We divorced shortly after. He moved to a flat near the hospital. I returned to my mother’s house and bought a new bed with just one pillow.
Aarav — or Rohan — reached out a few times. One day, I answered.
I said softly:
“Call me Aarav. That’s who I am now. You must learn to call yourself that, too.”
We met one evening by the river. I told him:
“I don’t know if I still love you. But I want to learn to lie in the middle of a bed — for once, not pushed to either side.”
He smiled, not as a lover, but as a man who understood.
“This time, I won’t run.”
One Final Gift
When I returned home weeks later, I found a slip marked:
“15 years rent – Vikram”
“I did my part: I released the brake. Now do yours. Burn the divorce files. Buy flowers. Place a pillow in the center of the bed. If you ever need someone to hang curtains, I’ll come by — as a neighbor.
— Vikram, the man who didn’t touch you, not from lack of love, but from fear of loving you wrong.”
That night, I turned on my yellow lamp.
I placed a round pillow right in the middle of the mattress.
And for the very first time in fifteen years — I chose myself.
