so delicate and beautiful about the little scene that met his eyes that Atharv stood there for a long time, not moving, not speaking, just staring. That Koyal had wrapped his daughter not only in her arms but in the purest kind of love her heart could hold was evident, and it made a lump form in this throat.
Inevitably, a cough escaped him. Koyal stirred and then slowly, lazily, opened her eyes.
And then everything happened at once.
‘Oh god!’ Koyal shrieked and sat bolt upright, looking visibly distraught, her hair dishevelled, eyes wide and horror-stricken.
