By year thirteen, I finally handed it to him.
He read it carefully, then looked at me and said, “Give me some time.”
He stared out the window.
“After this season.”
I didn’t know which season he meant — monsoon, winter, or the season when I’d finally stop waiting.
We tried therapy. I tried honesty. I tried shouting. The counselor asked if he struggled with desire. He nodded. With orientation? Another nod. With trauma?
Silence.
The Day I Came Home Early
It was a rainy day, typical for Delhi. I got home early and unlocked the door quietly, soaked from the sudden downpour. I didn’t mean to listen in, but his voice echoed from the study.
“Hello? Aarav?”
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